Then the
three rolled on the rock dangerously near the verge.
Bellowing, Jones grasped the lasso and pulled. Still holding my
revolver, I leaped to his assistance, and together we pulled and
jerked. Don got away from the lion with remarkable quickness. But
Moze, slow and dogged, could not elude the outstretched paws, which
fastened in his side and leg. We pulled so hard we slowly raised the
lion. Moze, never whimpering, clawed and scratched at the rock in his
efforts to escape. The lion's red tongue protruded from his dripping
jaws. We heard the rend of hide as our efforts, combined with those of
Moze, loosed him from the great yellow claws.
The lion, whirling and wrestling, rolled over the precipice. When the
rope straightened with a twang, had it not been fastened to the rock,
Jones and I would have jerked over the wall. The shock threw us to our
knees.
For a moment we did not realize the situation. Emett's yells awakened
us.
"Pull! Pull! Pull!" roared he.
Then, knowing that old Sultan would hang himself in a few moments, we
attempted to lift him. Jones pulled till his back cracked; I pulled
till I saw red before my eyes. Again and again we tried. We could lift
him only a few feet. Soon exhausted, we had to desist altogether. How
Emett roared and raged from his vantage-point above! He could see the
lion in death throes.
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