A morning expedition the next day only brought out the fact that our
lion had left the country. News of his activities twelve miles further
up the mountains having been obtained, we gathered our bows, arrows,
and dogs and departed for this region. Here we found a bloody record of
his work. More than two hundred goats had been killed by the big cat in
the past year. In fact, the rancher thought that several panthers were
at work. Goats were taken from beneath the shepherd's nose, and as he
turned in one direction, another goat would be killed behind him. It
seemed impossible to apprehend the villain; their dogs were useless.
Equipped for rough camping, we soon planned our morning excursion and
bedded down for rest.
At 3 o'clock we waked, ate a meager breakfast, and hit the trail up the
mountain. We knew the general range of our cougar. It is necessary in
all his tracking to get in the field while the dew is on the ground and
before the sun dissipates it, also before the goats obliterate the
tracks.
Arrived at the crest of the ridge, we struck a well-defined goat trail,
and soon the fresh tracks of a lion were discovered.
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