“Come on! I dunno what ye smell up thar, but this mornin’ ye’re gonna chase what I want ya to chase!”
Half way up Bake Run the trees began to give way to scattered blackberry brush, and then to a dense laurel and rhododendron jungle. Lew climbed a little knoll, and knelt by an ant hill to study the ground.
“I found fresh lynx tracks on the ant hill t’other day,” he announced. “They ain’t none here now, but them cats ain’t far away. They allus stay in one place when they’s good huntin’ nigh. Guess I’ll set the dogs loose.”
He unsnapped the leashes from the collars of the three little dogs, and stood erect to wave his hand.
“Lynx in thar!” he shouted. “Go roust ‘em out, boys! An’ don’t ferget he’ll claw ya some if he’s able.”
The dogs dashed into the laurel and disappeared. Lew sat down
