“Good!  We’ll have a bear to-morrow night,” declared Teague, in delight.  “We’ll get him even if the trail is a day old.  But he’ll come back to-night.”

Early next morning the young rancher and three other boys rode into camp, saying they would like to go with us to see the fun.  We were glad to have them, and we rode off through the frosted sage that crackled like brittle glass under the hoofs of the horses.  Our guide led toward a branch of a park, and when we got within perhaps a quarter of a mile Teague suggested that R.C. and I go ahead on the chance of surprising the bear.  It was owing to this suggestion that my brother and I were well ahead of the others.  But we did not see any bear near the carcass of the cow.  Old Jim and Sampson were close behind us, and when Jim came within forty yards of that carcass he put his nose up with a deep and ringing bay, and he shot by us like a streak.  He never went near the dead cow!  Sampson bayed like thunder and raced after Jim.

“They’re off!” I yelled to R.C.  “It’s a hot scent!  Come on!”

We spurred our horses and they broke across the open park to the edge of the woods.  Jim and Sampson were running straight with noses high.  I heard a string of yelps and bellows from our rear.

“Look back!” shouted R.C.

Teague and the cowboys were unleashing the rest of the pack.  It surely was great to see them stretch out, yelping wildly.  Like the wind they passed us.  Jim and Sampson headed into the woods with deep bays.  I was riding Teague’s best horse for this sort of work and he understood the game and plainly enjoyed it.  R.C.’s horse ran as fast in the woods as he did in the open.  This frightened me, and I yelled to R.C. to be careful.  I yelled to deaf ears.  That is the first great risk—­a rider is not going to be careful!  We were right on top of Jim and Sampson with the pack clamoring mad music just behind.  The forest rang.  Both horses hurdled logs, sometimes two at once.  My old lion chases with Buffalo Jones had made me skillful in dodging branches and snags, and sliding knees back to avoid knocking them against trees.  For a mile the forest was comparatively open, and here we had a grand and ringing run.  I received two hard knocks, was unseated once, but held on, and I got a stinging crack in the face from a branch.  R.C. added several more black-and-blue spots to his already spotted anatomy, and he missed, just by an inch, a solid snag that would have broken him in two.  The pack stretched out in wild staccato chorus, the little Airedales literally screeching.  Jim got out of our sight and then Sampson.  Still it was ever more thrilling to follow by sound rather than sight.  They led up a thick, steep slope.  Here we got into trouble in the windfalls of timber and the pack drew away from us, up over the mountain.  We were half way up when we heard them jump the bear.  The forest seemed full of strife and bays and yelps.  We heard the dogs go down again to our right, and