Meantime young Powell had driven the dogs from the lion, and they had all stretched themselves out in the shade of a cedar, where they were lying, panting, with their tongues hanging far out of their mouths. One of them, Jack noticed, had a long bright red cut, extending nearly from shoulder to hip, from which the blood was dripping fast. They turned the lion over and found the bullet hole in the middle of the chest. It was a good shot, indeed, and the animal's wild spring out of the tree was his expiring effort. He was a very large animal, and quite old, as shown by the condition of his teeth. "Well, son," said Hugh, "you certainly are in the biggest kind of luck. It's seven years since I've seen a lion about here, and they're never anyways common. Of course we wouldn't have got this fellow if it hadn't been for the dogs; and it's great luck for you who have only been out a month or two now, to have had such a chance as this. You made a mighty good shot, too, and when you take this hide back east you'll sure have something to talk about. I expect, though, your Ma wouldn't have been very happy if she'd been here and seen that lion come sailing out of that tree after you." When they looked at the wounded hound they found that the long cut in its skin was much less serious than it seemed at first; it was hardly more than a scratch made by a last convulsive kick by the lion, and, while it had cut the skin, and would leave a scar, it did not really injure the dog. They skinned the lion, leaving the claws on the hide, and rolled up the skin, tying it behind Jack's saddle, and then started on their way. The sun was low in the west when they came in sight of the Powell ranch. They rode up to the barn and began to unsaddle, while the dogs went straight to the house. Before they had stabled the horses they heard a clear voice calling, "Why, Charley, what's the matter with Blue Dan? He's all cut up." And when they reached the door of the house they saw Mrs. Powell and Charley's sister, Bess, a little girl of thirteen, bathing the wounded dog, which seemed proud of the attention he was receiving. Hugh and Jack were cordially welcomed by Mrs. Powell, and later by her husband, when he came in from riding; and the story of the killing of the lion had to be told twice over. Every one congratulated Jack on his good fortune, and it appeared that this was the first time the dogs had ever seen a lion. "They have killed plenty of wolves, foxes, and coyotes," said Mr. Powell, "and two or three wolverenes, and of course a few bob-cats, but I think they never chased a lion before."