The lion stayed in the cedar long enough for me to photograph him

twice, then he leaped down again and took to his back trail. We

followed as fast as we could, soon to find that the hounds had put him

up another cedar. From this he jumped down among the dogs, scattered

them as if they had been so many leaves, and bounded up the slope out

of sight.

I laid aside my rifle and camera and tried to keep up with Jim. The

lion ran straight up the slope and treed again under the wall. Before

we covered half the distance he was on the go once more, flying down

in clouds of dust.

"Don is makin' him hump," said Jim.

And that alone was enough to spur us on. We would reward the noble

hound if we had the staying power. Don and his pack ran westward this

time, and along a mile of the beaten trail put him up two more trees.

But these we could not see and judged only by the sound.

[Illustration: A DRINK OF COLD GRANITE WATER UNDER THE RIM]

[Illustration: WHICH IS THE PIUTE?]

"Look there!" cried Jim. "Darn me if he ain't comin' right at us."

It was true. Ahead of us the lion appeared, loping wearily. We stopped

in our tracks undecided. Jim drew his revolver. Once or twice the lion

disappeared behind stones and cedars. When he sighted us he stopped,

looked back, then again turning toward us, he left the trail to plunge

down. He had barely got out of sight when old Don came pattering along

the trail; then Ranger leading the others. Don did not even put his

nose to the ground where the lion had switched, but leaped aside and

went down. Here the long section of slope between the lion's runway

and the second wall had been weathered and worn, racked and convulsed

into deep ravines, with ridges between. We climbed and fell and toiled

on, always with the bay of the hounds in our ears. We leaped fissures,

we loosened avalanches, rolling them to crash and roar below, and send

long, rumbling echoes out into the canyon.

A gorge in the yellow rock opened suddenly before us. We stood at the

constricted neck of one of the great splits in the second wall. The

side opposite was almost perpendicular, and formed of mass on mass of

broken stones. This was a weathered slope on a gigantic scale. Points

of cliffs jutted out; caves and cracks lined the wall.

"This is a rough place," said Jim; "but a lion could get over the

second wall here, an' I believe a man could too. The hounds seemed to

be back further toward where the split narrows."

Through densely massed cedars and thickets of prickly thorns we wormed

our way to come out at the neck of the gorge.

"There ye are!" sang out Jim. The hounds were all on a flat shelf some

few feet below us, and on a sharp point of rock close by, but too far

for the dogs to reach, crouched the lion. He was gasping and frothing

at the mouth.

"Shore if he'd only stay there--" said Jim.

He loosened his lasso, and stationing himself just above the tired

beast he prepared to cast down the loop. The first throw failed of its

purpose, but the rope hit the lion. He got up painfully it seemed,

and faced the dogs. That way barred he turned to the cliff. Almost

opposite him a shelf leaned out. He looked at it, then paced to and

fro like a beast in a cage.

He looked again at the hounds, then up at us, all around, and finally

concentrated his attention on the shelf; his long length sagged in

the middle, he stretched low, his muscles gathered and strung, and he

sprang like a tawny streak.

His aim was true, the whole forepart of his body landed on the shelf

and he hung there. Then he slipped. We distinctly heard his claws

scrape the hard, smooth rock. He fell, turning a somersault, struck

twenty feet below on the rough slant, bounded from that to fall down,

striking suddenly and then to roll, a yellow wheel that lodged behind

a rock and stretched out to move no more.

The hounds were silent; Jim and I were silent; a few little stones

rattled, then were still. The dead silence of the canyon seemed to pay

tribute to the lion's unquenchable spirit and to the freedom he had

earned to the last.

VIII

How long Jim and I sat there we never knew. The second tragedy, not so

pitiful but as heart sickening as the first, crushed our spirits.

"Shore he was a game lion," said Jim. "An' I'll have to get his skin."

"I'm all in, Jim. I couldn't climb out of that hole." I said.

"You needn't. Rest a little, take a good drink an' leave your canteen

here for me; then get your things back there on the trail an' climb

out. We're not far from West Point. I'll go back after the first

lion's skin an' then climb straight up. You lead my horse to the point

where you came off the rim."

He clattered along the gorge knocking the stones and started down. I

watched him letting himself over the end of the huge slabs until he

passed out of my sight. A good, long drink revived me and I began the

ascent.

From that moment on time did not matter to me. I forgot all about it.

I felt only my leaden feet and my laboring chest and dripping skin.

I did not even notice the additional weight of my rifle and camera

though they must have overburdened me. I kept my eyes on the lion

runway and plunged away with short steps. To look at these towering

walls would have been to surrender.

At last, stumbling, bursting, sick, I gained the rim and had to rest

before I could mount. When I did get into the saddle I almost fell

from it.

Jones and Emett were waiting for me at the promontory where I had

tied my horse, and were soon acquainted with the particulars of my

adventure, and that Jim would probably not get out for hours. We made

tracks for camp, and never did a place rouse in me such a sense of

gratefulness. Emett got dinner and left on the fire a kettle of potato

stew for Jim. It was almost dark when that worthy came riding into

camp. We never said a word as he threw the two lion skins on the

ground.

"Fellows, you shore have missed the wind-up!" he exclaimed.

We all looked at him and he looked at us.

"Was there any more?" I asked weakly.

"Shore! An' it beats hell! When I got the skin of the lion the dogs

killed I started to work up to the place I knowed you'd leave my

horse. It's bad climbing where you came down. I got on the side of

that cliff an' saw where I could work out, if I could climb a smooth

place. So I tried. There was little cracks an' ridges for my feet and

hands. All to once, just above where I helped you down, I heard a

growl. Looking up I saw a big lion, bigger'n any we chased except

Sultan, an' he was pokin' his head out of a hole, an' shore telling

me to come no further. I couldn't let go with either hand to reach my

gun, because I'd have fallen, so I yelled at him with all my might. He

spit at me an' then walked out of the hole over the bench as proud as

a lord an' jumped down where I couldn't see him any more. I climbed

out all right but he'd gone. An' I'll tell you for a minute, he shore

made me sweat."

"By George!" I yelled, greatly excited. "I heard that lion breathing.

Don chased him up there. I heard hard, wheezing breaths somewhere

behind me, but in the excitement I didn't pay any attention to them. I

thought it was Jones panting, but now I know what it meant."

"Shore. He was there all the time, lookin' at you an' maybe he could

have reached you."

We were all too exhausted for more discussion and putting that off

until the next day we sought our beds. It was hardly any wonder that I

felt myself jumping even in my sleep, and started up wildly more than

once in the dead of night.

[Illustration: WILD HORSES DRINKING ON A PROMONTORY IN THE GRAND

CANYON]

Morning found us all rather subdued, yet more inclined to a

philosophical resignation as regarded the difficulties of our special

kind of hunting. Capturing the lions on the level of the plateau was

easy compared to following them down into canyons and bringing them up

alone. We all agreed that that was next to impossible. Another feature,

which before we had not considered, added to our perplexity and it was a

dawning consciousness that we would be perhaps less cruel if we killed

the lions outright. Jones and Emett arrayed themselves on the side that

life even in captivity was preferable; while Jim and I, no doubt still

under the poignant influence of the last lion's heroic race and end,

inclined to freedom or death. We compromised on the reasonable fact that

as yet we had shown only a jackass kind of intelligence.

[Illustration: JONES AND EMETT PACKING LION ON HORSE]

[Illustration: JONES CLIMBING UP TO LASSO LION]

About eleven o'clock while the others had deserted camp temporarily

for some reason or other, I was lounging upon an odorous bed of pine

needles. The sun shone warmly, the sky gleamed bright azure through

the openings of the great trees, a dry west breeze murmured through

the forest. I was lying on my bed musing idly and watching a yellow

woodpecker when suddenly I felt a severe bite on my shoulder. I

imagined an ant had bitten me through my shirt. In a moment or so

afterward I received, this time on my breast, another bite that left

no room for imagination. There was some kind of an animal inside my

shirt, and one that made a mosquito, black-fly, or flea seem tame.

Suddenly a thought swept on the heels of my indolent and rather

annoying realization. Could I have gotten from the Navajo what Jim and

Jones so characteristically called "'em"? I turned cold all over. And

on the very instant I received another bite that burned like fire.

The return of my companions prevented any open demonstration of my

fears and condition of mind, but I certainly swore inwardly. During

the dinner hour I felt all the time as if I had on a horsehair shirt

with the ends protruding toward my skin, and, in the exaggerated

sensitiveness of the moment, made sure "'em" were chasing up and down

my back.

After dinner I sneaked off into the woods. I remembered that Emett

had said there was only one way to get rid of "'em," and that was to

disrobe and make a microscopical search of garments and person. With

serious mind and murderous intent I undressed. In the middle of the

back of my jersey I discovered several long, uncanny, gray things.

"I guess I got 'em," I said gravely.

Then I sat on a pine log in a state of unadorned nature, oblivious

to all around, intent only on the massacre of the things that had

violated me. How much time flew I could not guess. Great loud

"Haw-haws!" roused me to consternation. There behind me stood Jones

and Emett shaking as if with the ague.

"It's not funny!" I shouted in a rage. I had the unreasonable

suspicion that they had followed me to see my humiliation. Jones, who

cracked a smile about as often as the equinoxes came, and Emett the

sober Mormon, laughed until they cried.

"I was--just wondering--what your folks would--think--if they--saw

you--now," gurgled Jones.

That brought to me the humor of the thing, and I joined in their

mirth.

"All I hope is that you fellows will get 'em' too," I said.

"The Good Lord preserve me from that particular breed of Navvy's,"

cried Emett.

Jones wriggled all over at the mere suggestion. Now so much from the

old plainsman, who had confessed to intimate relations with every

creeping, crawling thing in the West, attested powerfully to the

unforgettable singularity of what I got from Navvy.

I returned to camp determined to make the best of the situation,

which owing to my failure to catch all of the gray devils, remained

practically unchanged. Jim had been acquainted with my dilemma, as was

manifest in his wet eyes and broad grin with which he greeted me.

"I think I'd scalp the Navvy," he said.

"You make the Indian sleep outside after this, snow or no snow," was

Jones' suggestion.

"No I won't; I won't show a yellow streak like that. Besides, I want

to give 'em to you fellows."

A blank silence followed my statement, to which Jim replied:

"Shore that'll be easy; Jones'll have 'em, so'll Emett, an' by thunder

I'm scratchin' now."

"Navvy, look here," I said severely, "mucha no bueno! heap bad!

