“‘They’re a pickin’ ’em out,’ explained Jack, kind o’ excited and out o’ breath. Now all the rams was in front o’ the bunch but they knowed they had no chance; fur the herd was backin’ closter an’ closter to the wall behind ’em. We had good shoulder shots on both them animals,” explained Hosmer, “but, somehow, though we wuz a kneelin’ with our rifles all ready, we didn’t shoot. We was kind o’ charmed I reckon, watchin’ the big cats git closter an’ closter to their meat. They wa’n’t a sound from the sheep and then we seen the lions git ready fur business. Fur a minute they lay like logs an’ then you could see ’em drawin’ together in a bunch fur to spring for’ard. Their tails was flat on the rocks an’ I wuz just thinkin’ to myself, ‘now I’ll see how fur a lion kin really jump,’ when somethin’ happened. I thought it was the lions in the air. An’ it wuz one of ’em, but the other one, he never made no jump.
“They was a streak acrost the face o’ that cliff; a rush like a rock tore loose and then a heavy crunch ’at made my heart stop beatin’. Ol’ Baldy, straight as a arrer, had throwed hisself from that cliff. An’ them horns o’ his, like a railroad engine bumpin’ ag’in a loaded car, had broke one o’ the lion’s backs so clean that the painter never moved ag’in. An’ I couldn’t move. I jist kind o’ gasped. It seemed like a man committin’ suicide. But don’t you believe it. Ol’ Baldy rolled over an’ lay still not more’n two seconds. Then he got on his feet, tremblin’ like, wabbled a little, shook his head and with a snort like an engine whistle wuz on the other lion’s flank.
“The second lion had jumped an’ sunk his jaws in the neck o’ the biggest ram. An’ that wuz his mistake. When Ol’ Baldy snorted the lion dropped his victim an’ whirled about. A dozen trapped sheep wuz on him hoof an’ horn. Once ag’in he tried to face the herd when Ol’ Baldy, his head on the ground, shot under the painter. We couldn’t see what happened but we heerd it—it was like the rippin’ up of an ol’ blanket. With one sweep o’ his horn the old ram had killed the lion and the fight was over.
“We could ’a’ potted Ol’ Baldy an’ his whole tribe ef we’d wanted to, but we weren’t after sheep jist then. ‘An’ ef we ain’t goin’ to shoot,’ I says to Jack, ‘let’s give ’em plenty o’ room.’ We went back along the trail, let out a few yells, an’ when we come back, ever’ sheep had come out and gone wherever they belonged. Them two skins went to New York fur to be mounted fur specimens. They brung us a good price.”
For a few moments the boys sat in rapt silence.
“Mr. Skinner,” exclaimed Frank at last, “was it at Baldy’s Bench where you nearly lost your hat, the time you and Uncle Guy thought you saw Old Indian Chief and almost got him?”
The old hunter shook his head.
“Me and Mr. Mackworth never went north o’ Mt. Osborne,” he answered.
“Then,” exclaimed Frank, jumping to his feet, “Uncle Guy never saw the real king of the Bighorns. It’s Old Baldy, I’m sure. And I’m certain he’s yet alive and doin’ business. If he is, we’ll have him within a week.”