even with the hounds until their baying fell off, and finally grew desultory, and then ceased.  “Guess they had the wrong end of his trail,” said George.  With this exasperating feature of bear and lion chases I was familiar.  Most hounds, when they struck a trail, could not tell in which direction the bear was traveling.  A really fine hound, however, like Buffalo Jones’ famous Don, or Scott Teague’s Sampson or Haught’s Old Dan, would grow suspicious of a scent that gradually cooled, and would eventually give it up.  Young hounds would back-track game as far as possible.

After waiting a while we returned to our horses, and presently Edd came back with the pack.  “Big bear, but cold trail.  Called them off,” was all he said.  We mounted and rode across the mouth of Horton Thicket round to the juniper slopes, which I had occasion to remember.  I even saw the pine tree which I had so ignominiously climbed.  How we ridicule and scorn some of our perfectly natural actions—­afterwards!  Edd had brought three of the pups that day, two-year-olds as full of mischief as pups could be.  They jumped a bunch of deer and chased them out on the hard red cedar covered ridges.  We had a merry chase to head them off.  Edd gave them a tongue-lashing and thrashing at one and the same time.  I felt sorry for the pups.  They had been so full of frolic and fight.  How crestfallen they appeared after Edd got through!  “Whaddaye mean,” yelled Edd, in conclusion.  “Chasin’ deer!...  Do you think you’re a lot of rabbit dogs?” From the way the pups eyed Edd so sheepishly and adoringly, I made certain they understood him perfectly, and humbly confessed their error.

Old Tom and Old Dan had not come down off the slopes with us after the pups.  And upon our return both the old hounds began to bay deep and fast.  With shrill ki-yi the pups bounded off, apparently frantic to make up for misbehavior.  Soon the whole pack was in full chorus.  Edd and George spurred into the brush, yelling encouragement to the hounds.  This day I managed to make my horse do a little of what I wanted.  To keep in sight of the Haught boys was indeed beyond me; but I did not lose sound of them.  This chase led us up slope and down slope, through the brush and pine thickets, over bare ridges and into gullies; and eventually out into the basin, where the hounds got beyond hearing.

“One of them long, lean, hungry bears,” remarked Edd.  “He’d outrun any dogs.”

Leisurely then we turned to the three-hour ride back to camp.  Hot sun in the open, cool wind in the shade, dry smells of the forest, green and red and orange and purple of the foliage—­these rendered the hours pleasant for me.  When I reached camp I found Romer in trouble.  He had cut his hand with a forbidden hunting knife.  As he told me about it his face was a study and his explanation was astounding.  When he finished I said:  “You mean then that my hunting knife walked out of its sheath on my belt and followed you around and cut you of its own accord?”