You--me!" here I scratched myself and made signs that a wooden Indian

would have understood.

"Me savvy," he replied, sullenly, then flared up. "Heap big lie."

He turned on his heel, erect, dignified, and walked away amid the

roars of my gleeful comrades.

IX

One by one my companions sought their blankets, leaving the shadows,

the dying embers, the slow-rising moan of the night wind to me. Old

Moze got up from among the other hounds and limped into my tent, where

I heard him groan as he lay down. Don, Sounder, and Ranger were

fast asleep in well-earned rest. Shep, one of the pups, whined and

impatiently tossed his short chain. Remembering that he had not been

loose all day, I unbuckled his collar and let him go.

He licked my hand, stretched and shook himself, lifted his shapely,

sleek head and sniffed the wind. He trotted around the circle cast by

the fire and looked out into the darkening shadows. It was plain that

Shep's instincts were developing fast; he was ambitious to hunt. But

sure in my belief that he was afraid of the black night and would stay

in camp, I went to bed.

The Navajo who slept with me snored serenely and Moze growled in his

dreams; the wind swept through the pines with an intermittent rush.

Some time in the after part of the night I heard a distant sound.

Remote, mournful, wild, it sent a chill creeping over me. Borne

faintly to my ears, it was a fit accompaniment to the moan of the wind

in the pines. It was not the cry of a trailing wolf, nor the lonesome

howl of a prowling coyote, nor the strange, low sound, like a cough,

of a hunting cougar, though it had a semblance of all three. It was

the bay of a hound, thinned out by distance, and it served to keep me

wide awake. But for a while, what with the roar and swell of the wind

and Navvy's snores, I could hear it only at long intervals.

Still, in the course of an hour, I followed the sound, or imagined so,

from a point straight in line with my feet to one at right angles

with my head. Finally deciding it came from Shep, and fancying he was

trailing a deer or coyote, I tried to go to sleep again.

In this I would have succeeded had not, all at once, our captive lions

begun to growl. That ominous, low murmuring awoke me with a vengeance,

for it was unusual for them to growl in the middle of the night.

I wondered if they, as well as the pup, had gotten the scent of a

prowling lion.

I reached down to my feet and groped in the dark for Moze. Finding

him, I gave him a shake. The old gladiator groaned, stirred, and came

out of what must have been dreams of hunting meat. He slapped his tail

against my bed. As luck would have it, just then the wind abated to a

soft moan, and clear and sharp came the bay of a hound. Moze heard it,

for he stopped wagging his tail, his body grew tense under my hand,

and he vented his low, deep grumble.

I lay there undecided. To wake my companions was hardly to be

considered, and to venture off into the forest alone, where old Sultan

might be scouting, was not exactly to my taste. And trying to think

what to do, and listening for the bay of the pup, and hearing mostly

the lions growling and the wind roaring, I fell asleep.

"Hey! are you ever going to get up?" some one yelled into my drowsy

brain. I roused and opened my eyes. The yellow, flickering shadows on

the wall of my tent told me that the sun had long risen. I found my

companions finishing breakfast. The first thing I did was to look over

the dogs. Shep, the black-and-white pup, was missing.

"Where's Shep?" I asked.

"Shore, I ain't seen him this mornin'," replied Jim.

Thereupon I told what I had heard during the night.

"Everybody listen," said Jones.

We quieted down and sat like statues. A gentle, cool breeze, barely

moving the pine tips, had succeeded the night wind. The sound of

horses munching their oats, and an occasional clink, rattle, and growl

from the lions did not drown the faint but unmistakable yelps of a

pup.

"South, toward the canyon," said Jim, as Jones got up.

"Now, it'd be funny if that little Shep, just to get even with me for

tying him up so often, has treed a lion all by himself," commented

Jones. "And I'll bet that's just what he's done."

He called the hounds about him and hurried westward through the

forest.

"Shore, it might be." Jim shook his head knowingly. "I reckon it's

only a rabbit, but anythin' might happen in this place."

I finished breakfast and went into my tent for something--I forget

what, for wild yells from Emett and Jim brought me flying out again.

"Listen to that!" cried Jim, pointing west.

The hounds had opened up; their full, wild chorus floated clearly on

the breeze, and above it Jones' stentorian yell signaled us.

"Shore, the old man can yell," continued Jim. "Grab your lassos an'

hump yourselves. I've got the collar an' chain."

"Come on, Navvy," shouted Emett. He grasped the Indian's wrist and

started to run, jerking Navvy into the air at every jump. I caught up

my camera and followed. We crossed two shallow hollows, and then saw

the hounds and Jones among the pines not far ahead.

In my excitement I outran my companions and dashed into an open glade.

First I saw Jones waving his long arms; next the dogs, noses upward,

and Don actually standing on his hind legs; then a dead pine with a

well-known tawny shape outlined against the blue sky.

"Hurrah for Shep!" I yelled, and right vigorously did my comrades join

in.

"It's another female," said Jones, when we calmed down, "and fair

sized. That's the best tree for our purpose that I ever saw a lion in.

So spread out, boys; surround her and keep noisy."

Navvy broke from Emett at this juncture and ran away. But evidently

overcome by curiosity, he stopped to hide behind a bush, from which I

saw his black head protruding.

When Jones swung himself on the first stubby branch of the pine, the

lioness, some fifteen feet above, leaped to another limb, and the one

she had left cracked, swayed and broke. It fell directly upon Jones,

the blunt end striking his head and knocking him out of the tree.

Fortunately, he landed on his feet; otherwise there would surely have

been bones broken. He appeared stunned, and reeled so that Emett

caught him. The blood poured from a wound in his head.

This sudden shock sobered us instantly. On examination we found a

long, jagged cut in Jones' scalp. We bathed it with water from my

canteen and with snow Jim procured from a nearby hollow, eventually

stopping the bleeding. I insisted on Jones coming to camp to have the

wound properly dressed, and he insisted on having it bound with a

bandana; after which he informed us that he was going to climb the

tree again.

We objected to this. Each of us declared his willingness to go up and

rope the lion; but Jones would not hear of it.

"I'm not doubting your courage," he said. "It's only that you cannot

tell what move the lion would make next, and that's the danger."

We could not gainsay this, and as not one of us wanted to kill the

animal or let her go, Jones had his way. So he went up the tree,

passed the first branch and then another. The lioness changed her

position, growled, spat, clawed the twigs, tried to keep the tree

trunk between her and Jones, and at length got out on a branch in a

most favorable position for roping.

The first cast of the lasso did the business, and Jim and Emett with

nimble fingers tied up the hounds.

"Coming," shouted Jones. He slid down, hand over hand, on the rope,

the lioness holding his weight with apparent ease.

"Make your noose ready," he yelled to Emett.

I had to drop my camera to help Jones and Jim pull the animal from

her perch. The branches broke in a shower; then the lioness, hissing,

snarling, whirling, plunged down. She nearly jerked the rope out of

our hands, but we lowered her to Emett, who noosed her hind paws in a

flash.

"Make fast your rope," shouted Jones. "There, that's good! Now let her

down--easy."

As soon as the lioness touched ground we let go the lasso, which

whipped up and over the branch. She became a round, yellow, rapidly

moving ball. Emett was the first to catch the loose lasso, and he

checked the rolling cougar. Jones leaped to assist him and the two of

them straightened out the struggling animal, while Jim swung another

noose at her. On the second throw he caught a front paw.

"Pull hard! Stretch her out!" yelled Jones. He grasped a stout piece

of wood and pushed it at the lioness. She caught it in her mouth,

making the splinters fly. Jones shoved her head back on the ground and

pressed his brawny knee on the bar of wood.

"The collar! The collar! Quick!" he called.

I threw chain and collar to him, which in a moment he had buckled

round her neck.

"There, we've got her!" he said. "It's only a short way over to camp,

so we'll drag her without muzzling."

As he rose the lioness lurched, and reaching him, fastened her

fangs in his leg. Jones roared. Emett and Jim yelled. And I, though

frightened, was so obsessed with the idea of getting a picture that I

began to fumble with the shutter of my camera.

"Grab the chain! Pull her off!" bawled Jones.

I ran in, took up the chain with both hands, and tugged with all my

might. Emett, too, had all his weight on the lasso round her neck.

Between the two of us we choked her hold loose, but she brought Jones'

leather leggin in her teeth. Then I dropped the chain and jumped.

"**-- **--!" exploded Jones to me. "Do you think more of a picture

than of saving my life?" Having expressed this not unreasonable

protest, he untied the lasso that Emett had made fast to a small

sapling.

Then the three men, forming points of a triangle around an animated

center, began a march through the forest that for variety of action

and splendid vociferation beat any show I ever beheld.

So rare was it that the Navajo came out of his retreat and,

straightway forgetting his reverence and fear, began to execute a

ghost-dance, or war-dance, or at any rate some kind of an Indian

dance, along the side lines.

There were moments when the lioness had Jim and Jones on the ground

and Emett wobbling; others when she ran on her bound legs and chased

the two in front and dragged the one behind; others when she came

within an ace of getting her teeth in somebody.

They had caught a Tartar. They dared not let her go, and though Jones

evidently ordered it, no one made fast his rope to a tree. There was

no opportunity. She was in the air three parts of the time and the

fourth she was invisible for dust. The lassos were each thirty feet

long, but even with that the men could just barely keep out of her

reach.

Then came the climax, as it always comes in a lion hunt, unerringly,

unexpectedly, and with lightning swiftness. The three men were nearing

the bottom of the second hollow, well spread out, lassos taut, facing

one another. Jones stumbled and the lioness leaped his way. The

weight of both brought Jim over, sliding and slipping, with his rope

slackening. The leap of the lioness carried her within reach of Jones;

and as he raised himself, back toward her, she reached a big paw for

him just as Emett threw all his bull strength and bulk on his lasso.

The seat of Jones' trousers came away with the lioness' claws. Then

she fell backward, overcome by Emett's desperate lunge. Jones sprang

up with the velocity of an Arab tumbler, and his scarlet face, working

spasmodically, and his moving lips, showed how utterly unable he was

to give expression to his rage. I had a stitch in my side that nearly

killed me, but laugh I had to though I should die for it.

No laughing matter was it for them. They volleyed and thundered

back and forth meaningless words of which "hell" was the only one

distinguishable, and probably the word that best described their

situation.

All the while, however, they had been running from the lioness, which

brought them before they realized it right into camp. Our captive

lions cut up fearfully at the hubbub, and the horses stampeded in

terror.

