84 JUSTIN MORGAN 



among" the anecdotes relating to this time there was one 

 which amused the yoimg horse no httle. 



It ran as follows : 



For some unaccountable reason the Indians had failed 

 to burn the hut of one Jones, who had a wife known 

 far and wide as a scold and a shrew. To get a day's 

 rest from her abuse, poor Jones oft-times had to go 

 hunting or trapping, and when he saw an especially bad 

 tantrum coming he would snatch his gun from the 

 mantel-shelf and, calling his dog, rush forth into the 

 forest, a storm of reviling in his wake. Sometimes he 

 remained away for days. 



Nobody ever remembered having seen Jones smile. 



One day, his wife's temper and tongue being worse 

 than usual, he found it expedient to go hunting, and 

 stayed away over night. There are times when a silent 

 dog is sweet company and the peaceful forest a haven 

 of refuge. 



On the second afternoon, thinking it might be safe to 

 return, Jones approached his home cautiously. Stranger 

 sounds than usual greeted his listening ear. 



He paused, alert and intent, silencing his intelligent 

 dog with a gesture. Creeping stealthily forward under 

 the shadow of the trees, he beheld a small band of 

 Indians in the act of breaking open his hut-door. He 

 waited tensely, to see them drag his wife out and scalp 

 her. 



Instead, from inside came her familiar voice raised in 

 vituperation and upbraiding. Jones could scarcely be- 

 lieve his ears, and for the first time since his marriage 

 he grinned. 



"This time those red imps have met their match," he 

 murmured *to his dog with an audible chuckle. 



Hardly had he spoken when out came half a dozen 

 Indians dragging the shrew between them. Not for 



