Boston seemed to be doing some shivers on his own account, judging from the way his guns rattled; and his teeth was so chattery his talking come queer. But he managed to get out that if they was inside the house they’d have more chances––and he went to work trying to open the door. When he found he couldn’t––it being locked so good there was no budging it––he got worse jolted, and his breath seemed to be coming hard.
The Hen got a-hold of him again and done some more shivers, and then she says: “It all will be over, one way or the other, in a very few moments now. And oh, how thankful I am––since so needlessly and so foolishly I have placed myself in this deadly peril––that I have for my protector a brave man! If salvation is possible, you will save me I am sure!”
Boston tried to say something, but he’d got so he was beyond talking and only gagged; and while he was a-gagging there come a queer noise––sounding like it was a critter 157 crawling around in among the bushes––that made him most jump out of his skin! Down went his guns on the ground all in a clatter; and he was scared so limp he’d a-gone down a-top of ’em if the Hen hadn’t got a good grip on him with both arms. They stood that way more’n a minute, with him a-shaking all over and the Hen doing some shaking for company––and then she hiked him round so he pointed right and says: “Look! Look! There by those little bushes! Oh how horrible!” And the Hen give a groan.
What was wanted to be looked at was on hand, right enough––and I reckon it showed to most advantage by about as much light as it got from the stars. All they could make sure of was something alive, moving sort of awkward and jumpy, coming out from a tangle of mesquite bushes not more’n three rods off and heading straight for ’em; and seeing it the way they did––just a black splotch all mixed in with the shadows of the bushes––it looked to be most as big as a cow! Limp as he was––so you’d a-thought there wasn’t any yell in him––Boston let off a yell 158 that likely was heard clear across the mesa at San Juan!
“Shoot!” says the Hen. “I can’t. I’m too frightened. Shoot quick––or we are lost!” She let go of him, so he could reach down to where he’d spilled his gun-shop and get a weepon; but Boston wasn’t on the shoot, and he hadn’t no use for weepons just then. All he wanted to do was to run; and if the Hen hadn’t got a fresh grip on him and held him––she was a strapping strong woman, the Hen was––he would a-made a bolt for it certain sure.
“No! No! Don’t attempt to run!” says the Hen, talking scared and desprit. “In an instant, should we turn our backs on him, the terrible creature would be upon us with one long cruel bound!”
From the way the terrible creature, as the Hen called him, was a-going on––sort of hopping up and down, and not making much headway––it didn’t look as if long cruel bounds was what he was most used to. But Boston wasn’t studying the matter extra careful, and as the Hen found he took pretty 159 much what she give him she just cracked along.
“To run, I tell you,” says the Hen, “is but to court the quicker coming of the torturing death to which we are doomed. It will come quick enough, anyway!”––and she handed out a fresh lot of shivers, and throwed in sobs. Then she give a jump, as if the notion’d just struck her, and says: “There is a chance for us! Up on the roof of this house we may be safe. Lions can spring enormous distances horizontally, you know; but, save in exceptional cases, their vertical jumping powers are restricted to a marked degree. Quick! Put your foot in my hand and let me start you. When you are up, you can pull me up after you. Now then!”––and the Hen reached her hand down so she could get a-hold of Boston’s foot and give him a send.
Her using them long words about the way lions did their jumping––being the kind of talk he was used to––seemed to sort of brace him. Anyways––the lion helping hurry things by just then giving another jump or two––he 160 managed to have sense enough to put his foot in the Hen’s hand, same as she told him; and then she let out her muscle and give him such an up-start he was landed on the roof of the ’dobe afore he fairly knowed he’d begun to go! Being landed, he just sprawled out flat––and getting the Hen up after him seemed to be about the last thing he had on his mind.
“Help! Help!” sung out the Hen. “The lion is almost on me! Give me your hand!” But Boston wasn’t in no shape to give hands to nobody. All he did was to kick his legs about and let off groans.