"Whoa!" yelled Jones, whether to his companions or to the struggling

cougar, no one knew. But Navvy thought Jones addressed the cougar.

"Whoa!" repeated Navvy. "No savvy whoa! No savvy whoa!" which proved

conclusively that the Navajo had understanding as well as wit.

Soon we had another captive safely chained and growling away in tune

with the others. I went back to untie the hounds, to find them sulky

and out of sorts from being so unceremoniously treated. They noisily

trailed the lioness into camp, where, finding her chained, they formed

a ring around her.

Thereafter the day passed in round-the-camp-fire chat and task. For

once Jim looked at Navvy with toleration. We dressed the wound in

Jones' head and laughed at the condition of his trousers and at his

awkward attempts to piece them.

"Mucha dam cougie," remarked Navvy. "No savvy whoa!"

The lions growled all day. And Jones kept repeating: "To think how

Shep fooled me!"

X

Next morning Jones was out bright and early, yelling at Navvy to hurry

with the horses, calling to the hounds and lions, just as usual.

Navvy had finally come to his full share of praise from all of us.

Even Jim acknowledged that the Indian was invaluable to a hunting

party in a country where grass and water were hard to find and wild

horses haunted the trails.

"_Tohodena! Tohodena!_ (hurry! hurry!)" said Navvy, mimicking Jones

that morning.

As we sat down to breakfast he loped off into the forest and before we

got up the bells of the horses were jingling in the hollow.

"I believe it's going to be cloudy," said Jones, "and if so we can

hunt all day."

We rode down the ridge to the left of Middle Canyon, and had trouble

with the hounds all the way. First they ran foul of a coyote, which

was the one and only beast they could not resist. Spreading out to

head them off, we separated. I cut into a hollow and rode to its head,

where I went up. I heard the hounds and presently saw a big, white

coyote making fast time through the forest glades. It looked as if he

would cross close in front of me, so I pulled Foxie to a standstill,

jumped off and knelt with my rifle ready. But the sharp-eyed coyote

saw my horse and shied off. I had not much hope to hit him so far

away, and the five bullets I sent after him, singing and zipping,

served only to make him run faster. I mounted Foxie and intercepted

the hounds coming up sharply on the trail, and turned them toward my

companions, now hallooing from the ridge below.

Then the pack lost a good hour on several lion tracks that were a day

old, and for such trails we had no time. We reached the cedars however

at seven o'clock, and as the sky was overcast with low dun-colored

clouds and the air cool, we were sure it was not too late.

One of the capes of the plateau between Middle and Left Canyon was a

narrow strip of rock, covered with a dense cedar growth and cut up

into smaller canyons, all running down inevitably toward the great

canyon. With but a single bark to warn us, Don got out of our sight

and hearing; and while we split to look and call for him the remainder

of the pack found the lion trail that he had gone on, and they left

us trying to find a way out as well as to find each other. I kept the

hounds in hearing for some time and meanwhile I signalled to Emett who

was on my right flank. Jones and Jim might as well have vanished off

the globe for all I could see or hear of them. A deep, narrow gully

into which I had to lead Foxie and carefully coax him out took so much

time that when I once more reached a level I could not hear the hounds

or get an answer to my signal cry.

"Waa-hoo!" I called again.

Away on the dry rarified air pealed the cry, piercing the cedar

forest, splitting sharp in the vaulted canyons, rolling loud and long,

to lose power, to die away in muffling echo. But the silence returned

no answer.

I rode on under the cedars, through a dark, gloomy forest, silent,

almost spectral, which brought irresistibly to my mind the words

"I found me in a gloomy wood astray." I was lost though I knew the

direction of the camp. This section of cedar forest was all but

impenetrable. Dead cedars were massed in gray tangles, live cedars,

branches touching the ground, grew close together. In this labyrinth

I lost my bearings. I turned and turned, crossed my own back trail,

which in desperation I followed, coming out of the cedars at the deep

and narrow canyon.

Here I fired my revolver. The echo boomed out like the report of heavy

artillery, but no answering shot rewarded me. There was no alternative

save to wander along the canyon and through the cedars until I found

my companions. This I began to do, disgusted with my awkwardness in

losing them. Turning Foxie westward I had scarcely gotten under way

when Don came trotting toward me.

"Hello, old boy!" I called. Don appeared as happy to see me as I was

to see him. He flopped down on the ground; his dripping tongue rolled

as he panted; covered with dust and flecked with light froth he surely

looked to be a tired hound.

"All in, eh Don!" I said dismounting. "Well, we'll rest awhile." Then

I discovered blood on his nose, which I found to have come from a deep

scratch. "A--ah! been pushing a lion too hard this morning? Got your

nose scratched, didn't you? You great, crazy hound, don't you know

some day you'll chase your last lion?"

Don wagged his tail as if to say he knew it all very well. I wet my

handkerchief from my canteen and started to wash the blood and dust

from his nose, when he whined and licked my fingers.

"Thirsty?" I asked, sitting down beside him. Denting the top of my hat

I poured in as much water as it would hold and gave him to drink. Four

times he emptied my improvised cup before he was satisfied. Then with

a sigh of relief he lay down again.

The three of us rested there for perhaps half an hour, Don and I

sitting quietly on the wall of the canyon, while Foxie browsed on

occasional tufts of grass. During that time the hound never raised his

sleek, dark head, which showed conclusively the nature of the silence.

And now that I had company--as good company as any hunter ever had--I

was once more contented.

Don got up, at length of his own volition and with a wag of his tail

set off westward along the rim. Remounting my mustang I kept as close

to Don's heels as the rough going permitted. The hound, however,

showed no disposition to hurry, and I let him have his way without a

word.

We came out in the notch of the great amphitheater or curve we had

named the Bay, and I saw again the downward slope, the bold steps, the

color and depth below.

I was just about to yell a signal cry when I saw Don, with hair rising

stiff, run forward. He took a dozen jumps, then yelping broke down the

steep, yellow and green gorge. He disappeared before I knew what had

happened.

Shortly I found a lion track, freshly made, leading down. I believed

I could follow wherever Don led, so I decided to go after him. I tied

Foxie securely, removed my coat, kicked off spurs and chaps, and

remembering past unnecessary toil, fastened a red bandana to the top

of a dead snag to show me where to come up on my way out. Then I

carefully strapped my canteen and camera on my back, made doubly

secure my revolver, put on my heavy gloves, and started down. And I

realized at once that only so lightly encumbered should I have ever

ventured down the slope.

Little benches of rock, grassy on top, with here and there cedar

trees, led steeply down for perhaps five hundred feet. A precipice

stopped me. From it I heard Don baying below, and almost instantly saw

the yellow gleam of a lion in a tree-top.

"Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi!" I yelled in wild encouragement.

I felt it would be wise to look before I leaped. The Bay lay under me,

a mile wide where it opened into the great slumbering smoky canyon.

All below was chaos of splintered stone and slope, green jumble of

cedar, ruined, detached, sliding, standing cliff walls, leaning yellow

crags--an awful hole. But I could get down, and that was all I cared

for. I ran along to the left, jumping cracks, bounding over the uneven

stones with sure, swift feet, and came to where the cliff ended in

weathered slope and scaly bench.

It was like a game, going down that canyon. My heavy nailed boots

struck fire from the rocks. My heavy gloves protected my hands as I

slid and hung on and let go. I outfooted the avalanches and wherever I

came to a scaly slope or bank or decayed rock, I leaped down in sheer

delight.

But all too soon my progress was barred; once under the cliff I found

only a gradual slope and many obstacles to go round or surmount. Luck

favored me, for I ran across a runway and keeping to it made better

time. I heard Don long before I tried to see him, and yelled at

intervals to let him know I was coming. A white bank of weathered

stones led down to a clump of cedars from where Don's bay came

spurring me to greater efforts. I flew down this bank, and through an

opening saw the hound standing with fore feet against a cedar. The

branches over him swayed, and I saw an indistinct, tawny form move

downward in the air. Then succeeded the crash and rattle of stones.

Don left the tree and disappeared.

I dashed down, dodged under the cedars, threaded a maze of rocks, to

find myself in a ravine with a bare, water-worn floor. In patches of

sand showed the fresh tracks of Don and the lion. Running down this

dry, clean bed was the easiest going I ever found in the canyon. Every

rod the course jumped in a fall from four to ten feet, often more, and

these I slid down. How I ever kept Don in hearing was a marvel, but

still I did.

The lion evidently had no further intention of taking to a tree. From

the size of his track I concluded he was old and I feared every moment

to hear the sounds of a fight. Jones had said that nearly always in

the case of one hound chasing an old lion, the lion would lie in wait

for him and kill him. And I was afraid for Don.

Down, down, down, we went, till the yellow rim above seemed a thin

band of gold. I saw that we were almost to the canyon proper, and

I wondered what would happen when we reached it. The dark shaded

watercourse suddenly shot out into bright light and ended in a deep

cove, with perpendicular walls fifty feet high. I could see where

a few rods farther on this cove opened into a huge, airy, colored

canyon.

I called the hound, wondering if he had gone to the right or left of

the cove. His bay answered me coming from the cedars far to the right.

I turned with all the speed left in me, for I felt the chase nearing

an end. Tracks of hound and lion once more showed in the dust. The

slope was steep and stones I sent rolling cracked down below. Soon I

had a cliff above me and had to go slow and cautiously. A misstep or

slide would have precipitated me into the cove.

Almost before I knew what I was about, I stood gasping on the gigantic

second wall of the canyon, with nothing but thin air under me, except,

far below, faint and indistinct purple clefts, red ridges, dotted

slopes, running down to merge in a dark, winding strip of water,

that was the Rio Colorado. A sullen murmur soared out of the abyss.

[Illustration: TWO LIONS IN ONE TREE]

[Illustration: JONES, EMETT, AND THE NAVAJO WITH THE LIONS]

The coloring of my mood changed. Never had the canyon struck me so

terribly with its illimitable space, its dread depth, its unscalable

cliffs, and particularly with the desolate, forbidding quality of its

silence.

I heard Don bark. Turning the corner of the cliff wall I saw him on a

narrow shelf. He was coming toward me and when he reached me he faced

again to the wall and barked fiercely. The hair on his neck bristled.

I knew he did not fancy that narrow strip of rock, nor did I. But a

sudden, grim, cold something had taken possession of me, and I stepped

forward.

"Come on, Don, old fellow, we've got him corralled."

