The dogs threw themselves upon him. There was a medley of sounds, a
fierce, but brief fight, and all was over. We grabbed him by the tail
and dragged him forth--dead. The ringleader of our pack, trembling with
excitement, effort, and fighting frenzy, drove all the other dogs away
and took possession of the body. No one but a man, his master, might
touch it.
Our lion was a young male, six feet eight inches from tip to tip, and
weighing a little over one hundred and twenty pounds. Later, as we
skinned him, we found his paws full of porcupine quills, speaking
loudly of his recent experience. The stomach was empty; the chest was
full of blood from our arrows.
He was as easy to kill as a deer. We packed him back to camp and added
his photograph to our rogues' gallery.
There was no further goat killing on that Sierra ranch.
This was our first lion, and for me so far, my only one. Arthur Young,
however, has been fortunate enough to land two cougars by himself on
another hunting trip.
Captain C. H. Styles, a recent addition to the ranks of field archers,
while on an expedition to cut yew staves in Humboldt County,
California, started a mountain lion, ran him to bay with hounds, and
killed him with one arrow in the chest.
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