smell by comparison with which Finn's scenting powers were as naught--a
mere gap in his equipment; and this despite the fact that the training
his wild life had given him in this respect placed him far ahead of the
average wolfhound. But by comparison with bloodhounds, the fleet dogs
who hunt by sight and speed--deerhounds, greyhounds, Irish wolfhounds
and the like--have very little sense of smell.

Now the Lady Desdemona, having no experience of wild life, did not know
in the least what had become of that rabbit. She formed no conclusions
whatever about it. But obeying one of her strongest instincts, she
picked up a trail leading in the direction opposite to that from which
Finn had overtaken the bunny, and, with one glance of encouragement over
her shoulder at Finn, began to follow this up at a loping trot. As she
ran, her delicate, golden-colored flews skimmed the ground; her
sensitive nostrils questioned almost every blade of grass, her brain
automatically registering every particle of information so obtained, and
guiding her feet accordingly. Her strong tail waved above and behind her
in the curve of an Arab scimitar. She ceased to be the Lady Desdemona
and became simply a bloodhound at work; an epitome of the whole complex
science of tracking. Finn trotted admiringly beside her, his muzzle
never passing her shoulder; and now and again when he happened to lower
his head from its accustomed three-foot level, his nostrils caught a
whiff or two of something reminiscent of long-past hunting excursions
when he was barely out of puppyhood.

The dog-folk are not greatly given to discussion. It was obvious that
Desdemona had some purpose earnestly in view. (As a fact, she herself
did not as yet know what that purpose was.) And that was enough for
Finn. The bloodhound's pace was slow, and Finn could have kept up this
sort of traveling for a dozen hours on end without really exerting