e while some one below ropes his hind paws.
That's the only way, and if we don't stick to it, somebody is going to
get done for. Come, now, we'll leave this fellow here and hunt up Don
and Jude. They've treed another lion by this time."

Remarkable to me was to see how, as soon as the lion lay helpless,
Sounder lost his interest. Moze growled, yet readily left the spot.
Before we reached the level, both hounds had disappeared.

[Illustration: DOWN THE SHINUMO TRAIL OF THE NORTH RIVER]

[Illustration: CAMP AT THE SADDLE]

"Hear that?" yelled Jones, digging spurs into his horse. "Hi! Hi! Hi!"

From the cedars rang the thrilling, blending chorus of bays that told
of a treed lion. The forest was almost impenetrable. We had to pick
our way. Emett forged ahead; we heard him smashing the deadwood; and
soon a yell proclaimed the truth of Jones' assertion.

First I saw the men looking upward; then Moze climbing the cedar, and
the other hounds with noses skyward; and last, in the dead top of the
tree, a dark blot against the blue, a big tawny lion.

"Whoop!" The yell leaped past my lips. Quiet Jim was yelling; and
Emett, silent man of the desert, let from his wide cavernous chest a
booming roar that drowned ours.

Jones' next decisive action turned us from exultation to the grim
business of the thing. He pulled Moze out of the cedar, and while he
climbed up, Emett ran his rope under the collars of all of the hounds.
Quick as the idea flashed over me I leaped into the cedar adjoining
the one Jones was in, and went up hand over hand. A few pulls brought
me to the top, and then my blood ran hot and quick, for I was level
with the lion, too close for comfort, but in excellent position for
taking pictures.

The lion, not heeding me, peered down at Jones, between widespread
paws. I could hear nothing except the hounds. Jones' gray hat came
pushing up between the dead snags; then his burly shoulders. The
quivering muscles of the lion gathered tense, and his lithe body
crouched low on the branches. He was about to jump. His open dripping
jaws, his wild eyes, roving in terror for some means of escape, his
tufted tail, swinging against the twigs and breaking them, manifested
his extremity. The eager hounds waited below, howling, leaping.

It bothered me considerably to keep my balance, regulate my camera
and watch the proceedings. Jones climbed on with his rope between his
teeth, and a long stick. The very next instant it seemed