In spite of obliterating rain, there were plenty of fresh cattle tracks along and by the side of the trail. It did not necessarily follow that any of the tracks were made by our cattle, still, they might have been, and with this slight encouragement, I hurried along, getting gradually higher, and deeper into the mountains. As I went I reflected bitterly on the perversity of cow nature. A nature that leads these gentle seeming creatures to endure hunger, thirst, and weariness, to push for miles into a trackless wilderness, if by so doing they can put their owners to trouble and expense. It was not often that our cattle ranged so far away from home, and it was with a little unconfessed feeling of dismay that, pausing to take stock of my surroundings, I suddenly discovered that I was close upon the Hermit's cave, and no signs of the strays yet. At the same time I made another discovery as comforting as this was disquieting. Guard, whom I had forgotten to invite to accompany me, was skulking along in the underbrush beside the trail, uncertain whether to show himself or not. When I spoke to him he bounded to my side. "Guard," I said, looking down at him thoughtfully, "it's raining harder than ever, and the wind is blowing; now that you are with me, I think we will just stop in the cave until the storm abates a little." Guard's bushy tail was wet and heavy with rain, but he wagged it approvingly, and toward the cave we started. There was a green little valley over the ridge, and I resolved when the storm slackened, to climb up and have a look into it. If the cattle were not there I should be compelled to give over the hunt for that day. A sudden lull in the storm was followed by a blacker sweep of clouds and a resounding peal of thunder, the prelude to a pitiless burst of hail-stones. Pelted by the stinging missiles, and gasping for breath as I struggled against the rising wind, I made for the cave with Guard close at my heels, and dashed into the gloomy cavern without a thought of anything but shelter.