With Gun P Rod in Canada 



tion in taking him out into such an environment. Just 

 as we were getting settled down again, Joe asked if he 

 could borrow my six-shooter. Prepared for some more 

 of his amusing pranks, I handed it over without asking 

 for an explanation. He disappeared from the fire-light, 

 taking the trail down to the canoe landing. 



" Where's he goin' ? What 'd he want that gun for ?" 

 asked Tug, anxiously. 



As Jim had gone to bed in the tent on the other side 

 of the fire, it fell to me to back Joe's game, so I 

 hazarded: 



" Oh, he's just gone down to see if the meat's all 

 right. Sometimes bears carry off moose meat, if you 

 don't watch it." 



The words were hardly out of my mouth when there 

 was a crash in the bushes, followed by several shots 

 from the six-shooter. In apparent alarm, I grabbed my 

 rifle, and with a yell, " I'm coming, Joe," darted out of 

 the tent, heading for the scene of action. My hasty 

 arrival in Joe's proximity found him sitting on a rock 

 laughing. 



" Fire a couple o' shots out of your rifle, boss," he 

 suggested. 



" Crack, crack !" went the old 30-40 into the innocent 

 blackness of the night. The wood resounded with the 

 turmoil. Considerately pausing for the full effect of this 

 sham battle, Joe and I went up the trail to the tents. 

 Emery was having hysterics. There were scufHings and 

 grunting sounds coming from Jim's tent. 



" Where's Tug ?" I asked. 



" When you fired that rifle he took a high dive across 

 the fire, and tried to get in bed with old Jim," laughed 

 Emery. 



Just then Tug's big, rough, red face obtruded from 

 under the fly of Jim's tent. 



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