weet things, sugar best of all. It was a fatal error to let him get
his hands on a can of fruit. Although he inspired Jones with disgust
and Jim with worse, he was a source of unfailing pleasure to me. He
called me "Mista Gay" and he pronounced the words haltingly in low
voice and with unmistakable respect.

"What's on for today?" queried Emett.

"I guess we may as well hang around camp and rest the hounds," replied
Jones. "I did intend to go after the lion that killed the deer, but
this snow has taken away the scent."

"Shore it'll stop snowin' soon," said Jim.

The falling snow had thinned out and looked like flying powder; the
leaden clouds, rolling close to the tree-tops, grew brighter and
brighter; bits of azure sky shone through rifts.

Navvy had tramped off to find the horses, and not long after his
departure he sent out a prolonged yell that echoed through the forest.

"Something's up," said Emett instantly. "An Indian never yells like
that at a horse."

[Illustration: A LION TIED]

[Illustration: FIGHTING WEETAHS (BUFFALO BULLS) ON BUFFALO JONES'S
DESERT RANCH]

We waited quietly for a moment, expecting to hear the yell repeated.
It was not, though we soon heard the jangle of bells, which told us he
had the horses coming. He appeared off to the right, riding Foxie and
racing the others toward camp.

"Cougie--mucha big--dam!" he said leaping off the mustang to confront
us.

"Emett, does he mean he saw a cougar or a track?" questioned Jones.

"Me savvy," replied the Indian. "_Butteen, butteen_!"

"He says, trail--trail," put in Emett. "I guess I'd better go and
see."

"I'll go with you," said Jones. "Jim, keep the hounds tight and hurry
with the horses' oats."

We followed the tracks of the horses which lead southwest toward the
rim, and a quarter of a mile from camp we crossed a lion trail running
at right angles with our direction.

"Old Sultan!" I cried, breathlessly, recognizing that the tracks had
been made by a giant lion we had named Sultan. They were huge, round,
and deep, and with my spread hand I could not reach across one of
them.

Without a word, Jones strode off on the trail. It headed east and
after a short distance turned toward camp. I suppose Jones knew what
the lion had been about, but to Emett and me it was mystifying. Two
hundred yards from camp we came to a fallen pine, the body of which
was easily six feet high. On the side of this log, almost on top, were
two enormou