"We'll make it four days, if the boys can stand it," Jim replied.
The haunt of the lions was in a range of low foothills to the north of the range from which the herd had stampeded. It was planned to ride to the house where the cowboys in charge of that bunch of cattle lived, and there leave the horses. They would proceed on foot up into the hills, where the trails were so rough that horses were of little use.
They camped that night at the ranch house, and the boys hardly wanted to go to bed when Jim and some of his acquaintances began to swap stories around the fire.
"Better turn in," advised Jim, about ten o'clock. "Have to be up before sunrise, you know."
The next morning they tramped for several miles, the country getting wilder and wilder as they proceeded. The trail was up now, for they had entered the region of the foothills. Beyond them lay the beginning of the Golden Glow mountain range.
"That's where my father is," Jack thought "I hope I can soon find him."
It was almost noon when they reached a spot that Jim decided would be a good place to camp. It was under a sort of overhanging ledge, and well screened by trees.
"We'll leave our stuff here," he said, "and, after dinner, the real hunting will begin."
Little time was lost over the meal, and, having seen to their rifles and knives, the four hunters started along the trail, making their way through low brush and over big boulders. Jack who had forged ahead, with Jim close behind him, was suddenly pulled back by the cowboy's hand,
"Look there!" exclaimed Jim.