That was the first instance I ever knew of Don's hesitation in the

chase of a lion. I had to coax him to me. But once started he took the

lead and I closely followed.

The shelf was twenty feet wide and upon it close to the wall, in the

dust, were the deep imprints of the lion. A jutting corner of cliff

wall hid my view. I peeped around it. The shelf narrowed on the other

side to a yard in width, and climbed gradually by broken steps. Don

passed the corner, looked back to see if I was coming and went on. He

did this four times, once even stopping to wait for me.

"I'm with you Don!" I grimly muttered. "We'll see this trail out to a

finish."

I had now no eyes for the wonders of the place, though I could not but

see as I bent a piercing gaze ahead the ponderous overhanging wall

above, and sense the bottomless depth below. I felt rather than saw

the canyon swallows, sweeping by in darting flight, with soft

rustle of wings, and I heard the shrill chirp of some strange cliff

inhabitant.

Don ceased barking. How strange that seemed to me! We were no longer

man and hound, but companions, brothers, each one relying on the

other. A protruding corner shut us from sight of what was beyond. Don

slipped around. I had to go sidewise and shuddered as my fingers bit

into the wall.

To my surprise I soon found myself on the floor of a shallow wind

cave. The lion trail led straight across it and on. Shelves of rock

stuck out above under which I hurriedly walked. I came upon a shrub

cedar growing in a niche and marveled to see it there. Don went slower

and slower.

We suddenly rounded a point, to see the lion lying in a box-like space

in the wall. The shelf ended there. I had once before been confronted

with a like situation, and had expected to find it here, so was not

frightened. The lion looked up from his task of licking a bloody paw,

and uttered a fierce growl. His tail began to lash to and fro; it

knocked the little stones off the shelf. I heard them click on the

wall. Again and again he spat, showing great, white fangs. He was a

Tom, heavy and large.

It had been my purpose, of course, to photograph this lion, and now

that we had cornered him I proposed to do it. What would follow had

only hazily formed in my mind, but the nucleus of it was that he

should go free. I got my camera, opened it, and focused from between

twenty and twenty-five feet.

Then a growl from Don and roar from the lion bade me come to my

senses. I did so and my first movement after seeing the lion had risen

threateningly was to whip out my revolver.

The lion's cruel yellow eyes darkened and darkened. In an instant I

saw my error. Jones had always said in case any one of us had to

face a lion, never for a single instant to shift his glance. I had

forgotten that, and in that short interval when I focused my camera

the lion had seen I meant him no harm, or feared him, and he had

risen. Even then in desperate lessening ambition for a great picture I

attempted to take one, still keeping my glance on him.

It was then that the appalling nature of my predicament made itself

plain to me. The lion leaped ten feet and stood snarling horribly

right in my face.

Brave, noble Don, with infinitely more sense and courage than I

possessed, faced the lion and bayed him in his teeth. I raised the

revolver and aimed twice, each time lowering it because I feared to

shoot in such a precarious position. To wound the lion would be the

worst thing I could do, and I knew that only a shot through the brain

would kill him in his tracks.

"Hold him, Don, hold him!" I yelled, and I took a backward step. The

lion put forward one big paw, his eyes now all purple blaze. I backed

again and he came forward. Don gave ground slowly. Once the lion

flashed a yellow paw at him. It was frightful to see the wide-spread

claws.

In the consternation of the moment I allowed the lion to back me

across the front of the wind cave, where I saw, the moment it was too

late, I should have taken advantage of more space to shoot him.

Fright succeeded consternation, and I began to tremble. The lion was

master of the situation. What would happen when I came to the narrow

point on the shelf where it would be impossible for me to back around?

I almost fainted. The thought of heroic Don saved me, and the weak

moment passed.

"By God, Don, you've got the nerve, and I must have it too!"

I stopped in my tracks. The lion, appearing huge now, took slow

catlike steps toward me, backing Don almost against my knees. He was

so close I smelt him. His wonderful eyes, clear blue fire circled by

yellow flame, fascinated me. Hugging the wall with my body I brought

the revolver up, short armed, and with clinched teeth, and nerve

strained to the breaking point, I aimed between the eyes and pulled

the trigger.

The left eye seemed to go out blankly, then followed the bellow of the

revolver and the smell of powder. The lion uttered a sound that was a

mingling of snarls, howls and roars and he rose straight up, towering

high over my head, beating the wall heavily with his paws.

In helpless terror I stood there forgetting weapon, fearing only the

beast would fall over on me.

But in death agony he bounded out from the wall to fall into space.

I sank down on the shelf, legs powerless, body in cold sweat. As I

waited, slowly my mind freed itself from a tight iron band and a

sickening relief filled my soul. Tensely I waited and listened. Don

whined once.

Would the lion never strike? What seemed a long period of time ended

in a low, distant roar of sliding rock, quickly dying into the solemn

stillness of the canyon.

XI

I lay there for some moments slowly recovering, eyes on the far

distant escarpments, now darkly red and repellent to me. When I got up

my legs were still shaky and I had the strange, weak sensation of a

long bed-ridden invalid. Three attempts were necessary before I could

trust myself on the narrow strip of shelf. But once around it with the

peril passed, I braced up and soon reached the turn in the wall.

After that the ascent out of the Bay was only a matter of work, which

I gave with a will. Don did not evince any desire for more hunting

that day. We reached the rim together, and after a short rest, I

mounted my horse, and we turned for camp.

The sun had long slanted toward the western horizon when I saw the

blue smoke of our camp-fire among the pines. The hounds rose up and

barked as Don trotted in to the blaze, and my companions just sitting

to a dinner, gave me a noisy greeting.

"Shore, we'd began to get worried," said Jim. "We all had it comin' to

us to-day, and don't you forget that."

Dinner lasted for a long hour. Besides being half famished we all

took time between bites to talk. I told my story first, expecting my

friends to be overwhelmed, but they were not.

"It's been the greatest day of lion hunting that I ever experienced,"

declared Jones. "We ran bang into a nest of lions and they split. We

all split and the hounds split. That tells the tale. We have nothing

to show for our day's toil. Six lions chased, rounded up, treed,

holed, and one lion killed, and we haven't even his skin to show. I

did not go down but I helped Ranger and two of the pups chase a lion

all over the lower end of the plateau. We treed him twice and I yelled

for you fellows till my voice was gone."

"Well," said Emett, "I fell in with Sounder and Jude. They were hot on

a trail which in a mile or two turned up this way. I came on them just

at the edge of the pines where they had treed their game. I sat under

that pine tree for five hours, fired all my shots to make you fellows

come, yelled myself hoarse and then tried to tie up the lion alone. He

jumped out and ran over the rim, where neither I nor the dogs could

follow."

"Shore, I win, three of a kind," drawled Jim, as he got his pipe and

carefully dusted the bowl. "When the stampede came, I got my hands on

Moze and held him. I held Moze because just as the other hounds broke

loose over to my right, I saw down into a little pocket where a

fresh-killed deer lay half eaten. So I went down. I found two other

carcasses layin' there, fresh killed last night, flesh all gone, hide

gone, bones crushed, skull split open. An' damn me fellows, if that

little pocket wasn't all torn to pieces. The sage was crushed flat.

The ground dug up, dead snags broken, and blood and hair everywhere.

Lion tracks like leaves, and old Sultan's was there. I let Moze loose

and he humped the trail of several lions south over the rim. Major got

down first an' came back with his tail between his legs. Moze went

down and I kept close to him. It wasn't far down, but steep and rocky,

full of holes. Moze took the trail to a dark cave. I saw the tracks of

three lions goin' in. Then I collared Moze an' waited for you fellows.

I waited there all day, an' nobody came to my call. Then I made for

camp."

"How do you account for the torn-up appearance of the place where you

found the carcasses?" I asked.

"Lion fight sure," replied Jones. "Maybe old Sultan ran across the

three lions feeding, and pitched into them. Such fights were common

among the lions in Yellowstone Park when I was there."

"What chance have we to find those three lions in a cave where Jim

chased them?"

"We stand a good chance," said Jones. "Especially if it storms

to-night."

"Shore the snow storm is comin'," returned Jim.

Darkness clapped down on us suddenly, and the wind roared in the pines

like a mighty river tearing its way down a rocky pass. As we could not

control the camp-fire, sparks of which blew fiercely, we extinguished

it and went to bed. I had just settled myself comfortably to be sung

to sleep by the concert in the pines, when Jones hailed me.

"Say, what do you think?" he yelled, when I had answered him. "Emett

is mad. He's scratching to beat the band. He's got 'em."

I signalled his information with a loud whoop of victory.

"You next, Jones! They're coming to you!"

I heard him grumble over my happy anticipation. Jim laughed and so

did the Navajo, which made me suspect that he could understand more

English than he wanted us to suppose.

Next morning a merry yell disturbed my slumbers. "Snowed in--snowed

in!"

"Mucha snow--discass--no cougie--dam no bueno!" exclaimed Navvy.

When I peeped out to see the forest in the throes of a blinding

blizzard, the great pines only pale, grotesque shadows, everything

white mantled in a foot of snow, I emphasized the Indian words in

straight English.

"Much snow--cold--no cougar--bad!"

"Stay in bed," yelled Jones.

"All right," I replied. "Say Jones, have you got 'em yet?"

He vouchsafed me no answer. I went to sleep then and dozed off and on

till noon, when the storm abated. We had dinner, or rather breakfast,

round a blazing bonfire.

"It's going to clear up," said Jim.

The forest around us was a somber and gloomy place. The cloud that had

enveloped the plateau lifted and began to move. It hit the tree tops,

sometimes rolling almost to the ground, then rising above the trees.

At first it moved slowly, rolling, forming, expanding, blooming like

a column of whirling gray smoke; then it gathered headway and rolled

onward through the forest. A gray, gloomy curtain, moving and

rippling, split by the trees, seemed to be passing over us. It rose

higher and higher, to split up in great globes, to roll apart, showing

glimpses of blue sky.

Shafts of golden sunshine shot down from these rifts, dispelling the

shadows and gloom, moving in paths of gold through the forest glade,

gleaming with brilliantly colored fire from the snow-wreathed pines.

The cloud rolled away and the sun shone hot. The trees began to drip.

A mist of diamonds filled the air, rainbows curved through every glade

and feathered patches of snow floated down.

A great bank of snow, sliding from the pine overhead almost buried

the Navajo, to our infinite delight. We all sought the shelter of the

tents, and sleep again claimed us.

