by Zane Grey
CHAPTER 4.
THE TRAIL
"Frank, what'll we do about horses?" asked Jones. "Jim'll want the bay,and of course you'll want to ride Spot. The rest of our nags will onlydo to pack the outfit."
"I've been thinkin'," replied the foreman. "You sure will need goodmounts. Now it happens that a friend of mine is just at this time atHouse Rock Valley, an outlyin' post of one of the big Utah ranches. Heis gettin' in the horses off the range, an' he has some crackin' goodones. Let's ooze over there--it's only thirty miles--an' get somehorses from him."
We were all eager to act upon Frank's suggestion. So plans were madefor three of us to ride over and select our mounts. Frank and Jim wouldfollow with the pack train, and if all went well, on the followingevening we would camp under the shadow of Buckskin.
Early next morning we were on our way. I tried to find a soft place onOld Baldy, one of Frank's pack horses. He was a horse that would nothave raised up at the trumpet of doom. Nothing under the sun, Franksaid, bothered Old Baldy but the operation of shoeing. We made thedistance to the outpost by noon, and found Frank's friend a genial andobliging cowboy, who said we could have all the horses we wanted.
While Jones and Wallace strutted round the big corral, which was fullof vicious, dusty, shaggy horses and mustangs, I sat high on the fence.I heard them talking about points and girth and stride, and a lot ofterms that I could not understand. Wallace selected a heavy sorrel, andJones a big bay; very like Jim's. I had observed, way over in thecorner of the corral, a bunch of cayuses, and among them a clean-limbedblack horse. Edging round on the fence I got a closer view, and thencried out that I had found my horse. I jumped down and caught him, muchto my surprise, for the other horses were wild, and had kickedviciously. The black was beautifully built, wide-chested and powerful,but not heavy. His coat glistened like sheeny black satin, and he had awhite face and white feet and a long mane.
"I don't know about giving you Satan--that's his name," said thecowboy. "The foreman rides him often. He's the fastest, the bestclimber, and the best dispositioned horse on the range.
"But I guess I can let you have him," he continued, when he saw mydisappointed face.
"By George!" exclaimed Jones. "You've got it on us this time."
"Would you like to trade?" asked Wallace, as his sorrel tried to bitehim. "That black looks sort of fierce."
I led my prize out of the corral, up to the little cabin nearby, whereI tied him, and proceeded to get acquainted after a fashion of my own.Though not versed in horse-lore, I knew that half the battle was to winhis confidence. I smoothed his silky coat, and patted him, and thensurreptitiously slipped a lump of sugar from my pocket. This sugar,which I had purloined in Flagstaff, and carried all the way across thedesert, was somewhat disreputably soiled, and Satan sniffed at itdisdainfully. Evidently he had never smelled or tasted sugar. I pressedit into his mouth. He munched it, and then looked me over with someinterest. I handed him another lump. He took it and rubbed his noseagainst me. Satan was mine!
Frank and Jim came along early in the afternoon. What with packing,changing saddles and shoeing the horses, we were all busy. Old Baldywould not be shod, so we let him off till a more opportune time. Byfour o'clock we were riding toward the slopes of Buckskin, now only afew miles away, standing up higher and darker.
"What's that for?" inquired Wallace, pointing to a long, rusty,wire-wrapped, double-barreled blunderbuss of a shotgun, stuck in theholster of Jones's saddle.
The Colonel, who had been having a fine time with the impatient andcurious hounds, did not vouchsafe any information on that score. Butvery shortly we were destined to learn the use of this incongruousfirearm. I was riding in advance of Wallace, and a little behind Jones.The dogs--excepting Jude, who had been kicked and lamed--were rangingalong before their master. Suddenly, right before me, I saw an immensejack-rabbit; and just then Moze and Don caught sight of it. In fact,Moze bumped his blunt nose into the rabbit. When it leaped into scaredaction, Moze yelped, and Don followed suit. Then they were after it inwild, clamoring pursuit. Jones let out the stentorian blast, nowbecoming familiar, and spurred after them. He reached over, pulled theshotgun out of the holster and fired both barrels at the jumping dogs.
I expressed my amazement in strong language, and Wallace whistled.
Don came sneaking back with his tail between his legs, and Moze, whohad cowered as if stung, circled round ahead of us. Jones finallysucceeded in gettin him back.
"Come in hyah! You measly rabbit dogs! What do you mean chasing offthat way? We're after lions. Lions! understand?"
