Sister Ann’s Lions

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 5, 3 August 1907, Page 39

Sister Ann’s Lions

By

FLOY SULZER BINGHAM

SISTER ANN aroused the animals in the menagerie to an exhibition spirit by prodding me sharply with a long pole. I threw myself against the bars of the bull-pen and seized the corn-husk meat she threw within, but not with the ferocity pleasing to Ann. “The trouble is, Patty, you’ve never been to a real circus,” she said regretfully. That supreme joy had fallen to Sister Ann a short time before our coming to visit Uncle Henry on his mountain ranch. It coloured her dreams and shaped her days. Before the advent of the circus, Ann’s choice of occupations had long wavered between the delights offered a lady Indian fighter,’and the thrills enjoyed by an aeronaut., Then the show flaunted its spangled banners, and now, at twelve, Sister Ann would be a' circus queen. I was ten and had no ambitions. “You can do it best, Sister Ann,” I suggested. Ann tried to squeeze through the small space between the upright poles with which Uncle Henry had divided the barn for a vicious bull; but, failing, we were obliged to change places by running round through the doors. Then I was shown the real thing. Ann plunged and growled and tore her feathery meat to fragments. She threw herself against the bars and showed all

her sharp little white teeth with such terrifying intent that I stood appalled. “O Sister Ann,” 1 entreated, “let’s play something else.” Sister Ann’s features relaxed into their normal form. “Well, so long as it ain’t dolls,” she agreed. So we turned our attention elsewhere. In the end of tne log barn was a square window, fitted with a sliding door, which was called the “bear-win-dow.”' At some early day it had been use to entrap a pig-stealing bear. We now raised the window, and, to keep it up, inserted a peg with string, attached, as Uncle Henry had shown us. Then I crawled through, and Ann pulled the string and sprang the trap. Soon 1 was in the midst of a severe course of beartraining. Suddenly Ann dropped my halter and, seizing what she called a snake-stick, made off, with flying curls. Following her with my eyes, I saw on the mountain side, near the yard fence, an angry, fang-jawed head and an uplifted, buzzing tail. Then Ann made a jab with her forked stick. I had learned my part; and following on with the axe, 1 shudderingly severed the loathsome head. The job must be neatly done, for Sister Ann wanted the rattlesnake skins for personal adornment. “O Sister Ann,” I wailed, “I wish you wouldn’t.” “Wouldn't what?” said Ann; and I said no more. Aunt Emma came to the door as Ann dragged her headless captive into the yard. “Now, Ann,” she said, “I don’t think your mother would like to have you hunt rattlesnakes.” “It’s great fun,” Ann answered evasively. “But they will bite you,” Aunt Emma insisted. r Ann looked contemptuously down at her still wiggling victim. “They always act as if they'd like to,” she admitted, “but it's a pure waste of time, Aunt Emma.” And I bad faith it was so. ' . At dinner . Aunt Emma looked grave. She had received word that one of her sister’s children was dangerously ill. “1 have been wondering,” she Iwgan. “whether my two little guests could keep bouse for Uncle Henry if I should bo gone a week?” Ann was a wonderful cook, but her reputation had not preceded her. “Meat, rare or well done?” said she. “And what is his favourite cake?” Ann's finality of manner left no room for further discussion. Aunt Enimn looked at Uncle Henry with a queer little twinkle in her eye. “I think, Henry, I shall start right after dinner,” she said. Except for the meals. Aunt Emma’s departure left but little for us children to do. Uncle Henry lived on his mountain ranch only a short time during

