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Updated: May 26, 2025
"Look out!" he bawled. Tom, certainly none the worse for his tumble, made three leaps, two at Jones, one at Jim, which was checked by the short length of the rope in Emett's hands. Then for a moment, a thick cloud of dust enveloped the wrestling lion, during which the quick-witted Jones tied the free end of the lasso to a sapling. "Dod gast the luck!" yelled Jones reaching for another lasso.
While in this helpless position and with no strength and hardly any breath left in him the lion was easy to handle. With Emett's help Jones quickly clipped the sharp claws, tied the four paws together, took off the neck lasso and substituted a collar and chain. "There, that's one. He'll come to all right," said Jones. "But we are lucky. Emett, never pull another lion clear out of a tree.
A stroke of his axe, a twist of his great hands, a turn of this or that made camp a more comfortable place. And if something, no matter what, got out of order or broken, there was Emett to show what it was to be a man of the desert. It had been my good fortune to see many able men on the trail and round the camp-fire, but not one of them even approached Emett's class.
A long, sweet rest came abruptly to end with Emett's next words. "The lions are choking! They're dying of thirst! We must have water!" One glance at the poor, gasping, frothing beasts, proved to me the nature of our extremity. "Water in this desert! Where will we find it? Oh! why, did I forget my canteen!"
Jones must have expected such a move, for he fastened his rope to a spur of rock. Standing there, revolver gripped, hearing the baying hounds, the roaring lion, and Jones' yells mingled with Emett's, I had no idea what to do. I was in a trance of sensations. Old Sultan ran rather than leaped at us. Jones evaded the rush by falling behind a stone, but still did not get out of danger.
In Emett's clear desert-eagle eyes shown a furtive, anxious look, which yet could not overshadow the smouldering fire. "If only we don't kill the horses!" he said. More than anything else that remark from such a man thrilled me with its subtle suggestion. He loved those beautiful horses. What wild rides he saw in his mind's eye!
Emett's trail, plain in the yellow ground showed me the way. On entering the cedars again I pulled Foxie in and stopped twice to yell "waa-hoo!" I heard the baying of the hounds, but no answer to my signal. Then I attended to the stern business of catching up. For what seemed a long time, I threaded the maze of cedar, galloped the open sage flats, always on Emett's track.
The leap of the lioness carried her within reach of Jones; and as he raised himself, back toward her, she reached a big paw for him just as Emett threw all his bull strength and bulk on his lasso. The seat of Jones' trousers came away with the lioness' claws. Then she fell backward, overcome by Emett's desperate lunge.
I yelled to Jones. "Hi! Hi! Hi!" he joined his robust yell to mine, and for a moment we made the canyon bellow. When we stopped for breath the echoes bayed at us from the opposite walls. "Waa-hoo!" Emett's signal, faint, far away, soaring but unmistakable, floated down to us.
Jones ploughed the ground flat on his stomach, holding on with one hand, with the other trying to fasten the rope to something; Jim went to his knees; and on the other side of the lion, Emett's huge bulk tipped a sharp angle, and then fell. I shouted and ran forward, having no idea what to do, but Emett rolled backward, at the same instant the other men got a strong haul on the lion.
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