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Updated: June 25, 2025
I walked all the rest of the night. And that's all, sir." I liked Nielsen's looks then. He reminded me of Jim Emett, the Mormon giant to whom difficulties and obstacles were but spurs to achievement. Such men could not be defeated. "Well, what did you find out?" I inquired. "Change of conditions, sir," he replied, as a mate to his captain. "Only one more steep hill so far as I went.
Jones and Emett were waiting for me at the promontory where I had tied my horse, and were soon acquainted with the particulars of my adventure, and that Jim would probably not get out for hours. We made tracks for camp, and never did a place rouse in me such a sense of gratefulness. Emett got dinner and left on the fire a kettle of potato stew for Jim.
We can signal to each other if necessary." So we arranged for Jim to take Ranger and the pups across Left Canyon; Emett to try Middle Canyon, with Don and Moze, and we were to perform a like office in Right Canyon with Sounder and Jude. Emett rode back with us, leaving us where we crossed Middle Canyon.
We whipped him with our nooses, but not one would hold. He always tore it off before we could draw it tight. I secured a precarious hold on one hind paw and straightened my lasso. "That's far enough," cried Emett. "Now hold him tight; don't lift him off the ground." I had backed up the slope. Emett faced the lion, noose ready, waiting for a favorable chance to rope a front paw.
Before I could yell to warn my comrade the beast leaped. My rope burned as it tore through my hands. The lion sailed into the air, his paws wide-spread like wings, and one of them struck Emett on the head and rolled him on the slope. I jerked back on my rope only to find it had slipped its hold. "He slugged me one," remarked Emett, calmly rising and picking up his hat. "Did he break the skin?"
We climbed a ridge, and found the cedars thinning out into open patches. Then we faced a bare slope of sage and I saw Emett below on his big horse. Foxie bolted down this slope, hurdling the bunches of sage, and showing the speed of which Emett had boasted. The open ground, with its brush, rock and gullies, was easy going for the little mustang. I heard nothing save the wind singing in my ears.
As he rose the lioness lurched, and reaching him, fastened her fangs in his leg. Jones roared. Emett and Jim yelled. And I, though frightened, was so obsessed with the idea of getting a picture that I began to fumble with the shutter of my camera. "Grab the chain! Pull her off!" bawled Jones. I ran in, took up the chain with both hands, and tugged with all my might.
"Here, punch Moze out," said Jim handing up a long pole. The old hound hung like a leech to the tree, making it difficult to dislodge him. At length he fell heavily, and venting his thick battle cry, attempted to climb again. Jim seized him, made him fast to the rope with which Sounder had already been tied. "Say Emett, I've no chance here," called Jones. "You try to throw at him from the rock."
I called and called, but they passed on down the canyon bottom in the direction Jones had taken. Presently a chorus of bays, emphasized by Jones' yell, told me his lion had treed again. "Waa-hoo!" rolled down from above. I saw Emett farther to the left from the point where he had just appeared. "Where can I get down?" I surveyed the walls of the Bay.
The rest was more than welcome. An hour and a half passed before I heard the sliding of stones below, which told me that Emett was coming. He appeared on the slope almost bent double, carrying the lion, head downward, before him. He could climb only a few steps without lowering his burden and resting. I ran down to meet him.
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