Don looked thoroughly convinced of his error, but Moze, being morethick-headed, appeared mystified rather than hurt or frightened.
"What size shot do you use?" I asked.
"Number ten. They don't hurt much at seventy five yards," replied ourleader. "I use them as sort of a long arm. You see, the dogs must bemade to know what we're after. Ordinary means would never do in a caselike this. My idea is to break them of coyotes, wolves and deer, andwhen we cross a lion trail, let them go. I'll teach them sooner thanyou'd think. Only we must get where we can see what they're trailing.Then I can tell whether to call then back or not."
The sun was gilding the rim of the desert rampart when we began theascent of the foothills of Buckskin. A steep trail wound zigzag up themountain We led our horses, as it was a long, hard climb. From time totime, as I stopped to catch my breath I gazed away across the growingvoid to the gorgeous Pink Cliffs, far above and beyond the red wallwhich had seemed so high, and then out toward the desert. The irregularragged crack in the plain, apparently only a thread of broken ground,was the Grand Canyon. How unutterably remote, wild, grand was thatworld of red and brown, of purple pall, of vague outline!
Two thousand feet, probably, we mounted to what Frank called LittleBuckskin. In the west a copper glow, ridged with lead-colored clouds,marked where the sun had set. The air was very thin and icy cold. Atthe first clump of pinyon pines, we made dry camp. When I sat down itwas as if I had been anchored. Frank solicitously remarked that Ilooked "sort of beat." Jim built a roaring fire and began gettingsupper. A snow squall came on the rushing wind. The air grew colder,and though I hugged the fire, I could not get warm. When I hadsatisfied my hunger, I rolled out my sleeping-bag and crept into it. Istretched my aching limbs and did not move again. Once I awoke,drowsily feeling the warmth of the fire, and I heard Frank say: "He'sasleep, dead to the world!"
"He's all in," said Jones. "Riding's what did it You know how a horsetears a man to pieces."
"Will he be able to stand it?" asked Frank, with as much solicitude asif he were my brother. "When you get out after anythin'--well, you'rehell. An' think of the country we're goin' into. I know you've neverseen the breaks of the Siwash, but I have, an' it's the worst an'roughest country I ever saw. Breaks after breaks, like the ridges on awashboard, headin' on the south slope of Buckskin, an' runnin' down,side by side, miles an' miles, deeper an' deeper, till they run intothat awful hole. It will be a killin' trip on men, horses an' dogs.Now, Mr. Wallace, he's been campin' an' roughin' with the Navajos formonths; he's in some kind of shape, but--"
Frank concluded his remark with a doubtful pause.
"I'm some worried, too," replied Jones. "But he would come. He stoodthe desert well enough; even the Mormons said that."
In the ensuing silence the fire sputtered, the glare fitfully mergedinto dark shadows under the weird pinyons, and the wind moaned throughthe short branches.
"Wal," drawled a slow, soft voice, "shore I reckon you're hollerin' toosoon. Frank's measly trick puttin' him on Spot showed me. He rode outon Spot, an' he rode in on Spot. Shore he'll stay."
It was not all the warmth of the blankets that glowed over me then. Thevoices died away dreamily, and my eyelids dropped sleepily tight. Latein the night I sat up suddenly, roused by some unusual disturbance. Thefire was dead; the wind swept with a rush through the pinyons. From theblack darkness came the staccato chorus of coyotes. Don barked his
displeasure; Sounder made the welkin ring, and old Moze growled low anddeep, grumbling like muttered thunder. Then all was quiet, and I slept.
Dawn, rosy red, confronted me when I opened my eyes. Breakfast wasready; Frank was packing Old Baldy; Jones talked to his horse as hesaddled him; Wallace came stooping his giant figure under the pinyons;the dogs, eager and soft-eyed, sat around Jim and begged. The sunpeeped over the Pink Cliffs; the desert still lay asleep, tranced in apurple and golden-streaked mist.
"Come, come!" said Jones, in his big voice. "We're slow; here's thesun."
"Easy, easy," replied Frank, "we've all the time there is."
When Frank threw the saddle over Satan I interrupted him and said Iwould care for my horse henceforward. Soon we were under way, thehorses fresh, the dogs scenting the keen, cold air.
