"Don't shoot unless he crouches to jump on me." The little beaded front-sight wavered slightly as I held my rifle leveled at the grim, snarling face, and out of the corner of my eye, as it were, I saw Jones dash in under the lion and grasp Moze by the hind leg and haul him down.

He broke from Jones and leaped again to the first low branch.

His master then grasped his collar and carried him to where we stood and held him choking.
"Boys, we can't keep Tom up there.

When he jumps, keep out of his way.
Maybe we can chase him up a better tree." Old Tom suddenly left the branches, swinging violently; and hitting the ground like a huge cat on springs, he bounded off, tail up, in a most ludicrous manner.

His running, however, did not lack speed, for he quickly outdistanced the bursting hounds.
A stampede for horses succeeded this move.