the summer. He had already sent his cows to the valley, and there were now on the place only a few hens and a small Hock of high-grade sheep—said to be the finest in Colorado —which he was herding on shares. Left to Ann's generalship, every meal was a banquet, limited only by the rr> sources of the pantry. She had pre. mised Aunt Emma to leave ail snakes in peaca, during her absence, so we spent our spare time playing circus and training our pet lambs —at least, Ann trained hers; mine seemed too stupid. Two days after Aunt Emma's depai ture a man rode up to the house to teC« Uncle Henry that the Box-S outfit wai» rounding up steers. That ranch had. none too good a reputation for respect* ing other people’s brands, so the neigh* bouring ranchers made a point of bein£ present when the Box-S gathered cattl. Uncle Henry corailed the sheep earb k in the day and left us with the understanding that he would be back befoi\ night, or else send some one to stay with us and herd the sheep. That night we sat up late, but no one came. We were fam-bred children, and fortunately had no fear of the dark or of ghosts—at least, Ann hadn’t. The next morning we were still alone. Sister Ann said she could herd sheep “as good as anybody;” and as we had an intelligent dog, there was no dial culty in taking the sheep out and corralling them again at night. Before locking the doors that night •. called Shep, the dog, into the housfc » >

company. It must have been neai morning when we were awakened by the dog's growling. We both sat up in bed and listened. Presently we heard the sheep stamping and then rushing wildly about the corral. “1 guess it’s a coyote,” I whispered to Sister Ann. We crept out of lied and went to the window, but could see nothing, for around the corral was a tight boardfence, six feet high. Just then the sheep began to bleat. “We can see from upstairs,” Ann suggested. She lighted the lamp, and we went into the kitchen and climbed the ladder to the attic. The moon shone brightly, and from the attic window we saw a dark object crouched in the centre of the corral. As the flock rushed wildly alwuit, crowding against the fence, the creature sprang into the midst of them, biting and striking right and left. When the sheep scattered, hr had a lamb in his mouth and stood out plain in the moonlight, among those he had killed at a blow. “O Sister Ann!” 1 gasped, chattering

With fright, “it’s a tiger, and he’ll eat Our lambs!” “No, he won’t,” said Ann. She threw up the window and violently shook her nightgown at the animal. “Get out of there!” she called. "Get out this instant, before I come down there with my Utacle Henry’s gun! ” Whether it was from the noise she made and the light behind us, or whether the beast was satisfied, I do not know; but, with the lamb in his mouth, he crouched where he was, and in one bound cleared the fence. That was the last we saw of him that night. j Ann went back to bed, loudly declar-

ing it wasn’t a tiger at all, “just nothing but an old mountain lion.” But I do not believe either of us slept any more that night. In the morning we let Shep remain out for a while before venturing forth ourselves. In the corral we found twelve sheep dead and dying. Even the black goat, Billy Butts, the leader of the flock, had a long gash down his flank, an injury which, however, he seemed not to mind. At breakfast Sister Ann was thoughtful. We both knew in reason that Uncle Henry must think there was someone with us, and so we might be alone for a number of days. The nearest neighbour was eight miles away. We knew neither road nor direction. The loss of the sheep would be a serious loss to Uncle Henry, as he had contracted to return the original number. Inexperienced as I was, I thought tlio lion would return, and Ann was sure of it. “It’s just as easy as failin’ off a log,” Sister Ann finally announced. “We’ll put the flock in the barn.” After breakfast we dragged the dead sheep to the river and threw them in, Sister Ann saying she didn’t want any lion-bait about her; besides, she reasoned, the ranchmen below might see the bodies and come and lend a hand. I never at any time heard Sister Ann admit that she needed protection. We took the sheep out to graze, but we kept well within sight of the house and went only about the low, open ground beside the river. Sister Ann brought out Uncle Henry’s rifle and carried it about on her shoulder. When I timidly questioned her ability to shoot, she looked unutterable scorn. She said all you had to do was to “just pull the trigger” and hinted at renown gained with the rifle long before I was born. At that time I was glad to believe it, but I have since reflected that Ann must have been hitting bull’s-eyes at the tender age of two years. We drove the sheep home early. There was some difficulty in getting them into the barn. They could not all crowd in on one side; and, as there was no open-

