hough I should die for it.

No laughing matter was it for them. They volleyed and thundered
back and forth meaningless words of which "hell" was the only one
distinguishable, and probably the word that best described their
situation.

All the while, however, they had been running from the lioness, which
brought them before they realized it right into camp. Our captive
lions cut up fearfully at the hubbub, and the horses stampeded in
terror.

"Whoa!" yelled Jones, whether to his companions or to the struggling
cougar, no one knew. But Navvy thought Jones addressed the cougar.

"Whoa!" repeated Navvy. "No savvy whoa! No savvy whoa!" which proved
conclusively that the Navajo had understanding as well as wit.

Soon we had another captive safely chained and growling away in tune
with the others. I went back to untie the hounds, to find them sulky
and out of sorts from being so unceremoniously treated. They noisily
trailed the lioness into camp, where, finding her chained, they formed
a ring around her.

Thereafter the day passed in round-the-camp-fire chat and task. For
once Jim looked at Navvy with toleration. We dressed the wound in
Jones' head and laughed at the condition of his trousers and at his
awkward attempts to piece them.

"Mucha dam cougie," remarked Navvy. "No savvy whoa!"

The lions growled all day. And Jones kept repeating: "To think how
Shep fooled me!"

X

Next morning Jones was out bright and early, yelling at Navvy to hurry
with the horses, calling to the hounds and lions, just as usual.

Navvy had finally come to his full share of praise from all of us.
Even Jim acknowledged that the Indian was invaluable to a hunting
party in a country where grass and water were hard to find and wild
horses haunted the trails.

"_Tohodena! Tohodena!_ (hurry! hurry!)" said Navvy, mimicking Jones
that morning.

As we sat down to breakfast he loped off into the forest and before we
got up the bells of the horses were jingling in the hollow.

"I believe it's going to be cloudy," said Jones, "and if so we can
hunt all day."

We rode down the ridge to the left of Middle Canyon, and had trouble
with the hounds all the way. First they ran foul of a coyote, which
was the one and only beast they could not resist. Spreading out to
head them off, we separated. I cut into a hollow and rode to its head,
where I went up. I heard the hounds and presently saw a big, white
coyote making fast time through the forest