"Lion fight sure," replied Jones. "Maybe old Sultan ran across the
three lions feeding, and pitched into them. Such fights were common
among the lions in Yellowstone Park when I was there."
"What chance have we to find those three lions in a cave where Jim
chased them?"
"We stand a good chance," said Jones. "Especially if it storms
to-night."
"Shore the snow storm is comin'," returned Jim.
Darkness clapped down on us suddenly, and the wind roared in the pines
like a mighty river tearing its way down a rocky pass. As we could not
control the camp-fire, sparks of which blew fiercely, we extinguished
it and went to bed. I had just settled myself comfortably to be sung
to sleep by the concert in the pines, when Jones hailed me.
"Say, what do you think?" he yelled, when I had answered him. "Emett
is mad. He's scratching to beat the band. He's got 'em."
I signalled his information with a loud whoop of victory.
"You next, Jones! They're coming to you!"
I heard him grumble over my happy anticipation. Jim laughed and so
did the Navajo, which made me suspect that he could understand more
English than he wanted us to suppose.
Next morning a merry yell disturbed my slumbers. "Snowed in--snowed
in!"
"Mucha snow--discass--no cougie--dam no bueno!" exclaimed Navvy.
When I peeped out to see the forest in the throes of a blinding
blizzard, the great pines only pale, grotesque shadows, everything
white mantled in a foot of snow, I emphasized the Indian words in
straight English.
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