“Next day they tried again; and one fool rabbit was soon gone in for keenly to the renewed sound of sister’s bitter sobs, and brother looking like he’d been in jail two years—­no colour left at all in his face.  But pretty soon the pack took up the scent of a deer again, and that was the end of another day’s sport.  Brother and sister looked glad and resumed their peaceful sports.  He hunted butterflies with a net, and she set down and looked at birds through an opera glass and wrote down things about their personal appearance in a notebook.  The old lady changed to her cowboy suit and went out and roped three steers—­just to work her mad off, I guess.

“Well, this time the beagles not only limped in at a shocking hour of the night but three of the others had had their beauty marred by a demon rabbit or something.  They had been licked very thoroughly, indeed; and the old lady now said it must be a grizzly bear, and brother and sister beamed on her and said:  ‘What a shame!’ And would they hunt again next day?  For the first time they seemed quite mad about the sport.  Mother said they better wait till she went out and shot the grizzly, but I told her we hadn’t had any grizzlies round here for years; so she said, all right, they could lick anything less than a grizzly.  And they beagled again next day, with terrible and inspiring results, not only to Rex II and Lady Blessington again, but to two of the others that hadn’t been touched before.

“This left only two of the pack that hadn’t been horribly abused by some unknown varmint; so a halt had to be called for three days while Red Cross work was done.  Brother and sister tried to look regretful and complained about this break in the ripping sport; but their manner was artificial.  They spent the time riding peacefully round up in the canon, pretending to look for the wild creature that had chewed their little pets.  They come back one day and cheered their mother a whole lot by telling her the pack had been over the pass as far as the house of a worthy rancher, Mr. Floud by name.  They said Mr. Floud didn’t believe there was any bears round, and further said he greatly admired the beagles, even though at first they seriously annoyed his pet kitten.

“The old lady said this was ripping of Mr. Floud, to take it in such a sporting way, because many people in the past had tried to make all sorts of nasty rows when her pets had happened to kill their kittens.  Brother said, yes; Mr. Floud took the whole thing in a true sporting way, and he hoped the pack would soon be well enough to hunt again.  Right then I detected falsity in his manner; I couldn’t make out what it was, but I knew he was putting something over on mother.

“Two days later the dogs was fit again, and another gay hunt was had, with a rabbit to the good in the first twenty minutes, and then the usual break, when they struck a deer scent.  Brother said he’d follow on his horse this time and try to get whatever was bothering ’em.  He didn’t.  He said he lost ’em.  They crawled back at night, well chewed; and mother was now frantic.