Thrilling as the moment was, I had to laugh, for Jones came up out of a cloud of dust, as angry as a wet hornet, and made prodigious leaps to get out of the reach of the whirling lion.

“Look out!” he bawled.

Tom, certainly none the worse for his tumble, made three leaps, two at Jones, one at Jim, which was checked by the short length of the rope in Emett’s hands.  Then for a moment, a thick cloud of dust enveloped the wrestling lion, during which the quick-witted Jones tied the free end of the lasso to a sapling.

“Dod gast the luck!” yelled Jones reaching for another lasso.  “I didn’t mean for you to pull him out of the tree.  Now he’ll get loose or kill himself.”

When the dust cleared away, we discovered our prize stretched out at full length and frothing at the mouth.  As Jones approached, the lion began a series of evolutions so rapid as to be almost indiscernible to the eye.  I saw a wheel of dust and yellow fur.  Then came a thud and the lion lay inert.

Jones pounced upon him and loosed the lasso around his neck.

“I think he’s done for, but maybe not.  He’s breathing yet.  Here, help me tie his paws together.  Look out!  He’s coming to!”

The lion stirred and raised his head.  Jones ran the loop of the second lasso around the two hind paws and stretched the lion out.  While in this helpless position and with no strength and hardly any breath left in him the lion was easy to handle.  With Emett’s help Jones quickly clipped the sharp claws, tied the four paws together, took off the neck lasso and substituted a collar and chain.

“There, that’s one.  He’ll come to all right,” said Jones.  “But we are lucky.  Emett, never pull another lion clear out of a tree.  Pull him over a limb and hang him there while some one below ropes his hind paws.  That’s the only way, and if we don’t stick to it, somebody is going to get done for.  Come, now, we’ll leave this fellow here and hunt up Don and Jude.  They’ve treed another lion by this time.”

Remarkable to me was to see how, as soon as the lion lay helpless, Sounder lost his interest.  Moze growled, yet readily left the spot.  Before we reached the level, both hounds had disappeared.

[Illustration:  Down the SHINUMO trail of the north river]

[Illustration:  Camp at the saddle]

“Hear that?” yelled Jones, digging spurs into his horse.  “Hi!  Hi!  Hi!”

From the cedars rang the thrilling, blending chorus of bays that told of a treed lion.  The forest was almost impenetrable.  We had to pick our way.  Emett forged ahead; we heard him smashing the deadwood; and soon a yell proclaimed the truth of Jones’ assertion.

First I saw the men looking upward; then Moze climbing the cedar, and the other hounds with noses skyward; and last, in the dead top of the tree, a dark blot against the blue, a big tawny lion.