I awoke about five o'clock. The sun was low, making crimson paths in

the white aisles of the forest. A cold wind promised a frosty morning.

"To-morrow will be the day for lions," exclaimed Jones.

While we hugged the fire, Navvy brought up the horses and gave them

their oats. The hounds sought their shelter and the lions lay hidden

in their beds of pine. The round red sun dropped out of sight beyond

the trees, a pink glow suffused all the ridges; blue shadows gathered

in the hollow, shaded purple and stole upward. A brief twilight

succeeded to a dark, coldly starlit night.

Once again, when I had crawled into the warm hole of my sleeping bag,

was I hailed from the other tent.

Emett called me twice, and as I answered, I heard Jones remonstrating

in a low voice.

"Shore, Jones has got 'em!" yelled Jim. "He can't keep it a secret no

longer."

"Hey, Jones," I cried, "do you remember laughing at me?"

"No, I don't," growled Jones.

"Listen to this: Haw-haw! haw! haw! ho-ho! ho-ho! bueno! bueno!" and I

wound up with a string of "hi! hi! hi! hi! hi!"

The hounds rose up in a body and began to yelp.

"Lie down, pups," I called to them. "Nothing doing for you. It's only

Jones has got 'em."

XII

When we trooped out of the pines next morning, the sun, rising

gloriously bright, had already taken off the keen edge of the frosty

air, presaging a warm day. The white ridges glistened; the bunches of

sage scintillated, and the cedars, tipped in snow, resembled trees

with brilliant blossoms.

We lost no time riding for the mouth of Left Canyon, into which Jim

had trailed the three lions. On the way the snow, as we had expected,

began to thin out, and it failed altogether under the cedars, though

there was enough on the branches to give us a drenching.

Jim reined in on the verge of a narrow gorge, and informed us the cave

was below. Jones looked the ground over and said Jim had better

take the hounds down while the rest of us remained above to await

developments.

Jim went down on foot, calling the hounds and holding them close. We

listened eagerly for him to yell or the pack to open up, but we were

disappointed. In less than half an hour Jim came climbing out, with

the information that the lions had left the cave, probably the evening

after he had chased them there.

"Well, then," said Jones, "let's split the pack, and hunt round the

rims of these canyons. We can signal to each other if necessary."

So we arranged for Jim to take Ranger and the pups across Left Canyon;

Emett to try Middle Canyon, with Don and Moze, and we were to perform

a like office in Right Canyon with Sounder and Jude. Emett rode back

with us, leaving us where we crossed Middle Canyon.

Jones and I rimmed a mile of our canyon and worked out almost to the

west end of the Bay, without finding so much as a single track, so we

started to retrace our way. The sun was now hot; the snow all gone;

the ground dry as if it had never been damp; and Jones grumbled that

no success would attend our efforts this morning.

We reached the ragged mouth of Right Canyon, where it opened into the

deep, wide Bay, and because we hoped to hear our companions across the

canyon, we rode close to the rim. Sounder and Jude both began to bark

on a cliff; however, as we could find no tracks in the dust we called

them off. Sounder obeyed reluctantly, but Jude wanted to get down over

the wall.

"They scent a lion," averred Jones. "Let's put them over the wall."

Once permitted to go, the hounds needed no assistance. They ran up

and down the rim till they found a crack. Hardly had they gone out

of sight when we heard them yelping. We rushed to the rim and looked

over. The first step was short, a crumbled section of wall, and from

it led down a long slope, dotted here and there with cedars. Both

hounds were baying furiously.

I spied Jude with her paws up on a cedar, and above her hung a lion,

so close that she could nearly reach him. Sounder was not yet in

sight.

"There! There!" I cried, directing Jones' glance. "Are we not lucky?"

"I see. By George! Come, we'll go down. Leave everything that you

don't absolutely need."

Spurs, chaps, gun, coat, hat, I left on the rim, taking only my camera

and lasso. I had forgotten to bring my canteen. We descended a ladder

of shaly cliff, the steps of which broke under our feet. The slope

below us was easy, and soon we stood on a level with the lion. The

cedar was small, and afforded no good place for him. Evidently he

jumped from the slope to the tree, and had hung where he first

alighted.

"Where's Sounder? Look for him. I hear him below. This lion won't stay

treed long."

I, too, heard Sounder. The cedar tree obstructed my view, and I moved

aside. A hundred feet farther down the hound bayed under a tall piñon.

High in the branches I saw a great mass of yellow, and at first glance

thought Sounder had treed old Sultan. How I yelled! Then a second

glance showed two lions close together.

"Two more! two more! look! look!" I yelled to Jones.

"Hi! Hi! Hi!" he joined his robust yell to mine, and for a moment we

made the canyon bellow. When we stopped for breath the echoes bayed at

us from the opposite walls.

"Waa-hoo!" Emett's signal, faint, far away, soaring but unmistakable,

floated down to us. Across the jutting capes separating the mouths of

these canyons, high above them on the rim wall of the opposite side of

the Bay, stood a giant white horse silhouetted against the white

sky. They made a brave picture, one most welcome to us. We yelled in

chorus: "Three lions treed! Three lions treed! come down--hurry!"

A crash of rolling stones made us wheel. Jude's lion had jumped. He

ran straight down, drawing Sounder from his guard. Jude went tearing

after them.

"I'll follow; you stay here. Keep them up there, if you can!" yelled

Jones. Then in long strides he passed down out of sight among the

trees and crags.

It had all happened so quickly that I could scarcely realize it. The

yelping of the hounds, the clattering of stones, grew fainter, telling

me Jude and Sounder, with Jones, were going to the bottom of the Bay.

Both lions snarling at me brought me to a keen appreciation of the

facts in the case. Two full-grown lions to be kept treed without

hounds, without a companion, without a gun.

"This is fine! This is funny!" I cried, and for a moment I wanted to

run. But the same grim, deadly feeling that had taken me with Don

around the narrow shelf now rose in me stronger and fiercer. I

pronounced one savage malediction upon myself for leaving my gun. I

could not go for it; I would have to make the best of my error, and in

the wildness born of the moment I swore if the lions would stay treed

for the hounds they would stay treed for me.

First I photographed them from different positions; then I took up my

stand about on a level with them in an open place on the slope where

they had me in plain sight. I might have been fifty feet from them.

They showed no inclination to come down.

About this moment I heard hounds below, coming down from the left. I

called and called, but they passed on down the canyon bottom in the

direction Jones had taken.

Presently a chorus of bays, emphasized by Jones' yell, told me his

lion had treed again.

"Waa-hoo!" rolled down from above.

I saw Emett farther to the left from the point where he had just

appeared.

"Where--can--I--get--down?"

I surveyed the walls of the Bay. Cliff on cliff, slide on slide,

jumble, crag, and ruin, baffled my gaze. But I finally picked out a

path.

"Farther to the left," I yelled, and waited. He passed on, Don at his

heels.

"There," I yelled again, "stop there; let Don go down with your lasso,

and come yourself."

I watched him swing the hound down a wall, and pull the slip noose

free. Don slid to the edge of a slope, trotted to the right and left

of crags, threaded the narrow places, and turned in the direction of

the baying hounds. He passed on the verge of precipices that made me

tremble for him; but sure-footed as a goat, he went on safely down, to

disappear far to my right.

Then I saw Emett sliding, leg wrapped around his lasso, down the first

step of the rim. His lasso, doubled so as to reach round a cedar

above, was too short to extend to the landing below. He dropped,

raising a cloud of dust, and starting the stones. Pulling one end of

his lasso up around the cedar he gathered it in a coil on his arm and

faced forward, following Don's trail.

What strides he took! In the clear light, with that wild red and

yellow background, with the stones and gravel roaring down, streaming

over the walls like waterfalls, he seemed a giant pursuing a foe. From

time to time he sent up a yell of encouragement that wound down the

canyon, to be answered by Jones and the baying hounds and then the

strange echoes. At last he passed out of sight behind the crests of

the trees; I heard him going down, down till the sounds came up faint

and hollow.

I was left absolutely alone with my two lions and never did a hunter

so delight in a situation. I sat there in the sun watching them. For a

long time they were quiet, listening. But as the bays and yells below

diminished in volume and occurrence and then ceased altogether, they

became restless. It was then that I, remembering the lion I had held

on top of the crag, began to bark like a hound. The lions became quiet

once more.

I bayed them for an hour. My voice grew from hoarse to hoarser, and

finally failed in my throat. The lions immediately grew restless

again. The lower one hissed, spat and growled at me, and made many

attempts to start down, each one of which I frustrated by throwing

stones under the tree. At length he made one more determined effort,

turned head downward, and stepped from branch to branch.

I dashed down the incline with a stone in one hand and a long club in

the other. Instinctively I knew I must hurt him--make him fear me.

If he got far enough down to jump, he would either escape or have me

helpless. I aimed deliberately at him, and hit him square in the ribs.

He exploded in a spit-roar that raised my hair. Directly under him I

wielded my club, pounded on the tree, thrashed at the branches and,

like the crazy fool that I was, yelled at him:

"Go back! Go back! Don't you dare come down! I'd break your old head

for you!"

Foolish or not, this means effectually stopped the descent. He climbed

to his first perch. It was then, realizing what I had done, that I

would certainly have made tracks from under the piñon, if I had not

heard the faint yelp of a hound.

I listened. It came again, faint but clearer. I looked up at my lions.

They too heard, for they were very still. I saw how strained they held

their heads. I backed a little way up the slope. Then the faint yelp

floated up again in the silence. Such dead, strange silence, that

seemed never to have been broken! I saw the lions quiver, and if I

ever heard anything in my life I heard their hearts thump. The yelp

wafted up again, closer this time. I recognized it; it belonged to

Don. The great hound on the back trail of the other lion was coming to

my rescue.

"It's Don! It's Don! It's Don!" I cried, shaking my club at the lions.

"It's all up with you now!" What feelings stirred me then! Pity for

those lions dominated me. Big, tawny, cruel fellows as they were, they

shivered with fright. Their sides trembled. But pity did not hold me

long; Don's yelp, now getting clear and sharp, brought back the rush

of savage, grim sensations.

A full-toned bay attracted my attention from the lions to the downward

slope. I saw a yellow form moving under the trees and climbing fast.

It was Don.

"Hi! Hi! old boy!" I yelled.

Then it seemed he moved up like a shot and stood all his long length,

forepaws against the piñon, his deep bay ringing defiance to the

lions.

It was a great relief, not to say a probable necessity, for me to sit

down just then.

