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 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 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 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.