“I see a big lion track,” called Jones once, and that stirred us on faster.  Fully an hour passed before Jones halted us, saying we had best try a signal.  I dismounted, while Emett rolled his great voice through the cedars.

A long silence ensued.  From the depths of the forest Jim’s answer struck faintly on my ear.  With a word to my companions I leaped on my mustang and led the way.  I rode as far as I could mark a straight line with my eye, then stopped to wait for another cry.  In this way, slowly but surely we closed in on Jim.

We found him on the verge of the Bay, in the small glade where I had left my horse the day I followed Don alone down the canyon.  Jim was engaged in binding up the leg of his horse.  The baying of the hounds floated up over the rim.

“What’s up?” queried Jones.

“Old Sultan.  That’s what,” replied Jim.  “We run plumb into him.  We’ve had him in five trees.  It ain’t been long since he was in that cedar there.  When he jumped the yellow pup was in the way an’ got killed.  My horse just managed to jump clear of the big lion, an’ as it was, nearly broke his leg.”

Emett examined the leg and pronounced it badly strained, and advised Jim to lead the horse back to camp.  Jones and I stood a moment over the remains of the yellow pup, and presently Emett joined us.

“He was the most playful one of the pack,” said Emett, and then he placed the limp, bloody body in a crack, and laid several slabs of stone over it.

“Hurry after the other hounds,” said Jim.  “That lion will kill them one by one.  An’ look out for him!”

If we needed an incentive, the danger threatening the hounds furnished one; but I calculated the death of the pup was enough.  Emett had a flare in his eye, Jones looked darker and more grim than ever, and I had sensations that boded ill to old Sultan.

“Fellows,” I said, “I’ve been down this place, and I know where the old brute has gone; so come on.”

I laid aside my coat, chaps and rifle, feeling that the business ahead was stern and difficult.  Then I faced the canyon.  Down slopes, among rocks, under pinons, around yellow walls, along slides, the two big men followed me with heavy steps.  We reached the white stream-bed, and sliding, slipping, jumping, always down and down, we came at last within sound of the hounds.  We found them baying wildly under a pinon on the brink of the deep cove.

Then, at once, we all saw old Sultan close at hand.  He was of immense size; his color was almost gray; his head huge, his paws heavy and round.  He did not spit, nor snarl, nor growl; he did not look at the hounds, but kept his half-shut eyes upon us.

We had no time to make a move before he left his perch and hit the ground with a thud.  He walked by the baying hounds, looked over the brink of the cove, and without an instant of hesitation, leaped down.  The rattling crash of sliding stones came up with a cloud of dust.  Then we saw him leisurely picking his way among the rough stones.