He raised such a
fearful row that we had to remove him some distance from the others.
"We have two dog chains," said Jones, "but not a collar or a swivel
in camp. We can't chain the lions without swivels. They'd choke
themselves in two minutes."
Once more, for the hundredth time, Emett came to our rescue with his
inventive and mechanical skill. He took the largest pair of hobbles we
had, and with an axe, a knife and Jones' wire nippers, fashioned two
collars with swivels that for strength and serviceableness improved
somewhat on those we had bought.
Darkness was enveloping the forest when we finished supper. I fell
into my bed and, despite the throbbing and burning of my wrist,
soon lapsed into slumber. And I crawled out next morning late for
breakfast, stiff, worn out, crippled, but happy. Six lions roaring a
concert for me was quite conducive to contentment.
Emett interestingly engaged himself on a new pair of trousers, which
he had contrived to produce from two of our empty meal-bags. The lower
half of his overalls had gone to decorate the cedar spikes and brush,
and these new bag-leg trousers, while somewhat remarkable for design,
answered the purpose well enough. Jones' coat was somewhere along the
canyon rim, his shoes were full of holes, his shirt in strips, and his
trousers in rags. Jim looked like a scarecrow.
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