bility be taken in, and as the sea was rising, I was strongly in favor of releasing the game. But my companion wished to take it home; and being a powerful man, he believed we could haul the fish aboard. To this I dissented, for it was manifestly impossible. Had it been attempted, the fish would have sunk the boat, for we could not kill him. We finally decided to tow our prize to Avalon. After much difficulty in a heavy sea, the fish was made fast

WE

E were camping in the mountains of central Idaho, my companion and I, for we were gold hunters. But gold was not our only game, for we hunted a mountain lion also. He began the affair, and could hardly blame us for the trouble that ensued.

It was early in the summer, along at that season when the grass of the valleys and foothills is dry and shriveled, and the lean earth is parched until the sheep and cattle can no longer find sustenance, they must move up, or die. The cattle are taken to the higher valleys, but the sheep are driven up and onward, above the timber on the lower ranges, to the round, bare-looking summits. But these mountain-tops only appear to be bald, for they are green with sweet, luxuriant grass all summer; and the days are so mild and the nights so delightfully cool up there, that the sheep wax fat and lazy.

Now the mountain lion is fond of things fat and lazy, and he often encounters little trouble in helping himself from the flocks at pleasure, while the sheep are corralled at night in some low pole enclosure. At intervals between the valley and the summit, permanent corrals are built, that the sheep may be driven by easy stages, and it is not unusual for a flock to be kept for a week where the grazing is good, before moving on again.

Half a mile below our camp, which was four miles from the summit, there was a corral; and with an interest based on the expectation of many juicy chops, we looked forward to the coming of the sheep-men. They came one day, two of them, mounted on stocky, well-built ponies. The broad hats of the men, the usual repeating rifles and six-shooters, and the large, heavy saddles were the

most conspicuous objects of the "outfit" as the young men greeted us without dismounting. We were getting dinner before our tent, and of course we asked them to join us in that meal. They declined, but said their herder would be along in a day or so, when they would all camp at the corral below, staying a week, probably. They furthermore said, as they started down the gulch, that if we did not come down for mutton every day or two, they should consider it anything but neighborly.

A few days later, one of the sheepmen and his herder with the flock arrived, and on the following day, our gulch was visited by two prospectors, who pitched their camp near the corral. The last arrivals had a large, vicious-looking dog, a cross between a mastiff and a hound, and about that ugly brute hangs this tale, for without the dog there had been no tale to relate. That night we were awakened by the report of a rifle, which was quickly followed by the rattle of revolver shots; then came the sharp yelp of a sheep-dog and the deep voice of the mongrel. The fracas lasted only a minute or two; then, surmising the cause of the trouble, we rolled up in our blankets again.

In the morning, we found the camp below in disorder. A sheep had been killed by a mountain lion, and the mongrel was lying before the tent sullenly licking an ugly slit in his shoulder, while the prospectors and sheep-men were preparing for a raid on the lion. We joined them, and within ten minutes the little party was moving up the gulch toward the heavy timber. Finding the spot where the dog and the lion had parted company, the trail was taken up by the mongrel, and he followed it at a slow trot, holding

his head near the ground. The timber was open, and although he was often out of sight, we did not entirely lose him until we had gone about a mile. The prospectors were acquainted with the country, and they told us that the lion had undoubtedly gone to a certain canyon. about three miles further up the gulch we were then following. As we advanced, the hills were closer together and their sides were covered with a dense growth of small blackpines; and it was also noticeable that there were no indications of grouse or other small game, which made it evident that the lion was an old resident.

A quarter of a mile from where the gulch opened into the canyon, we met the mongrel returning. He was as sullen as ever, and I mentally elected him as fit only for lion's meat-which he was soon to become. But he possessed a sneaking sort of intelligence, such as a Bowery tough might have, and was well trained for this kind of sport. He trailed without giving mouth, and when he returned, as in this case, his master knew that it was not without good reason. The mongrel again took the lead, but slowly. We folWe followed, and in a few minutes we were in the canyon, which broadened to a little park of half a dozen acres in extent and was overgrown with

the mountains. This was the home of the mountain lion.

