The pinto, a trained roping horse, stood, blown and panting, his feet
braced, keeping the rope taut while Farrel dismounted and casually
strolled back to the tree. He broke off a small twig and waited, while
the hounds, belling lustily, came nosing across the meadow. Kay rode up,
as the dogs, catching sight of the helpless cat, quickened their speed to
close in; she heard Farrel shout to them and saw him lay about him with
the twig, beating the eager animals back from their still dangerous prey.
Mr. and Mrs. Parker had, in the meantime, galloped up and stood by,
interested spectators, while Don Mike searched round until he found a
hard, thick, dry, broken limb from the sycamore.
"This certainly is my day for making money," he announced gaily. "Here's
where I put thirty dollars toward that three-hundred-thousand-dollar
mortgage." He stepped up to the lion and stunned it with a blow over the
head, after which he removed the riata from the creature's loins, slipped
the noose round the cat's neck, and hoisted the unconscious brute clear
of the ground.
"Now then," he announced cheerfully, "we'll just leave this fellow to
contemplate the result of a life of shame. He shall hang by the neck
until he is dead--dead--dead! We'll pick him up on our way back, and
to-night I'll skin him. Fall in, my squad! On our way."
"Do you do that sort of thing very often, Mr.
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