Quick as a cat, supple, powerful,
tireless, he kept on the go, whirling, bounding, leaping, rolling,
till it seemed we would never catch him.
"If anything breaks, he'll get one of us," cried Emett. "I felt his
breath that time."
"Lord! How I wish we had some of those fellows here who say lions are
rank cowards!" I exclaimed.
In one of his sweeping side swings the lion struck the rock and hung
there on its flat surface with his tail hanging over.
"Attract his attention," shouted Emett, "but don't get too close.
Don't make him jump."
While I slowly manoeuvered in front of the lion, Emett slipped behind
the rock, lunged for the long tail and got a good hold of it. Then
with a whoop he ran around the rock, carrying the kicking, squalling
lion clear of the ground.
"Now's your chance," he yelled. "Rope a hind foot! I can hold him."
In a second I had a noose fast on both hind paws, and then passed my
rope to Emett. While he held the lion I again climbed the tree, untied
the knot that had caused so much trouble, and very shortly we had our
obstinate captive stretched out between two trees. After that we took
a much needed breathing spell.
"Not very scientific," growled Emett, by way of apologizing for our
crude work, "but we had to get him some way."
"Emett, do you know I believe Jones put up a job on us?" I said.
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