Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Emett, I've lived to see many things," replied Jones, "but this is the first time I ever saw a lion jump a deer right under my nose!" As Emett bent over to seize the long ears of the deer, I noticed the gasping had ceased. "Neck broken," he said, lifting the head. "Well, I'm danged. Must have been an all-fired strong lion. He'll come back, you may be sure of that.
"Well," said Emett, "I fell in with Sounder and Jude. They were hot on a trail which in a mile or two turned up this way. I came on them just at the edge of the pines where they had treed their game. I sat under that pine tree for five hours, fired all my shots to make you fellows come, yelled myself hoarse and then tried to tie up the lion alone.
"Did you hear the Indian chanting?" asked Jones, who sat with his horny hands to the blaze. "I heard his singing." "No, it wasn't a song; the Navajo never sings in the morning. What you heard was his morning prayer, a chant, a religious and solemn ritual to the break of day. Emett says it is a custom of the desert tribe.
"No I won't; I won't show a yellow streak like that. Besides, I want to give 'em to you fellows." A blank silence followed my statement, to which Jim replied: "Shore that'll be easy; Jones'll have 'em, so'll Emett, an' by thunder I'm scratchin' now." "Navvy, look here," I said severely, "mucha no bueno! heap bad!
After all our hopes, our efforts, our tragedies, and finally our wonderful good fortune, to lose these beautiful lions for lack of a little water was sickening, maddening. "Think quick!" cried Emett. "I'm no good; I'm all in. But you must find water. It snowed yesterday. There's water somewhere."
While I looked on Tom tore his to pieces several times, but the lioness crawled under hers and began licking her chops. At length Tom, seeing that Emett meant no underhand trick, backed out of the drizzling snow and lay down. Emett had already constructed a shack for the hounds. It was a way of his to think of everything. He had the most extraordinary ability.
Jones closed in on us from the left, and in a few minutes we were strung out behind Emett, fighting the branches, dodging and swerving, hugging the saddle, and always sending out our sharp yells. The race was furious but short. The three of us coming up together found Emett dismounted on the extreme end of West Point. "The hounds have gone down," he said, pointing to the runway.
Jones and Emett arrayed themselves on the side that life even in captivity was preferable; while Jim and I, no doubt still under the poignant influence of the last lion's heroic race and end, inclined to freedom or death. We compromised on the reasonable fact that as yet we had shown only a jackass kind of intelligence.
In some remarkable manner he had gotten a bridle on Marc, and from the way the big stallion hurled his huge bulk over logs and through thickets, it appeared evident he meant to usurp Jim's ambition and kill the Navajo. Hearing Emett yell, the Indian turned Marc toward camp. The horse slowed down when he neared the glade and tried to buck. But Navvy kept his head up.
I finished breakfast and went into my tent for something I forget what, for wild yells from Emett and Jim brought me flying out again. "Listen to that!" cried Jim, pointing west. The hounds had opened up; their full, wild chorus floated clearly on the breeze, and above it Jones' stentorian yell signaled us. "Shore, the old man can yell," continued Jim. "Grab your lassos an' hump yourselves.
Word Of The Day