34 



RECREA TJON. 



skunk," which after all was not a bad de- 

 scription of the little cat. 



"Hands up" screamed the kitten; ad- 

 vancing one hop, and redeeming herself 

 from the reproach of " spiketailed." 



" I wont," growled the bear; but he must 

 have had a female disposition, for he did. 

 He held up his paws and reared on his ul- 

 timatum till his head grew small in per- 

 spective. Then he growled something 

 about being " the ruler of the hull Rock- 

 ies; that he was there for swill and swill 

 he would have." 



The cat looked so small, down below, 

 that the old cinnamon took fresh courage, 

 dropped again on all fours and moved 

 swill-ward. 



" Stop! " shrieked the now desperate 

 kitten. 



" I want my swill," growled Cinnamo- 

 neus. 



" Fizz — yowl — yap," and the naughty 

 kitten landed on his big bald nose. She 

 had 32 knives in her mouth and 18 fish 

 hooks in her toes and they all worked by 

 electricity. 



And the bear? Well he upped and ran; 

 and you can't blame him. I'd a done the 

 same thing myself. But pussy was out for 

 blood. She could move faster than he 

 could and she plied her hooks and knives 

 like a little demon. 



The ruler of the mountains tried his fast- 



est gait, but it didn't seem to help out 

 much; so, in desperation, he climbed the 

 nearest tree, while pussy played hop scotch 

 on his rear guard. 



The bear went high 

 enough up to be safe. 

 Then glared down and 

 made nasty remarks 

 about the little cat. 

 She walked around the 

 base of the tree; dared 

 him to come down and 

 asked him how he liked 

 his swill? 

 Would he like 

 it sent up to his 

 room, or would 

 he wait till he 

 was big enough 

 to come down 

 and get it. She 

 " rubbed it into 

 him " thus, for 

 an hour or so, 

 till the boss of 

 the hotel, con- 

 sidering the af- 

 fair was degen- 

 erating into a 

 case of bullying, 



n ^J °^rr ^ . "WILL YOU COME DOWN AND GET 

 called Oil tllS YOUR SWILL, OR WILL YOU HAVE 



Ca t. it SENT UP TO YOUR ROOM ? " 



THE CHIEF COOK. 



W. H. NELSON. 



Say, Jim, ye know Coquiner? 



Well, hev ye ever seen er 

 Feller what's so derned, all-fired queer? 



I hev knowed him in the mountings, 



Camped with him beside the fountings, 

 And have swapped tabacker with him for 

 more'n 30 year. 



He kin stop a rushin' grizzly — 

 By the bones of Billy Chizley! — 



Jist as cool as any duck ye ever met, 

 He kin drop an old buck quicker, 

 Coax a trout to come out slicker, 



Than ary other feller; which the same I'm 

 here to bet. 



Kin he cook? Well, I'm a smilin'! 



And for roastin', bakin', brilin', 

 He'll lick the boots off that big feller in 

 Noo York; 



He's some on chops or brisket. 



He kin beat the Dutch at biscuit, 

 And he'll waller all creation on a mess of 

 r - roasted pork. 



Now, ther's lots o' cooks hez boasted 

 Which the pork that they hez roasted 

 Wuz sweeter than fresh honey from the 

 hive; 

 But the dish they sweat preparin' 

 Wuz from hog as dead as herrin' 

 While this Coquiner feller now'-days roasts 

 his hogs alive. 



He hez got a combination 

 Range which he calls Recreation, 

 Which the same he fires up monthly with 

 fresh logs, 

 And the way he roasts the grunters 

 (Which they calls theirselves great 

 hunters), 

 Is a beautiful invention in the way of roast- 

 in' hogs. 



The fish-hogs must be feelin' 

 Kinder scaly, and like squeelin', 

 And the game-hogs they are quiet-like, this 

 fall; 

 But the bristles, they are scorchin' 

 For Coquiner, he's a watchin' 

 And he'll roast them to perfection, skin and 

 all. 



