ed me, because he would have killed the hound. Pedro was close
to him when he treed. An' there he is--the yellow deer-killer. He's a
male an' full grown."

With that Dale pulled his rifle from its saddle-sheath and looked
expectantly at Bo. But she was gazing with great interest and admiration
up at the lion.

"Isn't he just beautiful?" she burst out. "Oh, look at him spit! Just
like a cat! Dale, he looks afraid he might fall off."

"He sure does. Lions are never sure of their balance in a tree. But I
never saw one make a misstep. He knows he doesn't belong there."

To Helen the lion looked splendid perched up there. He was long and
round and graceful and tawny. His tongue hung out and his plump sides
heaved, showing what a quick, hard run he had been driven to. What
struck Helen most forcibly about him was something in his face as he
looked down at the hound. He was scared. He realized his peril. It was
not possible for Helen to watch him killed, yet she could not bring
herself to beg Bo not to shoot. Helen confessed she was a tenderfoot.

"Get down, Bo, an' let's see how good a shot you are, said Dale. Bo
slowly withdrew her fascinated gaze from the lion and looked with a
rueful smile at Dale.

"I've changed my mind. I said I would kill him, but now I can't. He
looks so--so different from what I'd imagined."

Dale's answer was a rare smile of understanding and approval that warmed
Helen's heart toward him. All the same, he was amused. Sheathing the
gun, he mounted his horse.

"Come on, Pedro," he called. "Come, I tell you," he added, sharply,
"Well, girls, we treed him, anyhow, an' it was fun. Now we'll ride back
to the deer he killed an' pack a haunch to camp for our own use."

"Will the lion go back to his--his kill, I think you called it?" asked
Bo.

"I've chased one away from his kill half a dozen times. Lions are not
plentiful here an' they don't get overfed. I reckon the balance is
pretty even."

This last remark made Helen inquisitive. And as they slowly rode on the
back-trail Dale talked.

"You girls, bein' tender-hearted an' not knowin' the life of the forest,
what's good an' what's bad, think it was a pity the poor deer was
killed by a murderous lion. But you're wrong. As I told you, the lion is
absolutely necessary to the health an' joy of wild life--or deer's wild
life, so to speak. When deer were created or came into existence,
then the lion must have come, too. They can't live without each