214 



RECREA TION. 



Meanwhile, I had turned Fred on his 

 back, put a poker chip on each eye, tied 

 up his jaw with a bar towel, spread 

 another over his face, crossed his hands 

 on his breast and left him to cool off. 



k ' Really," said one of the boys, " he 

 makes a right good looking stiff." 



The game went on full blast. Pretty 

 soon the door opened and in came a 

 sociable sort of a chap who had got a 

 bullet in the leg the day before and had 

 had several whiskey fits. He was visit- 

 ing on a crutch and one leg that after- 

 noon. 



He came limping around, saw the man 

 apparently asleep on the floor ; stuck 

 the end of his crutch under the face 

 towel, flipped it into the air and said 

 cheerfully, " What are you doing on the 

 floor, you son of a gun ? " 



When he saw the dead man's face he 

 thought he had 'em again. He looked 

 once more, yelled like a Sioux, whirled 

 around on his sound leg and fell on top 



of Fred. No one noticed him for a 

 while. Then the barkeep turned his at- 

 tention to him, saw he didn't move, 

 walked to the door and sung out, " Hi, 

 there, Murphy ; make that a two-story 

 coffin. Here's another son of agun dead." 



It didn't surprise me to see the man 

 go, as the whiskey sold there in those 

 days was made of muriatic acid, pounded 

 glass, strychnine and tobacco juice. But 

 in this case the action was not fatal. In 

 a little while the bum came to, cursed 

 us, in a sociable way, for not giving a 

 fainting man a drink and limped away 

 to another saloon. 



The ground was frozen nearly three 

 feet deep ; so we dug a hole in a snow 

 bank, slid Fred in and then packed snow 

 around him tight, so that he would keep 

 until the spring thaw. 



At that time Sentinel Butte had nearly 

 500 people, but to-day it is down to a 

 section house and one family on the out- 

 side. 



