The dry stream bed got to be full of thickets of branchless saplings, about the poplar--tall, straight, size of a man's arm, and growing so close we had to press them aside to let our horses through.
Presently Sounder slowed up and appeared at fault.

We found him puzzling over an open, grassy patch, and after nosing it for a little while, he began skirting the edge.
"Cute dog!" declared Jones.

"That Sounder will make a lion chaser.

Our game has gone up here somewhere." Sure enough, Sounder directly gave tongue from the side of the ravine.
It was climb for us now.

Broken shale, rocks of all dimensions, pinyons down and pinyons up made ascending no easy problem.