We bathed it with water from my
canteen and with snow Jim procured from a nearby hollow, eventually
stopping the bleeding. I insisted on Jones coming to camp to have the
wound properly dressed, and he insisted on having it bound with a
bandana; after which he informed us that he was going to climb the
tree again.
We objected to this. Each of us declared his willingness to go up and
rope the lion; but Jones would not hear of it.
"I'm not doubting your courage," he said. "It's only that you cannot
tell what move the lion would make next, and that's the danger."
We could not gainsay this, and as not one of us wanted to kill the
animal or let her go, Jones had his way. So he went up the tree,
passed the first branch and then another. The lioness changed her
position, growled, spat, clawed the twigs, tried to keep the tree
trunk between her and Jones, and at length got out on a branch in a
most favorable position for roping.
The first cast of the lasso did the business, and Jim and Emett with
nimble fingers tied up the hounds.
"Coming," shouted Jones. He slid down, hand over hand, on the rope,
the lioness holding his weight with apparent ease.
"Make your noose ready," he yelled to Emett.
I had to drop my camera to help Jones and Jim pull the animal from
her perch. The branches broke in a shower; then the lioness, hissing,
snarling, whirling, plunged down.
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