“Not very scientific,” growled Emett, by way of apologizing for our crude work, “but we had to get him some way.”

“Emett, do you know I believe Jones put up a job on us?” I said.

“Well, maybe he did.  We had the job all right.  But we’ll make short work of him now.”

He certainly went at it in a way that alarmed me and would have electrified Jones.  While I held the chain Emett muzzled the lion with a stick and a strand of lasso.  His big blacksmith’s hands held, twisted and tied with remorseless strength.

“Now for the hardest part of it,” said he, “packing him up.”

We toiled and drudged upward, resting every few yards, wet with sweat, boiling with heat, parching for water.  We slipped and fell, got up to slip and fall again.  The dust choked us.  We senselessly risked our lives on the brinks of precipices.  We had no thought save to get the lion up.  One hour of unremitting labor saw our task finished, so far.  Then we wearily went down for the other.

“This one is the heaviest,” gloomily said Emett.

We had to climb partly sidewise with the pole in the hollow of our elbows.  The lion dragged head downward, catching in the brush and on the stones.  Our rests became more frequent.  Emett, who had the downward end of the pole, and therefore thrice the weight, whistled when he drew breath.  Half the time I saw red mist before my eyes.  How I hated the sliding stones!

“Wait,” panted Emett once.  “You’re—­younger—­than me—­wait!”

For that Mormon giant—­used all his days to strenuous toil, peril and privation—­to ask me to wait for him, was a compliment which I valued more than any I had ever received.

At last we dropped our burden in the shade of a cedar where the other lions lay, and we stretched ourselves.  A long, sweet rest came abruptly to end with Emett’s next words.

“The lions are choking!  They’re dying of thirst!  We must have water!”

One glance at the poor, gasping, frothing beasts, proved to me the nature of our extremity.

“Water in this desert!  Where will we find it?  Oh! why, did I forget my canteen!”

After all our hopes, our efforts, our tragedies, and finally our wonderful good fortune, to lose these beautiful lions for lack of a little water was sickening, maddening.

“Think quick!” cried Emett.  “I’m no good; I’m all in.  But you must find water.  It snowed yesterday.  There’s water somewhere.”

Into my mind flashed a picture of the many little pockets beaten by rains into the shelves and promontories of the canyon rim.  With the thought I was on the jump.  I ran; I climbed; I seemed to have wings; I reached the rim, and hurried along it with eager gaze.  I swung down on a cedar branch to a projecting point of rock.  Small depressions were everywhere still damp, but the water had evaporated.  But I would not give up.  I jumped from rock to rock, and climbed over scaly ledges, and set tons of yellow shale into motion.  And I found on a ragged promontory many little, round holes, some a foot deep, all full of clear water.  Using my handkerchief as a sponge I filled my cap.