I saw Jones, then Frank, both waving their arms, then Moze and Sounder running wildly, airlessly about.
"Look there!" rang in my ear, and Jones smashed me on the back with a blow, which at any ordinary time would have laid me flat.
In a low, stubby pinyon tree, scarce twenty feet from us, was a tawny form.

An enormous mountain lion, as large as an African lioness, stood planted with huge, round legs on two branches; and he faced us gloomily, neither frightened nor fierce.

He watched the running dogs with pale, yellow eyes, waved his massive head and switched a long, black tufted tail.
"It's Old Tom! sure as you're born! It's Old Tom!" yelled Jones.
"There's no two lions like that in one country.

Hold still now.

Jude is here, and she'll see him, she'll show him to the other hounds.