The Last of the Plainsmen 



the bottom of the ravine, crashing through the 

 bushes, over logs and stones. I actually felt the soft 

 fur of the cougar at one fleeting instant. The dogs 

 had the strength born of insane fighting spirit. At 

 last we pulled them to where Don lay, half-stunned, 

 and with an arm tight round each, I held them while 

 Frank turned to help Jones. 



The disheveled Jones, bloody, grim as death, his 

 heavy jaw locked, stood holding to the lasso. The 

 cougar, her sides shaking with short, quick pants, 

 crouched low on the ground with eyes of purple fire. 



&quot; For God s sake, get a half-hitch on the saplin ! &quot; 

 called the cowboy. 



His quick grasp of the situation averted a tragedy. 

 Jones was nearly exhausted, even as he was beyond 

 thinking for himself or giving up. The cougar 

 sprang, a yellow, frightful flash. Even as she was 

 in the air, Jones took a quick step to one side and 

 dodged as he threw his lasso round the sapling. 

 She missed him, but one alarmingly outstretched paw 

 grazed his shoulder. A twist of Jones s big hand 

 fastened the lasso and Kitty was a prisoner. While 

 she fought, rolled, twisted, bounded, whirled, 

 writhed with hissing, snarling fury, Jones sat mop 

 ping the sweat and blood from his face. 



Kitty s efforts were futile; she began to weaken 

 from the choking. Jones took another rope, and 



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