again, this time with a splendid
command of the situation. The trail ended abruptly at the dark cave, so
menacingly staring at us, and the corner of the cliff had curled back
upon itself. It was a box-trap, with a drop at the end, too great for
any beast, a narrow slide of weathered stone running down, and the rim
wall trail. Old Tom would plainly be compelled to choose one of these
directions if he left his cave.

"Frank, you and I will keep to the wall and stop near that scrub
pinyon, this side of the hole. If I rope him, I can use that tree."

Then he turned to me:

"Are you to be depended on here?"

"I? What do you want me to do?" I demanded, and my whole breast seemed
to sink in.

"You cut across the head of this slope and take up your position in the
slide below the cave, say just by that big stone. From there you can
command the cave, our position and your own. Now, if it is necessary to
kill this lion to save me or Frank, or, of course, yourself, can you be
depended upon to kill him?"

I felt a queer sensation around my heart and a strange tightening of
the skin upon my face! What a position for me to be placed in! For one
instant I shook like a quivering aspen leaf. Then because of the pride
of a man, or perhaps inherited instincts cropping out at this perilous
moment, I looked up and answered quietly:

"Yes. I will kill him!"

"Old Tom is cornered, and he'll come out. He can run only two ways:
along this trail, or down that slide. I'll take my stand by the scrub
pinyon there so I can get a hitch if I rope him. Frank, when I give the
word, let the dogs go. Grey, you block the slide. If he makes at us,
even if I do get my rope on him, kill him! Most likely he'll jump down
hill--then you'll HAVE to kill him! Be quick. Now loose the hounds. Hi!
Hi! Hi! Hi!"

I jumped into the narrow slide of weathered stone and looked up.
Jones's stentorian yell rose high above the clamor of the hounds. He
whirled his lasso.

A huge yellow form shot over the trail and hit the top of the slide
with a crash. The lasso streaked out with arrowy swiftness, circled,
and snapped viciously close to Old Tom's head. "Kill him! Kill him!"
roared Jones. Then the lion leaped, seemingly into the air above me.
Instinctively I raised my little automatic rifle. I seemed to hear a
million bellowing reports. The tawny body, with its grim, snarling
face, blurred in my sight. I heard a roar of sliding stones at my feet.
I felt a rush of