"All right," replied Emett, with a grim laugh. "We'd better get at
it. Now I'm some worried about the lion we left below. He ought to be
brought up, but we both can't go. This lion here will kill himself."
"What will the other one weigh?"
"All of one hundred and fifty pounds."
"You can't pack him alone."
"I'll try, and I reckon that's the best plan. Watch this fellow and
keep him in the corner."
Emett left me then, and I began a third long vigil beside a lion. The
rest was more than welcome. An hour and a half passed before I heard
the sliding of stones below, which told me that Emett was coming. He
appeared on the slope almost bent double, carrying the lion, head
downward, before him. He could climb only a few steps without lowering
his burden and resting.
I ran down to meet him. We secured a stout pole, and slipping this
between the lion's paws, below where they were tied, we managed to
carry him fairly well, and after several rests, got him up alongside
the other.
"Now to tie that rascal!" exclaimed Emett. "Jones said he was the
meanest one he'd tackled, and I believe it. We'll cut a piece off of
each lasso, and unravel them so as to get strings. I wish Jones hadn't
tied the lasso to that swinging branch."
"I'll go and untie it." Acting on this suggestion I climbed the tree
and started out on the branch.
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