Thereupon I told what I had heard during the night.
"Everybody listen," said Jones.
We quieted down and sat like statues. A gentle, cool breeze, barely moving the pine tips, had succeeded the night wind. The sound of horses munching their oats, and an occasional clink, rattle, and growl from the lions did not drown the faint but unmistakable yelps of a pup.
"South, toward the canyon," said Jim, as Jones got up.
"Now, it'd be funny if that little Shep, just to get even with me for tying him up so often, has treed a lion all by himself," commented Jones. "And I'll bet that's just what he's done."
He called the hounds about him and hurried westward through the forest.
"Shore, it might be." Jim shook his head knowingly. "I reckon it's only a rabbit, but anythin' might happen in this place."
I finished breakfast and went into my tent for something—I forget what, for wild yells from Emett and Jim brought me flying out again.
"Listen to that!" cried Jim, pointing west.
The hounds had opened up; their full, wild chorus floated clearly on the breeze, and above it Jones' stentorian yell signaled us.