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.