"Now come down," I said to my lions; "you can't catch that hound, and

you can't get away from him."

Moments passed. I was just on the point of deciding to go down to

hurry up my comrades, when I heard the other hounds coming. Yelp on

yelp, bay on bay, made welcome music to my ears. Then a black and

yellow, swiftly flying string of hounds bore into sight down the

slope, streaked up and circled the piñon.

Jones, who at last showed his tall stooping form on the steep ascent,

seemed as long in coming as the hounds had been swift.

"Did you get the lion? Where's Emett?" I asked in breathless

eagerness.

"Lion tied--all fast," replied the panting Jones. "Left Emett--to

guard--him."

"What are we to do now?"

"Wait--till I get my breath. Think out--a plan. We can't get both

lions--out of one tree."

"All right," I replied, after a moment's thought. "I'll tie Sounder

and Moze. You go up the tree. That first lion will jump, sure; he's

almost ready now. Don and the other hounds will tree him again pretty

soon. If he runs up the canyon, well and good. Then, if you can get

the lasso on the other, I'll yell for Emett to come up to help you,

and I'll follow Don."

Jones began the ascent of the piñon. The branches were not too close,

affording him easy climbing. Before we looked for even a move on the

part of the lions, the lower one began stepping down. I yelled a

warning, but Jones did not have time to take advantage of it. He had

half turned, meaning to swing out and drop, when the lion planted both

forepaws upon his back. Jones went sprawling down with the lion almost

on him.

Don had his teeth in the lion before he touched the ground, and when

he did strike the rest of the hounds were on him. A cloud of dust

rolled down the slope. The lion broke loose and with great, springy

bounds ran up the canyon, Don and his followers hot-footing it after

him.

Moze and Sounder broke the dead sapling to which I had tied them, and

dragging it behind them, endeavored in frenzied action to join the

chase. I drew them back, loosening the rope, so in case the other lion

jumped I could free them quickly.

Jones calmly gathered himself up, rearranged his lasso, took his long

stick, and proceeded to mount the piñon again. I waited till I saw him

slip the noose over the lion's head, then I ran down the slope to

yell for Emett. He answered at once. I told him to hurry to Jones'

assistance. With that I headed up the canyon.

I hung close to the broad trail left by the lion and his pursuers. I

passed perilously near the brink of precipices, but fear of them was

not in me that day. I passed out of the Bay into the mouth of Left

Canyon, and began to climb. The baying of the hounds directed me. In

the box of yellow walls the chorus seemed to come from a hundred dogs.

When I found them, close to a low cliff, baying the lion in a thick,

dark piñon, Ranger leaped into my arms and next Don stood up against

me with his paws on my shoulders. These were strange actions, and

though I marked it at the moment, I had ceased to wonder at our

hounds. I took one picture as the lion sat in the dark shade, and then

climbed to the low cliff and sat down. I called Don to me and held

him. In case our quarry leaped upon the cliff I wanted a hound to put

quickly on his trail.

Another hour passed. It must have been a dark hour for the lion--he

looked as if it were--and one of impatience for the baying hounds, but

for me it was a full hour. Alone with the hounds and a lion, far from

the walks of men, walled in by the wild-colored cliffs, with the dry,

sweet smell of cedar and piñon, I asked no more.

Sounder and Moze, vociferously venting their arrival, were forerunners

to Jones. I saw his gray locks waving in the breeze, and yelled for

him to take his time. As he reached me the lion jumped and ran up the

canyon. This suited me, for I knew he would take to a tree soon and

the farther up he went the less distance we would have to pack him.

From the cliff I saw him run up a slope, pass a big cedar, cunningly

turn on his trail, and then climb into the tree and hide in its

thickest part. Don passed him, got off the trail, and ran at fault.

The others, so used to his leadership, were also baffled. But Jude,

crippled and slow, brought up the rear, and she did not go a yard

beyond where the lion turned. She opened up her deep call under the

cedar, and in a moment the howling pack were around her.

Jones and I toiled laboriously upward. He had brought my lasso, and

he handed it to me with the significant remark that I would soon have

need of it.

The cedar was bushy and overhung a yellow, bare slope that made Jones

shake his head. He climbed the tree, lassoed the spitting lion and

then leaped down to my side. By united and determined efforts we

pulled the lion off the limb and let him down. The hounds began to

leap at him. We both roared in a rage at them but to no use.

"Hold him there!" shouted Jones, leaving me with the lasso while he

sprang forward.

The weight of the animal dragged me forward and, had I not taken a

half hitch round a dead snag, would have lifted me off my feet or

pulled the lasso from my hands. As it was, the choking lion, now

within reach of the furious, leaping hounds, swung to and fro before

my face. He could not see me, but his frantic lunges narrowly missed

me.

If never before, Jones then showed his genius. Don had hold of the

lion's flank, and Jones, grabbing the hound by the hind legs, threw

him down the slope. Don fell and rolled a hundred feet before he

caught himself. Then Jones threw old Moze rolling, and Ranger, and all

except faithful Jude. Before they could get back he roped the lion

again and made fast to a tree. Then he yelled for me to let go. The

lion fell. Jones grabbed the lasso, at the same time calling for me to

stop the hounds. As they came bounding up the steep slope, I had to

club the noble fellows into submission.

Before the lion recovered wholly from his severe choking, we had his

paws bound fast. Then he could only heave his tawny sides, glare and

spit at us.

"Now what?" asked Jones. "Emett is watching the second lion, which we

fastened by chain and lasso to a swinging branch. I'm all in. My heart

won't stand any more climb."

"You go to camp for the pack horses," I said briefly. "Bring them all,

and all the packs, and Navvy, too. I'll help Emett tie up the second

lion, and then we'll pack them both up here to this one. You take the

hounds with you."

"Can you tie up that lion?" asked Jones. "Mind you, he's loose except

for a collar and chain. His claws haven't been clipped. Besides, it'll

be an awful job to pack those two lions up here."

"We can try," I said. "You hustle to camp. Your horse is right up back

of here, across the point, if I don't mistake my bearings."

Jones, admonishing me again, called the hounds and wearily climbed the

slope. I waited until he was out of hearing; then began to retrace my

trail down into the canyon. I made the descent in quick time, to find

Emett standing guard over the lion. The beast had been tied to an

overhanging branch that swung violently with every move he made.

"When I got here," said Emett, "he was hanging over the side of that

rock, almost choked to death. I drove him into this corner between the

rocks and the tree, where he has been comparatively quiet. Now, what's

up? Where is Jones? Did you get the third lion?"

I related what had occurred, and then said we were to tie this lion

and pack him with the other one up the canyon, to meet Jones and the

horses.

"All right," replied Emett, with a grim laugh. "We'd better get at

it. Now I'm some worried about the lion we left below. He ought to be

brought up, but we both can't go. This lion here will kill himself."

"What will the other one weigh?"

"All of one hundred and fifty pounds."

"You can't pack him alone."

"I'll try, and I reckon that's the best plan. Watch this fellow and

keep him in the corner."

Emett left me then, and I began a third long vigil beside a lion. The

rest was more than welcome. An hour and a half passed before I heard

the sliding of stones below, which told me that Emett was coming. He

appeared on the slope almost bent double, carrying the lion, head

downward, before him. He could climb only a few steps without lowering

his burden and resting.

I ran down to meet him. We secured a stout pole, and slipping this

between the lion's paws, below where they were tied, we managed to

carry him fairly well, and after several rests, got him up alongside

the other.

"Now to tie that rascal!" exclaimed Emett. "Jones said he was the

meanest one he'd tackled, and I believe it. We'll cut a piece off of

each lasso, and unravel them so as to get strings. I wish Jones hadn't

tied the lasso to that swinging branch."

"I'll go and untie it." Acting on this suggestion I climbed the tree

and started out on the branch. The lion growled fiercely.

"I'm afraid you'd better stop," warned Emett. "That branch is bending,

and the lion can reach you."

But despite this I slipped out a couple of yards farther, and had

almost gotten to the knotted lasso, when the branch swayed and bent

alarmingly. The lion sprang from his corner and crouched under me

snarling and spitting, with every indication of leaping.

"Jump! Jump! Jump!" shouted Emett hoarsely.

[Illustration: BILLY IN CAMP]

[Illustration: LION LICKING SNOWBALL]

I dared not, for I could not jump far enough to get out of the lion's

reach. I raised my legs and began to slide myself back up the branch.

The lion leaped, missing me, but scattering the dead twigs. Then the

beast, beside himself with fury, half leaped, half stood up, and

reached for me. I looked down into his blazing eyes, and open mouth

and saw his white fangs.

Everything grew blurred before my eyes. I desperately fought for

control over mind and muscle. I heard hoarse roars from Emett. Then

I felt a hot, burning pain in my wrist, which stung all my faculties

into keen life again.

I saw the lion's beaked claws fastened in my leather wrist-band. At

the same instant Emett dashed under the branch, and grasped the lion's

tail. One powerful lunge of his broad shoulders tore the lion loose

and flung him down the slope to the full extent of his lasso. Quick

as thought I jumped down, and just in time to prevent Emett from

attacking the lion with the heavy pole we had used.

"I'll kill him! I'll kill him!" roared Emett.

"No you won't," I replied, quietly, for my pain had served to soothe

my excitement as well as to make me more determined. "We'll tie up the

darned tiger, if he cuts us all to pieces. You know how Jones will

give us the laugh if we fail. Here, bind up my wrist."

Mention of Jones' probable ridicule and sight of my injury cooled

Emett.

"It's a nasty scratch," he said, binding my handkerchief round it.

"The leather saved your hand from being torn off. He's an ugly brute,

but you're right, we'll tie him. Now, let's each take a lasso and

worry him till we get hold of a paw. Then we can stretch him out."

Jones did a fiendish thing when he tied that lion to the swinging

branch. It was almost worse than having him entirely free. He had a

circle almost twenty feet in diameter in which he could run and leap

at will. It seemed he was in the air all the time. First at Emett,

than at me he sprang, mouth agape, eyes wild, claws spread. We whipped

him with our nooses, but not one would hold. He always tore it off

before we could draw it tight. I secured a precarious hold on one hind

paw and straightened my lasso.

"That's far enough," cried Emett. "Now hold him tight; don't lift him

off the ground."

I had backed up the slope. Emett faced the lion, noose ready, waiting

for a favorable chance to rope a front paw. The lion crouched low and

tense, only his long tail lashing back and forth across my lasso.

