We saw him curve to the right, and took his yell as a signal for us to cut across.

Then we began to close in on him, and to hear more distinctly the baying of the hounds.
"Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!" bawled Jones, and his great trumpet voice rolled down the forest glades.
"Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!" I screeched, in wild recognition of the spirit of the moment.
Fast as they were flying, the bay and the black responded to our cries, and quickened, strained and lengthened under us till the trees sped by in blurs.
There, plainly in sight ahead ran the hounds, Don leading, Sounder next, and Moze not fifty yards, behind a desperately running lion.
There are all-satisfying moments of life.

That chase through the open forest, under the stately pines, with the wild, tawny quarry in plain sight, and the glad staccato yelps of the hounds filling my ears and swelling my heart, with the splendid action of my horse carrying me on the wings of the wind, was glorious answer and fullness to the call and hunger of a hunter's blood.
But as such moments must be, they were brief.

The lion leaped gracefully into the air, splintering the bark from a pine fifteen feet up, and crouched on a limb.

The hounds tore madly round the tree.
"Full-grown female," said Jones calmly, as we dismounted, "and she's ours.