The hide was ruined.
"Let them alone!" ordered Lige. "That's the only fun they get out of the game. They'll be keen to get on the track of a cougar, now that they have tasted blood." And so it proved.
With their first big game, on this trip, at their feet, the boys were eager to be off for the haunts of the cruel cougar. To their disappointment, however, they were able to sight nothing more interesting than a gaunt gray wolf, at which Ned took a long shot and missed.
"Might as well try to hit a razor's edge at that distance," said
Lige. "They have no flesh on them at all, to speak of, now——"
"Will they bite?" asked Chunky innocently. "A pack of them would eat you, bones and all, in a few moments," grinned Lige.
Chunky shuddered.
"But the gray wolf, when taken young, makes an ideal pet. Some of the best cougar hounds I nave ever seen were trained wolves, working with a pack of regular hounds, of course," he explained. Leaving the carcass of the bob-oat for the ravens and magpies, which were already hovering about in the tall trees awaiting their turn at it, the hunters moved on.
No other game being found that day, the party turned eastward, where camp was made, this time on the flat top of a low-lying mountain. Nor was it until late the following afternoon that the dogs appeared to have struck a promising lead. From the way they worked Lige thought they were trailing a black bear.
Forcing the ponies into a brisk trot, the boys still found themselves falling behind the hounds. Then, at the guide's suggestion, they went in chase at a lively gallop.
The run continued for somewhat more than two hours, until the ponies began to lag, and until every bone in the bodies of the hunters seemed to be crying aloud for rest. The going had been rougher than any they had yet experienced.