“Now pull steadily until I tell you to stop.”

Slowly, digging his claws into the dirt, biting at the rope that held him fast, the cat was drawn toward the pinyon tree despite all his struggles.  Tad’s object was to pull the beast off its feet, in which position it would be unable to do very much damage.

Perhaps the cat realized something of this, for all of a sudden it sprang to the base of the tree and with a roar landed up among the lower limbs.

Ere the beast even felt the touch of the tree limb under its feet, the brave Chunky was several rods away peering from behind a rock, howling like a Comanche Indian.

Tad, too, had made some lively moves.  The instant he saw that the cat was going to jump he took a quick twist about the tree, shortening the rope until it was taut.  He made a quick knot, then leaped back out of the way.  But none too soon.  The cat pounced on the spot where he had been standing, narrowly missing the boy.  But the rope was free of the limb of the tree over which it had been first drawn.  The beast was free to gambol about as far as the rope would permit.

The boy’s mind was still working rapidly.

“Run to the guns, Chunky.  Shoot and keep shooting until you attract the attention of the rest of the party.  We’ve got to have help.  We never shall be able to handle him ourselves, and I want to save him.”

Stacy hesitated.

“Run, I tell you!” shouted Butler.  “Don’t stand there like a statue.  Go!”

Chunky jumped as if he had been hit, and ran limping toward the place where they had left their weapons and their mustangs.  He found both, though Chunky was too excited to notice the ponies at all.  Already they were restless, having scented the mountain lion.

Snatching up his own rifle, Stacy fired six shots in rapid succession.  Then grabbing the other gun, he let six more go, but continued snapping the firing pin on the empty chamber after all the cartridges had been exploded, before he realized that he was not shooting at all.  Stacy in trying to reload fumbled and made a mess of it, spilling a lot of shells on the ground, most of which he was unable to find again.

“We got him!  We got him!” the fat boy kept chuckling to himself.  “We certainly have done it this time.”

Finally he got one gun loaded, and had fired it off six times when he heard Tad Butler’s “Whoo-e-e-e-e.”

Chunky hurried back to his companion.

“They’ve answered,” called Tad.

In the meantime the latter had been having a lively time.  He knew that were he to give the least possible chance the beast would bite the rope off and escape even if he did no worse.  It was to prevent this that the boy exerted all his ingenuity and effort.  This consisted of whoops and howls, throwing rocks at the animal, dodging in now and then to whack the lion with a piece from a limb that had been broken down by the cat in its thrashing above.