OH, SHOOT! 



edged nearer to the fire than etiquette per- 

 mitted, so Uncle Jim pecked the veteran on the 

 shins with his poker, saying, mildly : 



"Now, Pot, you get away from here, or I'll 

 knock a yelp out of you as long as a well 

 rope." Pot retired with a mournful dignity 

 and seated himself with the rest of the pack. 

 "He's a powerful good dog, but these boys 

 have spoiled his manners," Uncle Jim apolo- 

 gized. "Yes, he's a good dog. He saved 

 my life once." We had already learned that 

 Uncle Jim is parsimonious with his reminis- 

 cences; therefore we maintained a polite but 

 inquisitive silence. "I was hunting alone, for 

 the government, one season, and my horse 

 throwed me. Broke my right shoulder. One 

 day Pot and another dog treed a lion, and I 

 shot it left-handed. It fell like it was dead 

 and went over a ledge, with them after it. I 

 left my gun behind and went down to skin 

 him out, but when I got below I found I'd 

 only creased him. The dogs had him ledged 

 up and he was as good as ever. When I 

 showed up he made for me. He'd of got me, 

 too, only they nailed him. Then we had it. 

 We tore up a lot of ground. Every time the 

 cougar went for me they'd go for him, and 



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