Although his dogs had picked up and followed a dozen false trails since morning, Rall Hollidge’s weary body tensed and he broke into a shuffling run as the bell-like baying of Ginger, the leader of the pack, announced the potential discovery of another lion. Business had been poor of late. Lion pelts brought only forty dollars apiece. At an average of one lion a week, this scarcely sufficed to feed Hollidge’s dogs. It was time, he knew, to look for new hunting grounds; but Hollidge disliked to leave the Yargod Hills. The reason for this reluctance was, of course, Jane Saunders. It was, as usual, Old Slowpoke who told Hollidge that a fresh trail actually had been struck. When on a hot trail,…
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