“Are you afraid?” called Jones from below.

“Yes, but I am coming,” I replied, and dismounted to plunge down the hill.  It may have been shame or anger that dominated me then; whatever it was I made directly for the cedar, and did not halt until I was under the snarling lion.

“Not too close!” warned Jones.  “He might jump.  It’s a Tom, a two-year-old, and full of fight.”

It did not matter to me then whether he jumped or not.  I knew I had to be cured of my dread, and the sooner it was done the better.

Old Moze had already climbed a third of the distance up to the lion.

“Hyar Moze!  Out of there, you rascal coon chaser!” Jones yelled as he threw stones and sticks at the hound.  Moze, however, replied with his snarly bark and climbed on steadily.

“I’ve got to pull him out.  Watch close boys and tell me if the lion starts down.”

When Jones climbed the first few branches of the tree, Tom let out an ominous growl.

“Make ready to jump.  Shore he’s comin’,” called Jim.

The lion, snarling viciously, started to descend.  It was a ticklish moment for all of us, particularly Jones.  Warily he backed down.

“Boys, maybe he’s bluffing,” said Jones, “Try him out.  Grab sticks and run at the tree and yell, as if you were going to kill him.”

Not improbably the demonstration we executed under the tree would have frightened even an African lion.  Tom hesitated, showed his white fangs, returned to his first perch, and from there climbed as far as he could.  The forked branch on which he stood swayed alarmingly.

“Here, punch Moze out,” said Jim handing up a long pole.

The old hound hung like a leech to the tree, making it difficult to dislodge him.  At length he fell heavily, and venting his thick battle cry, attempted to climb again.

Jim seized him, made him fast to the rope with which Sounder had already been tied.

“Say Emett, I’ve no chance here,” called Jones.  “You try to throw at him from the rock.”

Emett ran up the rock, coiled his lasso and cast the noose.  It sailed perfectly in between the branches and circled Tom’s head.  Before it could be slipped tight he had thrown it off.  Then he hid behind the branches.

“I’m going farther up,” said Jones.

“Be quick,” yelled Jim.

Jones evidently had that in mind.  When he reached the middle fork of the cedar, he stood erect and extended the noose of his lasso on the point of his pole.  Tom, with a hiss and snap, struck at it savagely.  The second trial tempted the lion to saw the rope with his teeth.  In a flash Jones withdrew the pole, and lifted a loop of the slack rope over the lion’s ears.

“Pull!” he yelled.

Emett, at the other end of the lasso, threw his great strength into action, pulling the lion out with a crash, and giving the cedar such a tremendous shaking that Jones lost his footing and fell heavily.