94. ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
“Tame, your grandmother! Oh, yes, he’s real 
tame, he is. He’s a dear little, gentle, tame dar- 
lin’, Oi don’t think!” 
Meanwhile Old Bill kept on pawing the ground 
and coughing and tossing his great antlers. He 
was thoroughly enjoying himself. So was Sny- 
der. Tim was a suffering minority of one. 
“ Well,” the warden remarked, after a moment 
more, “ to stop your swearing, and save your soul 
from perdition, Tim, here goes.” 
He kicked up the mould, found a stone, and 
tossed it at Old Bill, who suddenly sprang half 
sideways six or eight f eet and vanished like smoke 
into the dense brush. 
Tim came down. 
He rubbed his legs, he felt of himself as if to 
make sure he was all there. Then a look of ex- 
treme sheepishness spread over his face. 
“ Say, Bill, for the love o’ Mike, don’t let this 
get out!” he said. 
“T won't tell,” Snyder answered, “but you 
can’t trust Old Bill—he does love a joke.” 
It was at the approach of the rutting season 
the next year that Old Bill pulled off his most 