ing in the pole partition, wjs had to drive part of the flock around to the other door; but we finally accomplished it. Tnen Sister Ann knocked some boards from the corral fence and nailed one across each door. She said that lion had all of Uncle Henry’s sheep he was going to get, and she would nail up the house windows, too. There was a ladder leading up to the barn loft, but it was too heavy for us to move. So we brought out a table and put a chair on top. I handed up the nails and kept looking at the side of the mountain back of the eorral, where the lion had disappeared, while Sister Ann stood on the chair and nailed up the boards. She nailed up the attic windows on the inside, leaving plenty of room to see out. The sun was still above the mountains when we took Shep into the house and locked the doors, but the boards on the windows made the rooms so dark that we had to light a lamp. After supper we dressed up in Aunt Emma’s clothes—that is, Sister Ann did. I just sat still and tried to hear what was going on outside, while Ann played piano on the kitchen table and sang v ery loud. When it came bedtime, Sister Ann said it was really more healthful to sleep in the second storey. So we dragged cur bedding up the ladder into the attic, shut down the trap-door, and put two trunks on it. It seemed as though I had just fallen as eep, when I was awakened by Ann nudging me. “He’s out there,” she whispered. “Let’s go to the window and watch him.” Downstairs Shep was growling. We slipped out of bed, and I held tight hold of Sister Ann while we peeped from the window. Pretty soon we saw the lion padding softly round the barn. He was sniffing at the chinks and trying to put his paw through. When he came out into the moonlig.it, he stopped and locked around. We could see the tip of his tail curl and bend. Then he gave a terrible scream. We rushed and jumped into bed and covered up our heads.

“O Sister Ann," I sobbed, "why didrfl you shoot him J" “I will,” she said, “if he fools ’round here much more.” We heard nothing more that night. The next morning we let Shep remain put about an hour before we pried the boards from the barn doors. “I wish that lion was a bear,” I said). "Why?” asked Sister Ann, straining vigorously at her pry. “Because we might catch him with the bear-window in the barn.” Sister Ann turned and looked at mq “I guess other things could get in that bear-window besides bears,” she said, Then she dropped her tools and stood

looking at tho hear-window for a long time, but she said koOung more. We drove the sheep out to graze, Sister Ann taking Uncle Henry’s rifle as before. She let me carry it for a time, but it hurt my shoulder, so I gave it back. Moreover, I had a warm sense of security in seeing Sister Ann struggle along under its weight. We kept even nearer the house than on the day before, and drove home earlier, Sister Ann saying she had a plan. We put the flock into the corral and made Shep stay at the opening where Ann had knocked the boards off. “I’m going to catch that lion,” Sister Ann announced, as we walked toward the house. “Oh, how can you!” I gasped. But in my innermost consciousness I had a vision of Sister Ann leading that lion about, tame as a kitten.

“Just you do what I tell you, and you’ll see,” Ann said airily. We went into the parlour, which was a good-sized room, and stripped it bare of furniture and earpet. Then, to my amazement, Ann took the sheep from the corral and tried to drive them into the parlour. To do this, we had to take them across Aunt Emma’s little garden in front of the house. In five minutes it was as bare as a floor. I never saw anything snip and chew so fast as those sheep; but we couldn’t get them in the door. Finally Sister Ann coaxed Billy Butts in with sugar, and the rest followed. When the room was full of sheep, I closed the door, and Ann enticed Billy Butts on out through the kitchen, and had him lead the rest of the flock into the bull-pen in the barn. Then Sister Ann nailed up both barn doors tighter than before. When she stretched the clothes-line from the bear-window toward the attic window, which overlooked tjie barn, I began to understand her plan. The line was too short, however, and we pieced it out with the reins from an old harness. To keep it from dragging on the ground, we raised it over the branches of a small pine that stood near the barn. But even then the weight of the line kept pulling out the peg that held up the bear-window. Finally Ann tied the line with a stout string to a branch of the tree. Then we went up into the attic to try how it would work. Sister Ann was always dramatic, and managed to extract a triumph from every situation. She held up a warning finger while she peeped cautiously from the attic window. “Now he’s in!” she suddenly exclaimed, giving the line a violent jerk. The limb of the pine bent toward us, the peg flew out, and the window slipped down With a bang. Sister Ann rolled her eyes at me in fine triumph. “See, now?” she inquired tersely. We went down and re set the trap. Jo a hungry lion looking through the bear-window, the sheep in the bull-pen Were certainly a tempting sight. “0 Sister Ann,” I cried, misgivings suddenly overcoming me, "let’s don’t Jo it! He'll break those poles and eat all the sheep, and then he’ll get out and be so mad he’ll eat us.” .. P*, 8^®1 tossed her curls. "So you cou l«i eat me—you really