The trail rolled over the ridges of pinyon and scrubby pine.Occasionally we could see the black, ragged crest of Buckskin above us.From one of these ridges I took my last long look back at the desert,and engraved on my mind a picture of the red wall, and the many-huedocean of sand. The trail, narrow and indistinct, mounted the lastslow-rising slope; the pinyons failed, and the scrubby pines becameabundant. At length we reached the top, and entered the great archedaisles of Buckskin Forest. The ground was flat as a table. Magnificentpine trees, far apart, with branches high and spreading, gave the eyeglad welcome. Some of these monarchs were eight feet thick at the baseand two hundred feet high. Here and there one lay, gaunt and prostrate,a victim of the wind. The smell of pitch pine was sweetly overpowering.
"When I went through here two weeks ago, the snow was a foot deep, an'I bogged in places," said Frank. "The sun has been oozin' round heresome. I'm afraid Jones won't find any snow on this end of Buckskin."
Thirty miles of winding trail, brown and springy from its thick mat ofpine needles, shaded always by the massive, seamy-barked trees, took usover the extremity of Buckskin. Then we faced down into the head of aravine that ever grew deeper, stonier and rougher. I shifted from sideto side, from leg to leg in my saddle, dismounted and hobbled beforeSatan, mounted again, and rode on. Jones called the dogs and complainedto them of the lack of snow. Wallace sat his horse comfortably, takinglong pulls at his pipe and long gazes at the shaggy sides of theravine. Frank, energetic and tireless, kept the pack-horses in thetrail. Jim jogged on silently. And so we rode down to Oak Spring.
The spring was pleasantly situated in a grove of oaks and Pinyons,under the shadow of three cliffs. Three ravines opened here into anoval valley. A rude cabin of rough-hewn logs stood near the spring.
"Get down, get down," sang out Frank. "We'll hang up here. Beyond Oakis No-Man's-Land. We take our chances on water after we leave here."
When we had unsaddled, unpacked, and got a fire roaring on the widestone hearth of the cabin, it was once again night.
"Boys," said Jones after supper, "we're now on the edge of the lioncountry. Frank saw lion sign in here only two weeks ago; and though thesnow is gone, we stand a show of finding tracks in the sand and dust.To-morrow morning, before the sun gets a chance at the bottom of theseravines, we'll be up and doing. We'll each take a dog and search indifferent directions. Keep the dog in leash, and when he opens up,examine the ground carefully for tracks. If a dog opens on any trackthat you are sure isn't lion's, punish him. And when a lion-track isfound, hold the dog in, wait and signal. We'll use a signal I havetried and found far-reaching and easy to yell. Waa-hoo! That's it. Onceyelled it means come. Twice means comes quickly. Three times meanscome--danger!"
In one corner of the cabin was a platform of poles, covered with straw.I threw the sleeping-bag on this, and was soon stretched out.Misgivings as to my strength worried me before I closed my eyes. Onceon my back, I felt I could not rise; my chest was sore; my cough deepand rasping. It seemed I had scarcely closed my eyes when Jones'simpatient voice recalled me from sweet oblivion.
"Frank, Frank, it's daylight. Jim--boys!" he called.
I tumbled out in a gray, wan twilight. It was cold enough to make thefire acceptable, but nothing like the morning before on Buckskin.
"Come to the festal board," drawled Jim, almost before I had my bootslaced.
"Jones," said Frank, "Jim an' I'll ooze round here to-day. There's lotsto do, an' we want to have things hitched right before we strike forthe Siwash. We've got to shoe Old Baldy, an' if we can't get himlocoed, it'll take all of us to do it."
The light was still gray when Jones led off with Don, Wallace withSounder and I with Moze. Jones directed us to separate, follow the drystream beds in the ravines, and remember his instructions given thenight before.
The ravine to the right, which I entered, was choked with huge stonesfallen from the cliff above, and pinyons growing thick; and I wonderedapprehensively how a man could evade a wild animal in such a place,much less chase it. Old Moze pulled on his chain and sniffed at coyoteand deer tracks. And every time he evinced interest in such, I cut himwith a switch, which, to tell the truth, he did not notice. I thought Iheard a shout, and holding Moze tight, I waited and listened.
"Waa-hoo--waa-hoo!" floated on the air, rather deadened as if it hadcome from round the triangular cliff that faced into the valley. Urgingand dragging Moze, I ran down the ravine as fast as I could, and soonencountered Wallace coming from the middle ravine. "Jones," he saidexcitedly, "this way--there's the signal again." We dashed in hastefor the mouth of the third ravine, and came suddenly upon Jones,kneeling under a pinyon tree. "Boys, look!" he exclaimed, as he pointedto the ground. There, clearly defined in the dust, was a cat track asbig as my spread hand, and the mere sight of it sent a chill up myspine. "There's a lion track for you; made by a female, a two-year-old;but can't say if she passed here last night. Don won't take the trail.Try Moze."