The mongrel trailed on straight through the timber toward the further side. It was cool and damp and gloomy down in this great hole in the ground; and one would be surprised if such a place did not possess some strange inhabitant-even a denizen much less earthly than a lion would not have found it uncongenial. I was glad that the timber grew thinner as we approached the western side, and the sunshine on the cliffs above seemed friendly and cheerful. The dog stopped at the rocks, which rose in irregular masses high against the walls.

"Looks like we are stalled," said the owner of the mongrel, looking up at the rocks. "It's sartin the dog can't never locate him up thar; looks like he's safe this trip."

"Reckon we'll have ter lay a bait and watch fer him," suggested his partner.

"Thar's sure somethin' on top of that thar flat rock up yon' 'gainst ther wall," the sheep-man remarked, taking down his field-glass, through which he had been intently examin

ing the rocks. "Here,' "he continued, handing me the glass; "now look whar I p'int my rifle.'

The rock that he pointed out was a hundred yards away and as many feet above the valley; it was flat on top and about a rod in area. Just over its edge, I could make out an object that looked like the head of a yellowish-colored animal. It was the lion, and he was lying asleep in the sun. The sheep-man said, after a long look through the glass :

"No show fer a shot from here, but if one of us was on the cliff up thar above him, 'twould be dead easy to drop a bullet plumb into. him."

After a consultation, the sheepman said that he would climb a tree, and then he would be high enough to have a clear view and an open shot at the animal. We all wanted a

shot at his lionship, but the sheepman argued, that as the lion had eaten his mutton, his was the only claim worthy of consideration; and the rest of us, he said, would receive sufficient edification in seeing him make a centre shot "jest under the ears of that thar lion." The prospector's claim was, that without his dog none of us would have gotten a shot. But the sheep-man prevailed, and at once started up a fir tree. The branches grew near the ground, and he made good progress until he incautiously trusted his weight on a dead limb.

"Crack! smash!" Like a shot, the sound struck our startled ears. Quickly looking toward the lion, I saw a fleeting vision of a big yellow animal on the rock; but before a rifle could be raised, it had vanished. The owner of the mongrel muttered something about sheep-men in general, and the folly of mingling with them at all, which our sheepishlooking companion did not hear, for he was occupied with his bruises.

We went back down the gulch, a mournful procession; but two of the number-the owner of the mongrel and I-declared that we would devise some way to kill the lion. The prospector came up to our camp, and we talked over various plans, but agreed on nothing. We trusted that something would happen to aid us, and it did that night.

Along toward morning, the sheepmen were awakened by the sheep rushing from one side of the corral to the other, then packing themselves into a solid mass in one corner of the enclosure, which alone saved the flock from a general stampede. One of the dogs went out into the darkness, barking and yelping, and when he reached the further side of the corral, there was one sharper, shriller yelp, and the dog did not return. The sheep-men hastened out, followed by the prospectors and the mongrel. They found a sheep that, like the first, had been killed

by some animal biting it through the throat. Stretched beside the sheep, was the shepherd dog, bleeding and helpless. The mongrel was eager to take the warm trail of the lion, for lion it was, but he was restrained. As it was nearly daylight, the owner of the mongrel came to our camp and reported. I was anxious to follow most any plan that promised success, and so agreed to do as he suggested, and ride to the cliffs, while he should follow the lion's trail with the mongrel.

We set out at once, and the sun was just above the distant range of mountains as I approached the edge of the cliffs; but down in the deep canyon everything was hidden in gloom, and a thin mist hung over the tree-tops. How lonely it seemed up there where the view extended for miles over trees and hills and mountains, where the only touch of civilization that ever invaded those solitudes was given by such intruders as were then within its bounds! The scene below changed rapidly, for the mist rose with the sun and rested half way up the side of the canyon wall, when it gradually resolved itself into thin air. Then it was not long before I saw the prospector and the mongrel. Poor dog! how little he knew, as he moved along with his ugly head almost touching the ground, the fate that awaited him. Through my glass, the man and dog could occasionally be seen among the trees, and I watched them until the mongrel led to the rocks near the scene of our former adventure.

The prospector retreated to the cover of a boulder, and for half an hour I watched the rocks below; then my attention was attracted by the strange actions of the dog. He crawled out from the bushes, slowly, cautiously, like a pointer on a hot scent. The prospector did not see him. Skirting the edge of the rocks for a few rods he stopped; then, springing forward, he gave mouth to a deep, hound-like bay,