"Shore she's dead," said Jim. "And wasn't she a beauty? What was
wrong?"
"The heat and lack of water," replied Jones. "She choked. What idiots
we were! Why didn't we think to give her a drink."
So we passionately protested against our want of fore-thought, and
looked again and again with the hope that she might come to. But death
had stilled the wild heart. We gave up presently, still did not move
on. We were exhausted, and all the while the hounds lay panting on the
rocks, the bees hummed, the flies buzzed. The red colors of the upper
walls and the purple shades of the lower darkened silently.
VI
"Shore we can't set here all night," said Jim. "Let's skin the lion
an' feed the hounds."
The most astonishing thing in our eventful day was the amount of meat
stowed away by the dogs. Lion flesh appealed to their appetites. If
hungry Moze had an ounce of meat, he had ten pounds. It seemed a good
opportunity to see how much the old gladiator could eat; and Jim and I
cut chunks of meat as fast as possible. Moze gulped them with absolute
unconcern of such a thing as mastication. At length he reached his
limit, possibly for the first time in his life, and looking longingly
at a juicy red strip Jim held out, he refused it with manifest shame.
Then he wobbled and fell down.
We called to him as we started to climb the slope, but he did not
come.
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