HE GOT THE COON. 



ADELLA WASHER. 



The rain had begun early in the morning 

 and there had been a steady downpour all 

 day. 



The Rev. Mr. Hamlin, in his study, 

 put the finishing touches to his sermon; 

 thought of the little white church several 

 miles away, where he had promised to 

 preach the next day, looked down the 

 muddy country road, and hoped the storm 

 would stop before morning. It was still 

 raining when he went to bed, but the next 

 morning broke clear and bright. Another 

 look at the road, in front of the house, how- 

 ever, convinced him it would be better to 

 go on horseback than in the easy carriage. 



He started early, and as he rode slowly 

 along, his mind divided between sermon 

 and themudholes,he caught sight of a large 

 coon that had been caught by the rushing 

 water and lodged in a bed of drift, in the 

 creek, a short distance from the road. 



The sight of that big, fat coon, fast and 

 helpless, drove all thoughts of Sunday and 

 sermon out of the dominie's mind, and 

 brought, in their stead, a vision of white 

 tents and camp fires. He remembered a 

 night when the autumn wind had sighed 

 softly in the tree beside his tent, and when 

 the sweet strains of a darkey song had 

 stolen in on the fluttering wind. He re- 

 membered also that the supper that night 

 had been a banquet. Sweet potatoes, roast- 

 ed in the ashes, and a luscious fat coon 

 baked to perfection. 



Those days and nights on Southern fields 

 had taught him many things and they had 



given him a knowledge and an apprecia- 

 tion of the once despised coon. 



He forgot the little white church ahead 

 of him, and, unmindful of his Sunday 

 clothes, he slipped from his horse, tied him 

 to a tree and started into the roaring, 

 storm-swept stream. 



It was not easy walking, or wading either, 

 through the mud and water; but after a 

 great deal of trouble and manoeuvring he 

 managed to whack the coon on the head 

 with a club. Then the clergyman picked 

 his way back to the place where he had 

 seen the visions of days forever gone. 



The coon was a beauty. So was the min- 

 ister — a streaked and spotted one, not fit 

 to go to church and to preach the Gospel 

 to an expectant people. 



When the thought of Sunday and of the 

 place he had started for came back to his 

 mind, he looked at his clothes disgustedly 

 and felt tempted to turn his horse around 

 and go home. Then he thought how dis- 

 appointed the people would be, and gave 

 up the idea of fleeing like a coward. He 

 hid his coon, marked the spot and went 

 ahead and preached, thinking meanwhile of 

 the rich repast that awaited him on his re- 

 turn home. 



After service, as he passed down the 

 aisle, giving pleasant greetings, right and 

 left, he heard one good sister say to an- 

 other: 



"Just look at Elder Hamlin! He would 

 get to church and preach if he had to wade 

 through mud and water up to his neck." 



OUR FIRST LOAD OF MEAT. 



E. P. JAQUES. 



Camp was pitched when Henry returned 

 from Loup City with the information that 

 Wes had been detained, and that we were 

 to kill a load of meat and send the team 

 back with it, in time to pick him up a week 

 later. 



Allowing 4 days for the round trip, and 

 Sunday to rest, we had 2 days in which to 

 kill the game. This we decided was ample 

 time and as Henry had arrived on Satur- 

 day night, we made our preparations Sun- 

 day, picketed our horses near the creek, 

 and made an early Monday start. 



Will chose the canyons to the South and 

 East of camp, keeping well to the East. 

 Henry kept to the South and followed the 



creek, while I took the hilly land, away to 

 the South and West. 



I travelled well into the afternoon, that 

 day, without sighting even a " hoof," when, 

 on toward sundown, the sharp whistle or 

 snort of an old buck antelope attracted my 

 attention. Nearly 150 yards beneath and 

 away from me, in a wooded glen, he stood 

 watching me. Quickly assuming a hori- 

 zontal position — my favorite one in long 

 range firing — I let drive a 56 calibre slug, 

 only to raise the alkali dust beyond, show- 

 ing that I had fired too high and the lead 

 had passed between his horns. Away 

 dashed the buck only to reappear, a few 

 minutes later, around a bend in the canyon, 



195 