Her smile of pitying indulgence had its effect. For a time, at least, I believed the lion wouldn’t dare try it. Before the sun went down, we again took Shep into the house and locked the doors. Sister Ann said everyone knew that night air was not healthful, but she did not explain why she locked the doors so early. When I wanted to know how we should find out when the lion came, she said Shep would tell us. Then Ann went to cooking. She used up all the condensed milk and all the eggs there were in the house. She kept me busy helping while she made the kind of cookies I liked best and the kind she liked best, and two kinds of cake besides. She said we were not to have any supper at all, but a banquet after we caught the lion; and she was sure he would be around early. She decided she would start a show of her own if

we caught the lion, and declared that as soon as possible she was going to a country where one could meet elephants and rhinoceroses and tigers, greatly depreciating the paucity of a land where little girls could meet nothing but “a few old mountain lions.” So instilled was I with Sister Ann’s views, that I ventured to the window and peeped out through the cracks in the boards. But all was still, and the moon had not yet risen, so I went back to her side. I think I must have been asleep with my head resting on the table, when I was awakened by Shep’s growling. Sister Ann was standing very erect listening. I made a dive for her and seized her skirts. She turned the light low, and, while I still clung to her, we made our way up the ladder to the attic and looked out of the window. The moon was just rising, and the barn was in shadow; but as my eyes became accustomed to the light, I saw the lion moving softly around the barn, nosing the cracks. As we looked, he seemed for the first time to see the bearwindow. He crouched, regarding it fixedly; then he walked up to the window, rose on his hind legs, and looked in, smelling about the frame. I could feel Sister Ann shaking violently, whether from fear or excitement I did not know. But the lion moved away and again went around the barn. When he came back, without a moment’s hesitation he sprang upon the sill, poised a moment, and then disappeared within. Sister Ann seized the rope and pulled with all her might. We saw the window slide down, but for some reason it did not go evenly. One side remained a few inches above the sill. The moon now shone full upon the bam, and Sister Ann gave a kind of gasp as we saw the lion’s paw thrust out through the opening. The window was pushed up a little; then the paw was withdrawn, and the window slipped snugly into place. “Well,” said Sister Ann, “that was done better than I could have done it myself. Nothing like catching lions that have good sense.” She led the way downstairs, turned up the light, stirred the fire, and proceeded to set the table. She did not seem to notice that J kept fast hold of her skirts and followed her every move. Prom the bam came terrifying noises, but Sister Ann was not disturbed. Her

