mettled mustang against the hard-beating rain and wind so fast that Fan toiled panting after them. Thus his impatient temper broke discipline again; for it was ranch rule never to blow your horse, because you might suddenly need him, and need all there was of him. Presently he reached the gulch. Here the trained mustang, aware that danger often lurked in such places, stopped his racing gallop and advanced cautiously up the narrowing pass. Fan suddenly faced back, growling, then barked a note of welcome. The three lion-dogs came racing, and leaped joyously about the horse. Fan ran ahead, and soon announced that she had found the missing sheep. With some difficulty she routed them out of the snug shelter they had found in a thicket at the foot of a cliff, and started them reluctantly homeward, followed by Frank on his horse, and the three great hounds.

The rain had now ceased for a time. Broken clouds showed patches of a clear sky, but threatened the gathering of further storms. A darkening ocean of dust spread fast from the mountains over the dimming prairie.

The sheep were turning the last low rock at the entrance of the gulch, when a great dark shape flew out with a dreadful cry, and instantly one sheep was dashed to the earth with a broken neck, and the other was in the jaws of a huge mountain-lion. Poor Fan retreated for safety to the feet of the horse, but faced the danger, growling, half in terror, half braced to duty. Frank, accompanied by the three great hounds, did not hesitate to charge this formidable and sudden enemy. But the effect was not what he expected. Instead of bounding away, the great cat, looming larger and more terrible the nearer he approached, faced his foes fiercely, crouching above the slain sheep, ready to spring, and yelling screams of demoniac ferocity. The mustang stopped and roared, then stood snorting and trembling, and could not be forced The great dogs rushed on. And Frank sat in his saddle and watched the fight, unable to assist, too fascinated to fly.

nearer.

Now he realized the imprudence of leaving his arms, and repented his boyish folly in despising discipline founded upon experience.

"Old Strategy" was the leader of the three

great dogs. His wise brain did the planning for all, and never did soldiers obey a chief with more careful attention to signals of command than the other two great dogs gave to him. He was the fleetest of the three. "Reserve," who ran in the rear, and always waited the proper time to leap and seize, was the most powerful. "Skirmish," the lightest of the trio, made it his business to distract the quarry by flashing feigned and real attacks all over him, here, there, and everywhere, to provoke openings for the other

two.

Just as the battle began, the clouds opened wide, and the brightening moon shed a distant glimmer over the scene through the mist that rose from the wet grass, disclosing the huge mountain-lion standing over his prey, with flattened ears, snarling face, teeth gleaming, claws widely spread, mad with hate, menacing the dogs.

And now Old Strategy, warily observant, crept, growling, directly in front of the angry lion, tempting and taunting him to spring. Nearera little nearer yet. Several times the lion seemed about to leap, judging by his lashing tail and settling haunches; but Skirmish distracted him with a sudden feint, or Reserve threatened his flank. When each dog had a good position, Old Strategy provoked a leap by a sudden movement. The lion sprang, body, limbs, and claws spread to strike. But Old Strategy was n't there when he alighted; and the lion did not alight where he aimed; for the moment he leaped Reserve and Skirmish dashed in and caught him in the air, one on his flank, one by a hind knee-joint, and held back with such force that all three rolled along the grass.

Before the lion could retaliate, all three dogs were once more out of reach, to repeat their provoking tactics.

For half an hour this furious battle was continued. Leap, charge, rush, or strike as he would, the worried lion could not bring his treacherous assailants to a close. But for a few insignificant scratches, the dogs were unhurt, but the lion showed many marks of the conflict. The dogs gave him no rest from their incessant attacks. Occasionally one of the dogs would lie down, panting, and rest himself, while the other two kept the game going; but their

adversary was not permitted a moment's breathing-time.

Gradually the tormented night-prowler grew weary and faint. His own fury helped the dogs to exhaust him; for each effort he made increased his rage, until he became a veritable demon of frenzied hate, and spent in useless screams the breath that he needed for battle. As his powers diminished those of the dogs increased. Their rushing, leaping grips were more confident, more frequent, and more effective.

A little later brave Skirmish made such a prodigious feint, in obedience to some secret sign from Old Strategy, that the lion whirled to strike at him. This gave Old Strategy his chance. He fastened the first grip upon the throat of the great cat, keeping his own body behind and partly under the head of his foe, while Skirmish dragged at a hind leg, and Reserve put all his weight and force into a grip over the loin, stretching their enemy helpless for a moment-but only for a moment. soon as the great cat could muster his tired strength, he drew his powerful body into a curve, and thrust at Old Strategy with his

As

lashing hind legs, compelling the dog to let go. But the instant Old Strategy was pushed off, the painful grip of Reserve at his loins made the lion curl down again, to strike with his fore paws, when Old Strategy pinned his throat once more from the other side.

So in five minutes more the battle was ended, and the three dogs had again proved their right to the proud distinction of being the only dogs that could kill a full-grown mountain-lion.

Frank Swayne never forgot that wild combat. What was far better, he took to heart the lesson he had received, and thereafter paid careful heed to discipline and business, much to the satisfaction of his uncle. Though he never became a great business man, nor even a noted herdsman, nature not having gifted him with the right qualities, he did become, under Dick Bryant's instructions, fairly well versed in the conduct of a sheep-ranch, and, later, reasonably successful in a business career.

Even from the dogs Frank learned something of the great value of careful training and single attention to whatever lesson one has to learn or task one has to do.