What the Hen had to say about the way lions done business––’specially their eating hunters like they was sandwiches on a free-lunch counter––seemed to take some of the load off Boston, and as he got soberer he wasn’t so careless as he’d been. From his looks it was judged he was thinking a lion some sizes smaller would be a better fit for him; but he couldn’t well say so––with the Hen going on about wanting hers as big as they made ’em––so he took a brace, and sort of swelled himself out, and said the bigger this one was the better he’d be pleased.
“But I cannot permit you, my dear young lady,” he says, “to share with me the great danger incident to pursuing so ferocious a creature. I alone must deal with it. To-morrow I shall familiarize myself with the locality where Mr. Smith has found its tracks; and to-morrow night, or the night after––as the weather may determine. Of course nothing 151 can be done in case of rain––I will seek the savage brute in its lair. And then we shall find out”––Boston worked up as much as he could of a grin, but it seemed to come hard and didn’t fit well––“which of us shall have the other’s skin!”
“Danger for me!” says the Hen, giving him another of them looks of hers. “Just as though I would not be as safe, with a brave man like you to protect me, as I am teaching school! And to-morrow night, indeed! Do you think lions are like dentists––only the other way round about the teeth!” and the Hen laughed hearty––“and you can make appointments with them a week ahead! Why, we must be off, you and I, this very minute! I’ll run right round home and get my rifle––and meet you at your car as soon as you’ve got yours. To think of our having a lion this way almost sitting on the front-door step! It’s a chance that won’t come again in a thousand years!”
Away the Hen went a-kiting; and, there not being no hole he could see to crawl out of, away went Boston––only the schedule he 152 run on was some miles less to the hour. To make sure he didn’t try to side-track, Shorty went with him––leaving Santa Fé to fix matters with the Hen, and do what talking was needed to ring in the boys.
Shorty put through his part in good shape: helping Boston get as many of his guns as he thought was wanted to hunt lions with––which was as many as he could pack along with him––and managing sort of casual to slip out the ca’tridges, so he wouldn’t hurt nobody. It turned out Shorty needn’t a-been so extry-precautious––but of course he couldn’t tell. By the time Shorty had him ready, the Hen come a-hustling up––having finished settling things with Santa Fé––and sung out to him to get a move on, or likely the lion would a-had his drink and gone. The move he got wasn’t much of a one; but he did come a-creeping out of the car at last, and having such a load of weepons on him as give him some excuse for going slow.
“Good luck to you!” says Shorty, and off he skipped in a hurry to get at the rest of his 153 part of the ceremonies––not paying no attention to Boston’s most getting down on his knees to him begging him to come along. Then Boston wanted the colored man to come––who was scared out of his black skin at the notion, and wouldn’t; and if the Hen hadn’t ended up by grabbing a-hold of him––saying as it was dark, and she knowed the way and he didn’t, she’d better lead him––likely she wouldn’t a-got him started at all. Pulling him was more like what she did than leading him, the Hen said afterwards; but she didn’t kick about his going slow and wanting to stop every minute, she said, because it give Santa Fé and Shorty more time.
The night was the kind that’s usual in New Mexico, and just what was wanted. There was no moon, and the starshine––all the stars looked to be about the size of cheeses––give a hazy sort of light that made everything seem twice as big as it really was, and shadows so black and solid you’d think you could cut ’em in slices same as pies. And it was so still you could a-heard a mouse sneezing half a mile off. The rattling all 154 over him of Boston’s weepons sounded like there was boilers getting rivetted close by.
The Hen yanked him along easy, but kept him a-moving––and passed the time for him by telling all she could make up about what desprit critters lions was. Starting from where his car was side-tracked, they went round the deepo; and then down the wagon-road pretty near to the bridge, but not so near he could see it; and then across through the sage-brush and clumps of mesquite till they come to the river––where there was a break in the bluff, and a flat place going on down into the water that looked like it was the beginning of a ford. For a fact, it was where the Mexican women come to do their clothes-washing, and just back from the river was a little ’dobe house––flat-topped, and the size and shape of a twelve-foot-square dry-goods box––the women kept their washing things in. But them was particulars the Hen didn’t happen to mention to Boston at the time.
When they come to the ’dobe she give him a jerk, to show him he was to stand still there; 155 and then she grabbed him close up to her, so she could whisper, and says: “It was here that Mr. Smith saw the ferocious animal’s foot-marks almost precisely four hours ago. The habits of these creatures are so regular, as Mr. Smith mentioned, that this one certainly will return for his next drink when the four hours are ended––and so may be upon us at any moment. I hope that we may see him coming. If he saw us before we saw him––well, it wouldn’t be nice at all!”
The Hen let that soak in a little; and then she snuggled up to Boston, all sort of shivery, and says: “I wish that we had taken the precaution to ask Mr. Smith from which direction the tracks came. These lions, you know, have a dreadful way of stealing up close to you and then springing! That was what happened to that poor young man. So far as was known, his first notice of his peril was finding himself crushed to the ground beneath the creature’s weight––and the next instant it was tearing him with its teeth and claws. I––I begin to wish I 156 hadn’t come!” And the Hen snuggled up closer and shivered bad.