conversation, however, proved only a monologue. I did not pretend to eat of the feast, but just sat and looked at Sister Ann; and I think she did little more than crumble up her cookies. “Just listen at him trying to get out,” she said calmly. “Well, if he'd ask me, I could tell him he couldn’t. Why, you just ought to see the way they keep ’em in circuses—behind little tiny bars no bigger than that!” I didn’t see what her comparison was, but I gathered from her tone that the bars were about the size of hat-pins. I was just moving closer to Ann, when there came a scream that seemed to freeze my very blood. Ann sat still and listened. Then she went to the window, and for a long time peered through the cracks of the boards. “Well, I declare!” she said at last. “It’s just too lovely for anything; there’s another one!” “O Sister Ann!” was all I could gasp. “Of course, all lions have mates,” said she approvingly. “Everybody knows that. If I could catch that one, too,” she continued reflectively, “I believe I would be a lion-tamer. It’s just as easy! All you have to do is to wear pink tights with spangles on, and have a whip; and you stand in the cage with your foot on their heads and bow when the people clap.” Ideas of lion-taming led to further reflections on the joys of a circus life, and, getting out her precious whip, Ann switched her skirts smartly and went prancing around the room, giving loud and cheery directions to her imaginary steed as he cleared, with a bound, banners and hoops. And I, to be near Ann, went capering after, though half the tjirne tears were running down my cheeks. We kept this up until, when we crawled into bed, I dropped to sleep from sheer exnaustion. In the morning all was quiet about the barn; but when we let Shep out, he barked so savagely wc knew the lion was still there. After breakfast Sister Ann went near enough to look through a crack. She came hopping back on one foot, and said he was beautiful. Then we sat for about an hour on the back steps, watching the barn. I knew Sister Ann was thinking hard, because she didn't talk much. “Well, I guess I’ll catch that other lion,” she said presently, with the air she might have used in deciding to indulge in another waltz. “The sheep are not safe while he is free, and he’ll just keep coming while the other is here.” I did not ask a single question. I just followed into the house and helped take outdoors all the furniture that we had piled in the bedrooms, stripping the rooms bare. From a stack we fetched hay, heaping it round the empty rooms, and throwing as much into the parlour as we thought the sheep would eat. After Ann had taken another peep into the barn to see w’here the lion was, W’e went round and opened the door of the bull-pen. The sheep were lying down as far from the partition as possible, quietly chewing their cud. In the farthest corner two lay dead, smothered, probably, by- the flock piling up in the corner when the lion entered the barn. We let the sheep out, and Sister Ann closed the door and nailed it up again. Billy Butts wanted to go out to graze; but by coaxing him with sugar, we got the sheep into the bedroom by way of the kitchen. Although they were pretty well crowded, they began to eat hay and seemed not to mind. Then Sister Ann said she was going to go up in the barn loft and arrange to catch the other lion; and I could go along or stay’ in the house, just as I pleased. I decided I would rather be near her. Tlie loft was floored with good strong boards, and was used by Aunt Emma as a store room. When we had climbed up, I took one frightened peep through the floor eraeks. The lion was crouched in a corner, watching us with his wicked green eyes. He had torn off great splinters from the pole partition and from the logs, and his mouth and chest were flecked with bloody foam. It was, a terrible sight, and I stood carefully in the centre of a board. Sister Ann showed no such timidity. She stamped tauntingly on the floor and, with her mouth to a crack, hurled forth her most scathing vocabulary’. She invited her captive to reflect on the sin of stealing sheep, and to behold the fate of lions that "run up against her”; and

she gave the soothing information that she was by no means through with him. Notwithstanding all that, I stepped cautiously across the cracks when Ann went to open a place to the pole partition, so that she could get the lion into the bull-pen.

The pole protruded into the loft from one to two feet. To hold them at equal distance apart, inch boards had been nailed across the beams between the poles. Sister Anu knelt on the floor and pried up six of these boards, letting the poles fall back to each side. She was pushing the last one back, when there came a erash against the pole and a ripping and tearing of Ann’s dress from its belt. The lion had sprung and seized her skirt, which had hung through a crack. I gave one shriek and sank down, gazing at Sister Anu in speechless horror. She still held the pole, but here eyes were wide and fixed. For once, I am now inclined to think, I saw my sister paralysed with terror. It was not for long, however. “See here, Patty Brownlow,” she cried, “you’re getting me all mixed up by them squawks of yours. Haven’t I told you this barn is a thousand million times stronger than circus cages? And just see what you’ve done!” Sister Ann was gazing below. “You’ve gone and seared him to death, when I meant to train him myself to jump through hoops.” Sinking on the floor, Ann sobbed hysterically. I looked down through a crack with mingled feelings of remorse and astonishment. Tho lion was sprawled limp and motionless on the floor of the bullpen. Whether he struck his head in springing for Ann's dress and the Vshaped opening she had made in the partition, or whether he injured himself before, we never knew. However, he lay, to all appearances, dead. Sister Ann soon dried her tears, and, with my help, nailed the boards back between the poles, closing the opening that she had made. I was begging her not to go down and poke the body with a stick, as she declared she was going to, when the lion stirred, slowly got upon his feet, walked over into a corner, and lay down. Sister Ann expressed such unbounded delight that I tried not to think how sorry I was to have him alive. When we had securely fastened the loft door and crawled down the ladder, it was dinner time. The sheep made lots of noise on tho bare parlour and bedroom floors, and Sister Ann said she guessed they would have to be watered. After dinner we went out and set the bear-window first. The lion was lying quietly in the corner of the bullpen, where we had left him. Sister Ann said it made her ashamed to own such a lion as that. We then put tubs in the rooms where the sheep were, and Ann said wc would play Indian wnile we watered the sheep

