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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"Tales of lonely trails"


I ran in, took up the chain with both hands, and tugged with all my
might. Emett, too, had all his weight on the lasso round her neck.
Between the two of us we choked her hold loose, but she brought Jones'
leather leggin in her teeth. Then I dropped the chain and jumped.
"**-- **--!" exploded Jones to me. "Do you think more of a picture
than of saving my life?" Having expressed this not unreasonable
protest, he untied the lasso that Emett had made fast to a small
sapling.
Then the three men, forming points of a triangle around an animated
center, began a march through the forest that for variety of action
and splendid vociferation beat any show I ever beheld.
So rare was it that the Navajo came out of his retreat and,
straightway forgetting his reverence and fear, began to execute a
ghost-dance, or war-dance, or at any rate some kind of an Indian
dance, along the side lines.
There were moments when the lioness had Jim and Jones on the ground
and Emett wobbling; others when she ran on her bound legs and chased
the two in front and dragged the one behind; others when she came
within an ace of getting her teeth in somebody.
They had caught a Tartar. They dared not let her go, and though Jones
evidently ordered it, no one made fast his rope to a tree. There was
no opportunity. She was in the air three parts of the time and the
fourth she was invisible for dust.


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