I led Moze to the big, round imprint, and put his nose down into it.The old hound sniffed and sniffed, then lost interest.
"Cold!" ejaculated Jones. "No go. Try Sounder. Come, old boy, you'vethe nose for it."
He urged the reluctant hound forward. Sounder needed not to be shownthe trail; he stuck his nose in it, and stood very quiet for a longmoment; then he quivered slightly, raised his nose and sought the nexttrack. Step by step he went slowly, doubtfully. All at once his tailwagged stiffly.
"Look at that!" cried Jones in delight. "He's caught a scent when theothers couldn't. Hyah, Moze, get back. Keep Moze and Don back; give himroom."
Slowly Sounder paced up the ravine, as carefully as if he weretraveling on thin ice. He passed the dusty, open trail to a scalyground with little bits of grass, and he kept on.
We were electrified to hear him give vent to a deep bugle-blast note ofeagerness.
"By George, he's got it, boys!" exclaimed Jones, as he lifted thestubborn, struggling hound off the trail. "I know that bay. It means alion passed here this morning. And we'll get him up as sure as you'realive. Come, Sounder. Now for the horses."
As we ran pell-mell into the little glade, where Jim sat mending somesaddle trapping, Frank rode up the trail with the horses.
"Well, I heard Sounder," he said with his genial smile. "Somethin'scomin' off, eh? You'll have to ooze round some to keep up with thathound."
I saddled Satan with fingers that trembled in excitement, and pushed mylittle Remington automatic into the rifle holster.
"Boys, listen," said our leader. "We're off now in the beginning of ahunt new to you. Remember no shooting, no blood-letting, except inself-defense. Keep as close to me as you can. Listen for the dogs, andwhen you fall behind or separate, yell out the signal cry. Don't forgetthis. We're bound to lose each other. Look out for the spikes andbranches on the trees. If the dogs split, whoever follows the one thattrees the lion must wait there till the rest come up. Off now! Come,Sounder; Moze, you rascal, hyah! Come, Don, come, Puppy, and take yourmedicine."
Except Moze, the hounds were all trembling and running eagerly to andfro. When Sounder was loosed, he led them in a bee-line to the trail,with us cantering after. Sounder worked exactly as bef
ore, only hefollowed the lion tracks a little farther up the ravine before hebayed. He kept going faster and faster, occasionally letting out onedeep, short yelp. The other hounds did not give tongue, but eager,excited, baffled, kept at his heels. The ravine was long, and the washat the bottom, up which the lion had proceeded, turned and twistedround boulders large as houses, and led through dense growths of someshort, rough shrub. Now and then the lion tracks showed plainly in thesand. For five miles or more Sounder led us up the ravine, which beganto contract and grow steep. The dry stream bed got to be full ofthickets of branchless saplings, about the poplar--tall, straight, sizeof a man's arm, and growing so close we had to press them aside to letour horses through.
Presently Sounder slowed up and appeared at fault. We found himpuzzling over an open, grassy patch, and after nosing it for a littlewhile, he began skirting the edge.
"Cute dog!" declared Jones. "That Sounder will make a lion chaser. Ourgame has gone up here somewhere."
Sure enough, Sounder directly gave tongue from the side of the ravine.It was climb for us now. Broken shale, rocks of all dimensions, pinyonsdown and pinyons up made ascending no easy problem. We had to dismountand lead the horses, thus losing ground. Jones forged ahead and reachedthe top of the ravine first. When Wallace and I got up, breathingheavily, Jones and the hounds were out of sight. But Sounder keptvoicing his clear call, giving us our direction. Off we flew, overground that was still rough, but enjoyable going compared to the ravineslopes. The ridge was sparsely covered with cedar and pinyon, throughwhich, far ahead, we pretty soon spied Jones. Wallace signaled, and ourleader answered twice. We caught up with him on the brink of anotherravine deeper and craggier than the first, full of dead, gnarled pinyonand splintered rocks.
"This gulch is the largest of the three that head in at Oak Spring,"said Jones. "Boys, don't forget your direction. Always keep a feelingwhere camp is, always sense it every time you turn. The dogs have gonedown. That lion is in here somewhere. Maybe he lives down in the highcliffs near the spring and came up here last night for a kill he'sburied somewhere. Lions never travel far. Hark! Hark! There's Sounderand the rest of them! They've got the scent; they've all got it! Down,boys, down, and ride!"
