in the yielding red clay.  He snorted in fright.  The bank slid with him and I tumbled off.  But nothing serious happened.  I ran down, caught him, mounted, and spurred him up the other side.  Once up he began to run.  I heard the boys yelling not far away and the hounds were baying up above me.  They were climbing fast, working to the left, toward an oak thicket.  It took effort to slow down my steed.  He acted crazy and I began to suspect that he had caught a whiff of the bear.  Most horses are afraid of bears and lions.  Sight of Edd and George, who appeared in an open spot, somewhat quieted my mount.

“Trail’s gettin’ hot up there,” declared Edd.  “That bear’s bedded somewhere an’ I’ll bet the hounds jumped him.  Listen to Old Tom!”

How the deep sonorous bay of Old Tom awoke the echoes under the cliffs!  And Old Dan’s voice was a hoarse bellow.  The other hounds yelped.

Edd blew a mellow blast from his hunting-horn, and that awoke other and more melodious echoes.  “There’s father up on the rim,” he said.  I looked, and finally saw Haught perched like a black eagle on a crag.  His gun flashed in the strong sunlight.

Somewhere up there the hounds jumped the bear.  Anybody could have told that.  What a wild chorus!  Edd and George answered to it with whoops as wild, and they galloped their horses over ground and through brush where they should have been walked.  I followed, or tried to follow; and here my steed showed his bull-headed, obstinate nature.  If he had been afraid but still game I would have respected him, but he was a coward and mean.  He wanted to have his way, which was to go the other direction, and to rid himself of me.  So we had it hot and heavy along that rough slope, with honors about even.  As for bruises and scratches, however, I sustained the most.  In the excitement of the chase and anger at the horse I forgot all about any risks.  This always is the way in adventure.  Hot racing blood governed me entirely.  Whenever I got out in an open place, where I could ride fast and hear and see, then it was all intensely thrilling.  Both hounds and comrades were above me, but apparently working down.

Thus for me the necessity of hurry somewhat lessened.  I slowed to a trot, peering everywhere, listening with all my ears.  I had stopped yelling, because my horse had misunderstood that.  We got into a region of oak thickets, small saplings, scrubby, close together, but beautiful with their autumn-tinted leaves.  Next I rode through a maple dell, shady, cool, where the leafy floor was all rose-pink-red.  My horse sent the colored leaves flying.