Emett threw the loop in front of the spread paws, now half sunk into

the dust.

"Ease up; ease up," said he. "I'll tease him to jump into the noose."

I let my rope sag. Emett poked a stick into the lion's face. All at

once I saw the slack in the lasso which was tied to the lion's chain.

Before I could yell to warn my comrade the beast leaped. My rope

burned as it tore through my hands. The lion sailed into the air, his

paws wide-spread like wings, and one of them struck Emett on the head

and rolled him on the slope. I jerked back on my rope only to find it

had slipped its hold.

"He slugged me one," remarked Emett, calmly rising and picking up his

hat. "Did he break the skin?"

"No, but he tore your hat band off," I replied. "Let's keep at him."

For a few moments or an hour--no one will ever know how long--we ran

round him, raising the dust, scattering the stones, breaking the

branches, dodging his onslaughts. He leaped at us to the full length

of his tether, sailing right into our faces, a fierce, uncowed,

tigerish beast. If it had not been for the collar and swivel he would

have choked himself a hundred times. Quick as a cat, supple, powerful,

tireless, he kept on the go, whirling, bounding, leaping, rolling,

till it seemed we would never catch him.

"If anything breaks, he'll get one of us," cried Emett. "I felt his

breath that time."

"Lord! How I wish we had some of those fellows here who say lions are

rank cowards!" I exclaimed.

In one of his sweeping side swings the lion struck the rock and hung

there on its flat surface with his tail hanging over.

"Attract his attention," shouted Emett, "but don't get too close.

Don't make him jump."

While I slowly manoeuvered in front of the lion, Emett slipped behind

the rock, lunged for the long tail and got a good hold of it. Then

with a whoop he ran around the rock, carrying the kicking, squalling

lion clear of the ground.

"Now's your chance," he yelled. "Rope a hind foot! I can hold him."

In a second I had a noose fast on both hind paws, and then passed my

rope to Emett. While he held the lion I again climbed the tree, untied

the knot that had caused so much trouble, and very shortly we had our

obstinate captive stretched out between two trees. After that we took

a much needed breathing spell.

"Not very scientific," growled Emett, by way of apologizing for our

crude work, "but we had to get him some way."

"Emett, do you know I believe Jones put up a job on us?" I said.

"Well, maybe he did. We had the job all right. But we'll make short

work of him now."

He certainly went at it in a way that alarmed me and would have

electrified Jones. While I held the chain Emett muzzled the lion

with a stick and a strand of lasso. His big blacksmith's hands held,

twisted and tied with remorseless strength.

"Now for the hardest part of it," said he, "packing him up."

We toiled and drudged upward, resting every few yards, wet with sweat,

boiling with heat, parching for water. We slipped and fell, got up to

slip and fall again. The dust choked us. We senselessly risked our

lives on the brinks of precipices. We had no thought save to get the

lion up. One hour of unremitting labor saw our task finished, so far.

Then we wearily went down for the other.

"This one is the heaviest," gloomily said Emett.

We had to climb partly sidewise with the pole in the hollow of our

elbows. The lion dragged head downward, catching in the brush and

on the stones. Our rests became more frequent. Emett, who had the

downward end of the pole, and therefore thrice the weight, whistled

when he drew breath. Half the time I saw red mist before my eyes. How

I hated the sliding stones!

"Wait," panted Emett once. "You're--younger--than me--wait!"

For that Mormon giant--used all his days to strenuous toil, peril and

privation--to ask me to wait for him, was a compliment which I valued

more than any I had ever received.

At last we dropped our burden in the shade of a cedar where the

other lions lay, and we stretched ourselves. A long, sweet rest came

abruptly to end with Emett's next words.

"The lions are choking! They're dying of thirst! We must have water!"

One glance at the poor, gasping, frothing beasts, proved to me the

nature of our extremity.

"Water in this desert! Where will we find it? Oh! why, did I forget my

canteen!"

After all our hopes, our efforts, our tragedies, and finally our

wonderful good fortune, to lose these beautiful lions for lack of a

little water was sickening, maddening.

"Think quick!" cried Emett. "I'm no good; I'm all in. But you must

find water. It snowed yesterday. There's water somewhere."

Into my mind flashed a picture of the many little pockets beaten by

rains into the shelves and promontories of the canyon rim. With the

thought I was on the jump. I ran; I climbed; I seemed to have wings; I

reached the rim, and hurried along it with eager gaze. I swung down on

a cedar branch to a projecting point of rock. Small depressions were

everywhere still damp, but the water had evaporated. But I would not

give up. I jumped from rock to rock, and climbed over scaly ledges,

and set tons of yellow shale into motion. And I found on a ragged

promontory many little, round holes, some a foot deep, all full of

clear water. Using my handkerchief as a sponge I filled my cap.

Then began my journey down. I carried the cap with both hands and

balanced myself like a tight-rope performer. I zigzagged the slopes;

slipped over stones; leaped fissures and traversed yellow slides.

I safely descended places that in an ordinary moment would have

presented insurmountable obstacles, and burst down upon Emett with an

Indian yell of triumph.

"Good!" ejaculated he. If I had not known it already, the way his face

changed would have told me of his love for animals. He grasped a lion

by the ears and held his head up. I saturated my handkerchief and

squeezed the water into his mouth. He wheezed, coughed, choked, but to

our joy he swallowed. He had to swallow. One after the other we served

them so, seeing with unmistakable relief the sure signs of recovery.

Their eyes cleared and brightened; the dry coughing that distressed us

so ceased; the froth came no more. The savage fellow that had fought

us to a standstill, and for which we had named him Spitfire, raised

his head, the gold in his beautiful eyes darkened to fire and he

growled his return to life and defiance.

Emett and I sank back in unutterable relief.

"Waa-hoo!" Jones' yell came, breaking the warm quiet of the slope.

Our comrade appeared riding down. The voice of the Indian, calling to

Marc, mingled with the ringing of iron-shod hoofs on the stones.

Jones surveyed the small level spot in the shade of the cedars. He

gazed from the lions to us, his stern face relaxed, and his dry laugh

cracked.

"Doggone me, if you didn't do it!"

XIII

A strange procession soon emerged from Left Canyon and stranger to us

than the lion heads bobbing out of the alfagoes was the sight of Navvy

riding in front of the lions. I kept well in the rear, for if anything

happened, which I calculated was more than likely, I wanted to see

it. Before we had reached the outskirts of pines, I observed that the

piece of lasso around Spitfire's nose had worked loose.

Just as I was about to make this known to Jones, the lion opened a

corner of his mouth and fastened his teeth in the Navajo's overalls.

He did not catch the flesh, for when Navvy turned around he wore only

an expression of curiosity. But when he saw Spitfire chewing him he

uttered a shrill scream and fell sidewise off his horse.

Then two difficulties presented themselves to us, to catch the

frightened horse and persuade the Indian he had not been bitten. We

failed in the latter. Navvy gave us and the lions a wide berth, and

walked to camp.

Jim was waiting for us, and said he had chased a lion south along the

rim till the hounds got away from him.

Spitfire, having already been chained, was the first lion we

endeavored to introduce to our family of captives. He raised such a

fearful row that we had to remove him some distance from the others.

"We have two dog chains," said Jones, "but not a collar or a swivel

in camp. We can't chain the lions without swivels. They'd choke

themselves in two minutes."

Once more, for the hundredth time, Emett came to our rescue with his

inventive and mechanical skill. He took the largest pair of hobbles we

had, and with an axe, a knife and Jones' wire nippers, fashioned two

collars with swivels that for strength and serviceableness improved

somewhat on those we had bought.

Darkness was enveloping the forest when we finished supper. I fell

into my bed and, despite the throbbing and burning of my wrist,

soon lapsed into slumber. And I crawled out next morning late for

breakfast, stiff, worn out, crippled, but happy. Six lions roaring a

concert for me was quite conducive to contentment.

Emett interestingly engaged himself on a new pair of trousers, which

he had contrived to produce from two of our empty meal-bags. The lower

half of his overalls had gone to decorate the cedar spikes and brush,

and these new bag-leg trousers, while somewhat remarkable for design,

answered the purpose well enough. Jones' coat was somewhere along the

canyon rim, his shoes were full of holes, his shirt in strips, and his

trousers in rags. Jim looked like a scarecrow. My clothes, being of

heavy waterproofed duck, had stood the hard usage in a manner to bring

forth the unanimous admiration of my companions.

"Well, fellows," said Jones, "there's six lions, and that's more than

we can pack out of here. Have you had enough hunting? I have."

"And I," rejoined Emett.

"Shore you can bet I have," drawled Jim.

"One more day, boys, and then I've done," said I. "Only one more day!"

Signs of relief on the faces of my good comrades showed how they took

this evidence of my satisfied ambition.

I spent all the afternoon with the lions, photographing them,

listening to them spit and growl, watching them fight their chains,

and roll up like balls of fire. From different parts of the forest I

tried to creep unsuspected upon them; but always when I peeped out

from behind a tree or log, every pair of ears would be erect, every

pair of eyes gleaming and suspicious.

Spitfire afforded more amusement than all the others. He had indeed

the temper of a king; he had been born for sovereignty, not slavery.

To intimidate me he tried every manner of expression and utterance,

and failing, he always ended with a spring in the air to the length of

his chain. This means was always effective. I simply could not stand

still when he leaped; and in turn I tried every artifice I could think

of to make him back away from me, to take refuge behind his tree. I

ran at him with a club as if I were going to kill him. He waited,

crouching. Finally, in dire extremity, I bethought me of a red flannel

hood that Emett had given me, saying I might use it on cold nights.

This was indeed a weird, flaming headgear, falling like a cloak down

over the shoulders. I put it on, and, camera in hand, started to crawl

on all fours toward Spitfire.

[Illustration: SOME OF OUR MENAGERIE IN BUCKSKIN FOREST]

[Illustration: WHITE MUSTANG STALLION WITH HIS BUNCH OF BLACKS IN

SNAKE GULCH]

I needed no one to tell me that this proceeding was entirely beyond

his comprehension. In his astonishment he forgot to spit and growl,

and he backed behind the little pine, from which he regarded me with

growing perplexity. Then, having revenged myself on him, and getting a

picture, I left him in peace.

XIV

I awoke before dawn, and lay watching the dark shadows change into

gray, and gray into light. The Navajo chanted solemnly and low his

morning song. I got up with the keen eagerness of the hunter who faces

the last day of his hunt.