I stood on a tabic at the corner of the house, where 1 could, see up and down the valley and mountain side, while she carried water from the river and poured it into the tubs. If 1 saw a suspicious movement of any kind, we were to run for the house. Every time Ann came up with a bucket of water, she would make faces at me until I nearly fell off the table from hysterical laughter. She had carried ever so many buckets, and was dipping up another, when Shop began to growl. Ann dropped her bucket and ran toward me. I jumped from the table; and, with Shep at our heels, we rushed into the house, locked the door, hurried up into the attic, and looked out of the window. It was not more than five o’clock, and the sun was shining brightly. At first we could see nothing. Then came a piercing scream from the mountain side. Following the direction of the sound with our eyes, we saw above the bushes a tawny head glaring down upon the ranch. Instantly there came an answering scream from the barn. The lion came bounding down the hill. He did not even pause at the sheep corral. As frightened as I was, J noticed the beautiful ease with which he took the six-foot fence, and then, crouching, cleared the other side in a flashing yellow curve. He made straight for the bull-pen side of the barn, which was out of our sight; but we could hear the lion on the inside biting and clawing the logs. “That’s the lady lion,” said Ann breathlessly, a conviction which proved to be true. “He wouldn’t be brave enough to come right in daylight.” Presently the lioness came creeping and crouching round the barn, her sinewy body twitching with fury. The open bear-window was before her. Without an instant’s hesitation she sprang into the barn. Sister Ann seized the line, and jerked with all her might. The old rein must have been more rotten than we thought. The window had settled upon it, and it broke, 1 he outer part dropping to the ground. We loojked in consternation at the bear-window. ~ The lioness was crouched on the the window had fallen it would have struck her on the back. We watched -the creature come out, suspiciously regard the rope, and then go round the barn. . - v “Now, Patty Brownlow,” Ann said severely, “when she goes in again, . Pm going out and.■ pull that rope. I can do it just as easy as anything. All you’ve got. to do is to keep the door open and shut it tight the minute I get back.” I was long past remonstrating with Ann. -We crept silently downstairs. She made Shep lie down and threw a quilt over Ifim to keep him quiet. Then she unlocked the door, softly opened a tiny crack", and peeped out. Suddenly she threw the door back and dashed into the yard; and I knew the lioness had again entered the bam. As she stooped to grasp the rope, Ann tripped and plunged headlong. Numb with horror, I stood where 1 was, expecting to see her torn to pieces. But she fell on the rope where it rose from the ground to the tre branch. The weight of her body pulled the branch down, and the peg was jerked out. 1 heard the impact of

the . lion’s lardy against the window as it struck the sill. Sister Ann was pale, but she walked into the house with a little swing of the body that gave a flaunt to her skirts, a sure sign of triumph. She even disdained to shut the door immediately; and, ignoring the pandemonium that reigned in the barn, calmly, got supper, chatting and singing by turns. I know now that if she had shown the slightest symptoms of fright. I should have utterly collapsed. .As it was, I could not eat a mouthful. When we went to bed, I dropped into the sleep of absolute exhaustion. The following morning was the fourth of Uncle Henry’s absence. With two lions on her hands, besides the sheep,

