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.”