I warmed my frozen fingers at the fire. A hot breakfast smoked on the

red coals. We ate while Navvy fed and saddled the horses.

"Shore, they'll be somethin' doin' to-day," said Jim, fatalistically.

"We haven't crippled a horse yet," put in Emett hopefully. Don led the

pack and us down the ridge, out of the pines into the sage. The sun, a

red ball, glared out of the eastern mist, shedding a dull glow on

the ramparts of the far canyon walls. A herd of white-tailed deer

scattered before the hounds. Blue grouse whirred from under our

horses' feet.

"Spread out," ordered Jones, and though he meant the hounds, we all

followed his suggestion, as the wisest course.

Ranger began to work up the sage ridge to the right. Jones, Emett

and I followed, while Jim rode away to the left. Gradually the space

widened, and as we neared the cedars, a sharply defined, deep canyon

separated us.

We heard Don open up, then Sounder. Ranger left the trail he was

trying to work out in the thick sage, and bounded in the direction of

the rest of the pack. We reined in to listen.

First Don, then Sounder, then Jude, then one of the pups bayed

eagerly, telling us they were hunting hard. Suddenly the bays blended

in one savage sound.

"Hi! Hi! Hi!" cracked the cool, thin air. We saw Jim wave his hand

from the far side of the canyon, spur his horse into action, and

disappear into the cedars.

"Stick close together," yelled Jones, as we launched forward. We made

the mistake of not going back to cross the canyon, for the hounds soon

went up the opposite side. As we rode on and on, the sounds of the

chase lessened, and finally ceased. To our great chagrin we found it

necessary to retrace our steps, and when we did get over the deep

gully, so much time had elapsed that we despaired of coming up with

Jim. Emett led, keeping close on Jim's trail, which showed plain in

the dust, and we followed.

Up and down ravines, over ridges, through sage flats and cedar

forests, to and fro, around and around, we trailed Jim and the hounds.

From time to time one of us let out a long yell.

"I see a big lion track," called Jones once, and that stirred us on

faster. Fully an hour passed before Jones halted us, saying we had

best try a signal. I dismounted, while Emett rolled his great voice

through the cedars.

A long silence ensued. From the depths of the forest Jim's answer

struck faintly on my ear. With a word to my companions I leaped on my

mustang and led the way. I rode as far as I could mark a straight line

with my eye, then stopped to wait for another cry. In this way, slowly

but surely we closed in on Jim.

We found him on the verge of the Bay, in the small glade where I had

left my horse the day I followed Don alone down the canyon. Jim was

engaged in binding up the leg of his horse. The baying of the hounds

floated up over the rim.

"What's up?" queried Jones.

"Old Sultan. That's what," replied Jim. "We run plumb into him. We've

had him in five trees. It ain't been long since he was in that cedar

there. When he jumped the yellow pup was in the way an' got killed.

My horse just managed to jump clear of the big lion, an' as it was,

nearly broke his leg."

Emett examined the leg and pronounced it badly strained, and advised

Jim to lead the horse back to camp. Jones and I stood a moment over

the remains of the yellow pup, and presently Emett joined us.

"He was the most playful one of the pack," said Emett, and then he

placed the limp, bloody body in a crack, and laid several slabs of

stone over it.

"Hurry after the other hounds," said Jim. "That lion will kill them

one by one. An' look out for him!"

If we needed an incentive, the danger threatening the hounds furnished

one; but I calculated the death of the pup was enough. Emett had a

flare in his eye, Jones looked darker and more grim than ever, and I

had sensations that boded ill to old Sultan.

"Fellows," I said, "I've been down this place, and I know where the

old brute has gone; so come on."

I laid aside my coat, chaps and rifle, feeling that the business ahead

was stern and difficult. Then I faced the canyon. Down slopes, among

rocks, under piñons, around yellow walls, along slides, the two big

men followed me with heavy steps. We reached the white stream-bed,

and sliding, slipping, jumping, always down and down, we came at last

within sound of the hounds. We found them baying wildly under a piñon

on the brink of the deep cove.

Then, at once, we all saw old Sultan close at hand. He was of immense

size; his color was almost gray; his head huge, his paws heavy and

round. He did not spit, nor snarl, nor growl; he did not look at the

hounds, but kept his half-shut eyes upon us.

We had no time to make a move before he left his perch and hit the

ground with a thud. He walked by the baying hounds, looked over the

brink of the cove, and without an instant of hesitation, leaped down.

The rattling crash of sliding stones came up with a cloud of dust.

Then we saw him leisurely picking his way among the rough stones.

Exclamations from the three of us attested to what we thought of that

leap.

"Look the place over," called Jones. "I think we've got him."

The cove was a hole hollowed out by running water. At its head, where

the perpendicular wall curved, the height was not less than forty

feet. The walls became higher as the cove deepened toward the canyon.

It had a length of perhaps a hundred yards, and a width of perhaps

half as many. The floor was mass on mass of splintered rock.

"Let the hounds down on a lasso," said Jones.

Easier said than done! Sounder, Ranger, Jude refused. Old Moze

grumbled and broke away. But Don, stern and savage, allowed Jones to

tie him in a slip noose.

"It's a shame to send that grand hound to his death," protested Emett.

"We'll all go down," declared Jones.

"We can't. One will have to stay up here to help the other two out,"

replied Emett.

"You're the strongest; you stay up," said Jones. "Better work along

the wall and see if you can locate the lion."

[Illustration: ON THE WAY HOME]

[Illustration: RIDING WITH A NAVAJO]

We let Don down into the hole. He kicked himself loose before reaching

the bottom and then, yelping, he went out of sight among the boulders.

Moze, as if ashamed, came whining to us. We slipped a noose around him

and lowered him, kicking and barking, to the rocky floor. Jones made

the lasso fast to a cedar root, and I slid down, like a flash, burning

my hands. Jones swung himself over, wrapped his leg around the rope,

and came down, to hit the ground with a thump. Then, lassos in hands,

we began clambering over the broken fragments.

For a few moments we were lost to sights and sounds away from our

immediate vicinity. The bottom of the cove afforded hard going. Dead

piñons and cedars blocked our way; the great, jagged stones offered no

passage. We crawled, climbed, and jumped from piece to piece.

A yell from Emett halted us. We saw him above, on the extreme point of

wall. Waving his arms, he yelled unintelligible commands to us. The

fierce baying of Don and Moze added to our desperate energy.

The last jumble of splintered rock cleared, we faced a terrible and

wonderful scene.

"Look! Look!" I gasped to Jones.

A wide, bare strip of stone lay a few yards beneath us; and in the

center of this last step sat the great lion on his haunches with his

long tail lashing out over the precipice. Back to the canyon, he

confronted the furious hounds; his demeanor had changed to one of

savage apprehension.

When Jones and I appeared, old Sultan abruptly turned his back to the

hounds and looked down into the canyon. He walked the whole length of

the bare rock with his head stretched over. He was looking for a niche

or a step whereby he might again elude his foes.

Faster lashed his tail; farther and farther stretched his neck. He

stopped, and with head bent so far over the abyss that it seemed he

must fall, he looked and looked.

How grandly he fitted the savage sublimity of that place! The

tremendous purple canyon depths lay beneath him. He stood on the last

step of his mighty throne. The great downward slopes had failed him.

Majestically and slowly he turned from the deep that offered no hope.

As he turned, Jones cast the noose of his lasso perfectly round the

burly neck. Sultan roared and worked his jaws, but he did not leap.

Jones must have expected such a move, for he fastened his rope to a

spur of rock. Standing there, revolver gripped, hearing the baying

hounds, the roaring lion, and Jones' yells mingled with Emett's, I had

no idea what to do. I was in a trance of sensations.

Old Sultan ran rather than leaped at us. Jones evaded the rush by

falling behind a stone, but still did not get out of danger. Don flew

at the lion's neck and Moze buried his teeth in a flank. Then the

three rolled on the rock dangerously near the verge.

Bellowing, Jones grasped the lasso and pulled. Still holding my

revolver, I leaped to his assistance, and together we pulled and

jerked. Don got away from the lion with remarkable quickness. But

Moze, slow and dogged, could not elude the outstretched paws, which

fastened in his side and leg. We pulled so hard we slowly raised the

lion. Moze, never whimpering, clawed and scratched at the rock in his

efforts to escape. The lion's red tongue protruded from his dripping

jaws. We heard the rend of hide as our efforts, combined with those of

Moze, loosed him from the great yellow claws.

The lion, whirling and wrestling, rolled over the precipice. When the

rope straightened with a twang, had it not been fastened to the rock,

Jones and I would have jerked over the wall. The shock threw us to our

knees.

For a moment we did not realize the situation. Emett's yells awakened

us.

"Pull! Pull! Pull!" roared he.

Then, knowing that old Sultan would hang himself in a few moments, we

attempted to lift him. Jones pulled till his back cracked; I pulled

till I saw red before my eyes. Again and again we tried. We could lift

him only a few feet. Soon exhausted, we had to desist altogether. How

Emett roared and raged from his vantage-point above! He could see the

lion in death throes.

Suddenly he quieted down with the words: "All over; all over!" Then he

sat still, looking into space. Jones sat mopping his brow. And I, all

my hot resentment vanished, lay on the rock, with eyes on the distant

mesas.

Presently Jones leaned over the verge with my lasso.

"There," he said, "I've roped one of his hind legs. Now we'll pull him

up a little, then we'll fasten this rope, and pull on the other."

So, foot by foot, we worked the heavy lion up over the wall. He

must have been dead, though his sides heaved. Don sniffed at him in

disdain. Moze, dusty and bloody, with a large strip of hide hanging

from his flank, came up growling low and deep, and gave the lion a

last vengeful bite.

"We've been fools," observed Jones, meditatively. "The excitement of

the game made us lose our wits. I'll never rope another lion."

I said nothing. While Moze licked his bloody leg and Don lay with his

fine head on my knees, Jones began to skin old Sultan. Once more the

strange, infinite silence enfolded the canyon. The far-off golden

walls glistened in the sun; farther down, the purple clefts smoked.

The many-hued peaks and mesas, aloof from each other, rose out of the

depths. It was a grand and gloomy scene of ruin where every glistening

descent of rock was but a page of earth's history.

It brought to my mind a faint appreciation of what time really meant;

it spoke of an age of former men; it showed me the lonesome crags

of eagles, and the cliff lairs of lions; and it taught mutely,

eloquently, a lesson of life--that men are still savage, still driven

by a spirit to roam, to hunt, and to slay.