With that he crashed into the cedar in a way that showed me howimpervious he was to slashing branches, sharp as thorns, and steepdescent and peril.
Wallace's big sorrel plunged after him and the rolling stones cracked.Suffering as I was by this time, with cramp in my legs, and torturingpain, I had to choose between holding my horse in or falling off; so Ichose the former and accordingly got behind.
Dead cedar and pinyon trees lay everywhere, with their contorted limbsreaching out like the arms of a devil-fish. Stones blocked everyopening. Making the bottom of the ravine after what seemed aninterminable time, I found the tracks of Jones and Wallace. A long"Waa-hoo!" drew me on; then the mellow bay of a hound floated up theravine. Satan made up time in the sandy stream bed, but kept me busilydodging overhanging branches. I became aware, after a succession ofefforts to keep from being strung on pinyons, that the sand before mewas clean and trackless. Hauling Satan up sharply, I waitedirresolutely and listened. Then from high up the ravine side wafteddown a medley of yelps and barks.
"Waa-hoo, waa-hoo!" ringing down the slope, pealed against the cliffbehind me, and sent the wild echoes flying. Satan, of his own accord,headed up the incline. Surprised at this, I gave him free rein. How hedid climb! Not long did it take me to discover that he picked outeasier going than I had. Once I saw Jones crossing a ledge far aboveme, and I yelled our signal cry. The answer returned clear and sharp;then its echo cracked under the hollow cliff, and crossing andrecrossing the ravine, it died at last far away, like the muffled pealof a bell-buoy. Again I heard the blended yelping of the hounds, andcloser at hand. I saw a long, low cliff above, and decided that thehounds were running at the base of it. Another chorus of yelps,quicker, wilder than the others, drew a yell from me. Instinctively Iknew the dogs had jumped game of some kind. Satan knew it as well as I,for he quickened his pace and sent the stones clattering behind him.
I gained the base of the yellow cliff, but found no tracks in the dustof ages that had crumbled in its shadow, nor did I hear the dogs.Considering how close they had seemed, this was strange. I halted andlistened. Silence reigned supreme. The ragged cracks in the cliff wallscould have harbored many a watching lion, and I cast an apprehensiveglance into their dark confines. Then I turned my horse to get roundthe cliff and over the ridge. When I again stopped, all I could hearwas the thumping of my heart and the labored panting of Satan. I cameto a break in the cliff, a steep place of weathered rock, and I putSatan to it. He went up with a will. From the narrow saddle of theridge-crest I tried to take my bearings. Below me slanted the green ofpinyon, with the bleached treetops standing like spears, and uprisingyellow stones. Fancying I heard a gunshot, I leaned a straining earagainst the soft breeze. The proof came presently in the unmistakablereport of Jones's blunderbuss. It was repeated almost instantly, givingreality to the direction, which was down the slope of what I concludedmust be the third ravine. Wondering what was the meaning of the shots,and chagrined because I was out of the race, but calmer in mind, I letSatan stand.
Hardly a moment elapsed before a sharp bark tingled in my ears. Itbelonged to old Moze. Soon I distinguished a rattling of stones and thesharp, metallic clicks of hoofs striking rocks. Then into a space belowme loped a beautiful deer, so large that at first I took it for an elk.Another sharp bark, nearer this time, told the tale of Moze'sdereliction. In a few moments he came in sight, running with his tongueout and his head high.
"Hyah, you old gladiator! hyah! hyah!" I yelled and yelled again. Mozepassed over the saddle on the trail of the deer, and his short barkfloated back to remind me how far he was from a lion dog.
Then I divined the meaning of the shotgun reports. The hounds hadcrossed a fresher trail than that of the lion, and our leader haddiscovered it. Despite a keen appreciation of Jones's task, I gave wayto amusement, and repeated Wallace's paradoxical formula: "Pet thelions and shoot the hounds."
So I headed down the ravine, looking for a blunt, bold crag, which Ihad descried from camp. I found it before long, and profiting by pastfailures to judge of distance, gave my first impression a greatstretch, and then decided that I was more than two miles from Oak.
Long after two miles had been covered, and I had begun to associateJim's biscuits with a certain soft seat near a ruddy fire, I wasapparently still the same distance from my landmark crag. Suddenly aslight noise brought me to a halt. I listened intently. Only anindistinct rattling of small rocks disturbed the impressive stillness.It might have been the weathering that goes on constantly, and it mighthave been an animal. I inclined to the former idea till I saw Satan'sears go up. Jones had told me to watch the ears of my horse, and shortas had been my acquaintance with Satan, I had learned that he alwaysdiscovered things more quickly than I. So I waited patiently.
