But as I descended for a long time, and did not get anywhere or approach the dogs, I began to grow impatient.
A large pinyon, with a dead top, suggested a good outlook, so I climbed it, and saw I could sweep a large section of the slope.

It was a strange thing to look down hill, over the tips of green trees.

Below, perhaps four hundred yards, was a slide open for a long way; all the rest was green incline, with many dead branches sticking up like spars, and an occasional crag.

From this perch I heard the hounds; then followed a yell I thought was Jim's, and after it the bellowing of Wallace's rifle.

Then all was silent.