"There he is! Treed! Treed!" I yelled. "Moze has found him."

"Down boys, down into the canyon," shouted Jones, in sharp voice.
"Make a racket, we don't want him to jump."

How he and Jim and Emett rolled and cracked the stone! For a moment I
could not get off my horse; I was chained to my saddle by a strange
vacillation that could have been no other thing than fear.

"Are you afraid?" called Jones from below.

"Yes, but I am coming," I replied, and dismounted to plunge down the
hill. It may have been shame or anger that dominated me then; whatever
it was I made directly for the cedar, and did not halt until I was
under the snarling lion.

"Not too close!" warned Jones. "He might jump. It's a Tom, a
two-year-old, and full of fight."

It did not matter to me then whether he jumped or not. I knew I had to
be cured of my dread, and the sooner it was done the better.

Old Moze had already climbed a third of the distance up to the lion.

"Hyar Moze! Out of there, you rascal coon chaser!" Jones yelled as he
threw stones and sticks at the hound. Moze, however, replied with his
snarly bark and climbed on steadily.

"I've got to pull him out. Watch close boys and tell me if the lion
starts down."

When Jones climbed the first few branches of the tree, Tom let out an
ominous growl.

"Make ready to jump. Shore he's comin'," called Jim.

The lion, snarling viciously, started to descend. It was a ticklish
moment for all of us, particularly Jones. Warily he backed down.

"Boys, maybe he's bluffing," said Jones, "Try him out. Grab sticks and
run at the tree and yell, as if you were going to kill him."

Not improbably the demonstration we executed under the tree would
have frightened even an African lion. Tom hesitated, showed his white
fangs, returned to his first perch, and from there climbed as far as
he could. The forked branch on which he stood swayed alarmingly.

"Here, punch Moze out," said Jim handing up a long pole.

The old hound hung like a leech to the tree, making it difficult to
dislodge him. At length he fell heavily, and venting his thick battle
cry, attempted to climb again.

Jim seized him, made him fast to the rope with which Sounder had
already been tied.

"Say Emett, I've no chance here," called Jones. "You try to throw at
him from the rock."

Emett ran up the rock, coiled his lasso and cast the noose. It sailed
perfectly in between the branches and circled Tom's head. Before it
could be