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. He
jumped out and ran over the rim, where neither I nor the dogs could
follow."
"Shore, I win, three of a kind," drawled Jim, as he got his pipe and
carefully dusted the bowl. "When the stampede came, I got my hands on
Moze and held him. I held Moze because just as the other hounds broke
loose over to my right, I saw down into a little pocket where a
fresh-killed deer lay half eaten. So I went down. I found two other
carcasses layin' there, fresh killed last night, flesh all gone, hide
gone, bones crushed, skull split open. An' damn me fellows, if that
little pocket wasn't all torn to pieces. The sage was crushed flat.
The ground dug up, dead snags broken, and blood and hair everywhere.
Lion tracks like leaves, and old Sultan's was there. I let Moze loose
and he humped the trail of several lions south over the rim. Major got
down first an' came back with his tail between his legs. Moze went
down and I kept close to him. It wasn't far down, but steep and rocky,
full of holes. Moze took the trail to a dark cave. I saw the tracks of
three lions goin' in. Then I collared Moze an' waited for you fellows.
I waited there all day, an' nobody came to my call. Then I made for
camp."
"How do you account for the torn-up appearance of the place where you
found the carcasses?" I asked.
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