In silence we waited, each listening, each feeling the tragedy of the situation, each praying that they would pass by the poor, helpless, bound lion.  Suddenly the regular baying swelled to a burst of savage, snarling fury, such as the pack made in a vicious fight.  This ceased—­short silence ensued; Don’s sharp voice woke the echoes, then the regular baying continued.

As with one thought, we all sat down.  Painful as the certainty was it was not so painful as that listening, hoping suspense.

“Shore they can’t be blamed,” said Jim finally.  “Bumping their nose into a tied lion that way—­how’d they know?”

“Who could guess the second lion would jump off that quick and run back to our captive?” burst out Jones.

“Shore we might have knowed it,” replied Jim.  “Well, I’m goin’ after the pack.”

He gathered up his lasso and strode off the bench.  Jones said he would climb back to the rim, and I followed Jim.

Why the lions ran in that particular direction was clear to me when I saw the trail.  It was a runway, smooth and hard packed.  I trudged along it with rather less enjoyment than on any trail I had ever followed to the canyon.  Jim waited for me over the cedar ridge and showed me where the captive lion lay dead.  The hounds had not torn him.  They had killed him and passed on after the other.

“He was a fine fellow, all of seven feet, we’ll skin him on our way back.”

Only dogged determination coupled with a sense of duty to the hounds kept us on that trail.  For the time being enthusiasm had been submerged.  But we had to follow the pack.

Jim, less weighted down and perhaps less discouraged, forged ahead up and down.  The sun had burned all the morning coolness out of the air.  I perspired and panted and began to grow weary.  Jim’s signal called me to hurry.  I took to a trot and came upon him and the hounds under a small cedar.  The lion stood among the dead branches.  His sides where shaking convulsively, and his short breaths could be plainly heard.  He had the most blazing eyes and most untamed expression of any wild creature I have ever seen; and this amazed me considering I had kept him on a crag for over an hour, and had come to look upon him as my own.

“What’ll we do, Jim, now that we have him treed?”

“Shore, we’ll tie him up,” declared Jim.

The lion stayed in the cedar long enough for me to photograph him twice, then he leaped down again and took to his back trail.  We followed as fast as we could, soon to find that the hounds had put him up another cedar.  From this he jumped down among the dogs, scattered them as if they had been so many leaves, and bounded up the slope out of sight.

I laid aside my rifle and camera and tried to keep up with Jim.  The lion ran straight up the slope and treed again under the wall.  Before we covered half the distance he was on the go once more, flying down in clouds of dust.