Exclamations from the three of us attested to what we thought of that leap.

“Look the place over,” called Jones.  “I think we’ve got him.”

The cove was a hole hollowed out by running water.  At its head, where the perpendicular wall curved, the height was not less than forty feet.  The walls became higher as the cove deepened toward the canyon.  It had a length of perhaps a hundred yards, and a width of perhaps half as many.  The floor was mass on mass of splintered rock.

“Let the hounds down on a lasso,” said Jones.

Easier said than done!  Sounder, Ranger, Jude refused.  Old Moze grumbled and broke away.  But Don, stern and savage, allowed Jones to tie him in a slip noose.

“It’s a shame to send that grand hound to his death,” protested Emett.

“We’ll all go down,” declared Jones.

“We can’t.  One will have to stay up here to help the other two out,” replied Emett.

“You’re the strongest; you stay up,” said Jones.  “Better work along the wall and see if you can locate the lion.”

[Illustration:  On the way home]

[Illustration:  Riding with A Navajo]

We let Don down into the hole.  He kicked himself loose before reaching the bottom and then, yelping, he went out of sight among the boulders.  Moze, as if ashamed, came whining to us.  We slipped a noose around him and lowered him, kicking and barking, to the rocky floor.  Jones made the lasso fast to a cedar root, and I slid down, like a flash, burning my hands.  Jones swung himself over, wrapped his leg around the rope, and came down, to hit the ground with a thump.  Then, lassos in hands, we began clambering over the broken fragments.

For a few moments we were lost to sights and sounds away from our immediate vicinity.  The bottom of the cove afforded hard going.  Dead pinons and cedars blocked our way; the great, jagged stones offered no passage.  We crawled, climbed, and jumped from piece to piece.

A yell from Emett halted us.  We saw him above, on the extreme point of wall.  Waving his arms, he yelled unintelligible commands to us.  The fierce baying of Don and Moze added to our desperate energy.

The last jumble of splintered rock cleared, we faced a terrible and wonderful scene.

“Look!  Look!” I gasped to Jones.

A wide, bare strip of stone lay a few yards beneath us; and in the center of this last step sat the great lion on his haunches with his long tail lashing out over the precipice.  Back to the canyon, he confronted the furious hounds; his demeanor had changed to one of savage apprehension.

When Jones and I appeared, old Sultan abruptly turned his back to the hounds and looked down into the canyon.  He walked the whole length of the bare rock with his head stretched over.  He was looking for a niche or a step whereby he might again elude his foes.