But he went back.

It was a way he had.

Jones at last recognized either his own waste of time or Moze's greatness, for he desisted, allowing the hound to keep close after him.
The cougar, becoming uneasy, stood up, reached for another limb, climbed out upon it, and peering down, spat hissingly at Jones.

But he kept steadily on with Moze close on his heels.

I snapped my camera on them when Kitty was not more than fifteen feet above them.