“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.