From time to time a rattling roll of pebbles, almost musical, caught myear. It came from the base of the wall of yellow cliff that barred thesummit of all those ridges. Satan threw up his head and nosed thebreeze. The delicate, almost stealthy sounds, the action of my horse,the waiting drove my heart to extra work. The breeze quickened andfanned my cheek, and borne upon it came the faint and far-away bay of ahound. It came again and again, each time nearer. Then on a strongerpuff of wind rang the clear, deep, mellow call that had given Sounderhis beautiful name. Never it seemed had I heard music soblood-stirring. Sounder was on the trail of something, and he had itheaded my way. Satan heard, shot up his long ears, and tried to goahead; but I restrained and soothed him into quiet.
Long moments I sat there, with the poignant consciousness of thewildness of the scene, of the significant rattling of the stones and ofthe bell-tongued hound baying incessantly, sending warm joy through myveins, the absorption in sensations new, yielding only to the huntinginstinct when Satan snorted and quivered. Again the deep-toned bay
ranginto the silence with its stirring thrill of life. And a sharp rattlingof stones just above brought another snort from Satan.
Across an open space in the pinyons a gray form flashed. I leaped offSatan and knelt to get a better view under the trees. I soon made outanother deer passing along the base of the cliff. Mounting again, Irode up to the cliff to wait for Sounder.
A long time I had to wait for the hound. It proved that the atmospherewas as deceiving in regard to sound as to sight. Finally Sounder camerunning along the wall. I got off to intercept him. The crazyfellow--he had never responded to my overtures of friendship--utteredshort, sharp yelps of delight, and actually leaped into my arms. But Icould not hold him. He darted upon the trail again and paid no heed tomy angry shouts. With a resolve to overhaul him, I jumped on Satan andwhirled after the hound.
The black stretched out with such a stride that I was at pains to keepmy seat. I dodged the jutting rocks and projecting snags; felt stingingbranches in my face and the rush of sweet, dry wind. Under thecrumbling walls, over slopes of weathered stone and droppings ofshelving rock, round protruding noses of cliff, over and under pinyonsSatan thundered. He came out on the top of the ridge, at the narrowback I had called a saddle. Here I caught a glimpse of Sounder farbelow, going down into the ravine from which I had ascended some timebefore. I called to him, but I might as well have called to the wind.
Weary to the point of exhaustion, I once more turned Satan toward camp.I lay forward on his neck and let him have his will. Far down theravine I awoke to strange sounds, and soon recognized the cracking ofiron-shod hoofs against stone; then voices. Turning an abrupt bend inthe sandy wash, I ran into Jones and Wallace.
"Fall in! Line up in the sad procession!" said Jones. "Tige and the pupare faithful. The rest of the dogs are somewhere between the GrandCanyon and the Utah desert."
I related my adventures, and tried to spare Moze and Sounder as much asconscience would permit.
"Hard luck!" commented Jones. "Just as the hounds jumped thecougar--Oh! they bounced him out of the rocks all right--don't youremember, just under that cliff wall where you and Wallace came up tome? Well, just as they jumped him, they ran right into fresh deertracks. I saw one of the deer. Now that's too much for any hounds,except those trained for lions. I shot at Moze twice, but couldn't turnhim. He has to be hurt, they've all got to be hurt to make themunderstand."
Wallace told of a wild ride somewhere in Jones's wake, and of sundryknocks and bruises he had sustained, of pieces of corduroy he had leftdecorating the cedars and of a most humiliating event, where a gauntand bare pinyon snag had penetrated under his belt and lifted him, madand kicking, off his horse.
"These Western nags will hang you on a line every chance they get,"declared Jones, "and don't you overlook that. Well, there's the cabin.We'd better stay here a few days or a week and break in the dogs andhorses, for this day's work was apple pie to what we'll get in theSiwash."
I groaned inwardly, and was remorselessly glad to see Wallace fall offhis horse and walk on one leg to the cabin. When I got my saddle offSatan, had given him a drink and hobbled him, I crept into the cabinand dropped like a log. I felt as if every bone in my body was brokenand my flesh was raw. I got gleeful gratification from Wallace'scomplaints, and Jones's remark that he had a stitch in his back. Soended the first chase after cougars.
