"No, it doesn't. But one never can tell. In hunting game you know it
comes upon one suddenly. You have to be ever on the alert. We know
that the dogs have been on the trail of something."
"Perhaps deer," suggested Walter.
"Yes, it is possible, though I don't know whether those dogs will trail
deer or not. You know they may be trained to hunt lions. I didn't
hear Mr. Nance say."
They were munching biscuit and eating oranges as they rested, which
must have tasted good to them. The temperature was going down with
the day, though the light was strong in the canyon where they were
standing. Above them the jagged, broken cliffs rose tier on tier until
they seemed to disappear far up in the fleecy clouds that were drifting
lazily over the Canyon.
All at once Silver Face, Tad's pony, exhibited signs of restlessness,
which seemed to be quickly communicated to the other animal. The pintos
stamped, shook their heads and snorted.
"Whoa! What's wrong with you fellows?" demanded Tad, eyeing the ponies
keenly. "Smell something, eh?"
"Maybe they smell oats," suggested Walter.
"I guess not. They are a long way from oats at the present moment."
Tad paused abruptly. A pebble had rattled down the rocky wall and
bounded off some yards to the front of them.
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