Sister Ann decided to make an effort to get help. She nailed some empty condensed milk cans to bro..d pieces of boards, and in them set adrift on the creek this somewhat formal appeal: Dear Sir, —Two ladies, are annoyed by "lion's’’’at Mr. Henry Brownlow’s ;ranch. You are cordially invited to be present. Your obedient servants,' Ann and Patricia Brownlow. P.S.—Please hurry.This was as near an appeal for aid as Sister Ann’s proud spirit could endure. She was sending the last of these messages on their turbulent way, when I saw Aunt Emma on horseback, coming down the trail. I rushed to meet her, but could only sob and tremble in her arms. Ann came up on a hop, skip and jump. “Why, children, what is the matter?” Aunt Emma asked in alarm. “Oh, we’ve just got some lions in the barn is all,” Sister Ann explained composedly. When Aunt Emma finally understood the situation, she took me on her lap, Ann climbed up behind her on the horse, and we started for the nearest neighbour. Over the first hill we met Uncle Henry. We all returned with him to the house, where we found the man he

had sent to us. By some misunderstanding the man had gone to Uncle Henry’s valley ranch. When the house was cleaned and arranged, Aunt Emma put me to bed, where 1 stayed for two days, while Sister Ann capered on her circus horse and audibly sighed to meet a real, true Bengal tiger. Uncle Henry tried to sell the lions alive, but there was no buyer, though the whole country came to see them, and incidentally to look at Ann. Finally an Englishman, who was hunting in the mountains, made arrangements to ship the lions to a London dealer in wild animals. The morning he was to do so, the lion died. He decided, however, to send the lioness, and a stout wooden cage

was placed on a waggon and backed up to the bear-window. For a time all efforts to cage the beast were unavailing. She became wild with anger, chewing prods into splinters and striking savagely at their wielders. Sister Ann wanted to be on the immediate scene of action, but we were limited to looking from the house windows. Even then I stayed close beside Aunt Emma, shivering at the terrifying sounds; but Ann leaned at perilous angles from the attie window, an advising spectator. “Good land!” she called. “If she wants to fight so bad, why don’t you put something in the cage for her to fight? She’ll go right in.” In response to this advice, an old coat was dragged through the bearwindow, and the day was won. Burlap sacks were then tacked over the cracks of the cage, and preparations were made to start for the railroad right after dinner. I was sitting on the back step, watching a man hitch the horses to the waggon, when Sister Ann brushed by me and tripped up to the dead lion, where he had been dragged from the barn. She had on a short, spreading white skirt, and tights made from material that had originally been flour sacks. Faint blue letters on her legs proclaimed that they were made by “roller-process” and were “best for biscuits.” Ann had basted the flour-sack material on her legs and cut off the surplus, so her tights were somewhat wrinkled. Her arms were bare, her neck was adorned with Aunt Emma's watch-chain, her lips and cheeks were stained with choke-cherry juice, and two cock feathers waved above her flowing curls. She carried her precious whip and a bouquet of wild flowers. Lashing the dead lion smartly, Ann raised her foot to his head and struck a proud and graceful pose. At that moment Uncle Henry and the Englishman came round the barn. They paused in astonishment. “This is the little girl that trapped the lions,” said Uncle Henry, looking hard aliove my sister’s head. “Fawncy now,” said the Englishman, gazing at Ann. A languishing smile parted Ann’s cherry-stained lips. She pressed the bouquet to her heart and blew a kiss from her finger tips. Then she turned and started for the waggon on that skittish little lope seen only in the circus ring. The driver, who stood beside his team, was evidently acquainted with circus etiquette; for when Ann raised her foot, he gallantly extended hie hand,

and she vaulted lightly to the back of ■ horse. “Why, Henry!" expostulated Aung Emma from the door, with disapproving eyes on Ann. “Oh, just to tile top of the hill,* Uncle Henry said indulgently. Anil, with Ann’s feathers waving, the “procession” started. The waggon had almost reached the summit of the mountain, and was at the only really dangerous place in the road, when a sudden gust 'of wind flapped sharply forward a loose end of the sack covering of the cage. It must also have carried a strong scent of the lion, for the steady-going team snorted, swerved suddenly, and crowded up the steep side of the mountain. Ann seized the points of the hames and held her seat, but the waggon was turned on its side, and the heavy cage went crashing down the steep mountain side. The boards were shattered, and 1 saw tne lioness, apparently unhurt, flash away amongst the undergrowth—the last seen of her. Sister Ann came flying down the road, her circus manners forgotten. “Did you sec?” she panted. “Well, I’m just glad that lion is free —she ia such a splendid fighter!”