18 RECREATION. 
met, for when one side of the hoop was 
pressed into the grave, the other side rose 
up in a most unexpected manner and 
balked the ceremonies. After several fruit- 
less attempts to entomb the hoop, the dog 
sat down to ponder the situation. It was 
his first problem in engineering. He was 
no mathematician, but he showed that he 
was up to his work by placing the hoop on 
level ground and drawing the loose earth 
over it until it was entirely covered by a 
circular mound. Then he walked slowly 
away, looking very much like a bereaved 
relative. 
A family of brindle kittens shared the 
hospitality of the woodshed with this en- 
terprising pup. They were of the mewing, 
watery eyed age, uncertain of gait, and 
much attached to their place of birth. 
Bounce had repeatedly tried to coax these 
small creatures into sportiveness, but they 
remained unresponsive, so one day he de- 
cided they cumbered the earth to no 
purpose. He took one of them up by the 
skin of its neck and proceeded solemnly, 
I had almost said tearfully, to his private 
graveyard. Digging a suitable hole, he 
placed the passive kitten therein and set- 
tling it carefully with a poke of his nose, 
he drew in the soil and packed it firmly. 
Satisfied with the progress made, he again 
visited the woodshed, but on _ returning 
with his second victim, he found, much to 
his chagrin, that corpse number one had 
revived, and was even then scampering 
away as fast as its wobbly legs could take 
it. He dropped the second to fetch the 
first, and the second fled also. They played 
that on him but once, however, for he soon 
got them both in his mouth and took them 
again to the grave. There he dropped one 
and held it safe by putting one foot on the 
slack of its skin, while he cleared and en- 
larged the grave with another foot. This 
done, he covered the kittens, rammed them 
down with his muzzle, and I think perhaps 
would have sat on the grave to hold them 
securely until such time as they might con- 
sent to remain quiet, had they not been 
rescued by a member of the household who 
felt obliged to go on record as opposed 
to the burial of live cats. 
When Bounce matured he was, generally 
speaking, an amiable watch dog. He 
would not suffer a tramp in sight, how- 
ever, and would bristle and work the draw- 
strings of his lips until there were enough 
great, white teeth in evidence to discour- 
age the boldest Willie. Among his own 
kind he soon became known as a good dog 
to be let alone. It could scarcely be said 
that he ever took part in a dog fight. He 
always allowed his opponent to make the 
first dash, and he never failed to get a good 
throat hold. There was no _ fighting «to 
speak of after that. 
One day Bounce went to a field remote 
from the house, with a hired man who was 
to leave the place the next day. The man 
returned without the dog and went away 
the next morning. It was not until then 
that the dog was missed, and he was not 
seen again until the second day. When 
he came he was fed at once, and as soon 
as he had finished his food he again dis- 
appeared. Late in the evening of the third 
day, after he had gone to the field with 
the hired man he again appeared, dragging 
with his teeth an old coat which the man 
had left on a stump. Faithful Bounce had 
guarded the coat 3 days, and getting tired of 
his lonely job, had decided to remove it 
to a place of safety, crossing several fen- 
ces on the way. The coat was given him 
for a bed, and served to keep him warm 
that winter. 
Bounce has put off his puppyish tricks, 
has retired from the funeral directorship, 
and is now a dignified, faithful and useful 
guardian of the house and its inmates. 
THE COWBOY’S SONG. 
C,7t. is 
Oh! for the life that’s free from care! 
Oh! for the land where men are men! 
To breathe once more that fresh free air, 
Down by the forks of the Dry Cheyenne. 
To feel the bronco bound to the spur, 
To feel the stout rope tighten, when 
Your horse lies back to the steer’s mad 
plunge, 
Down by the forks of the Dry Cheyenne. 
To hear the click of the countless hoofs, 
To hear those rattling horns again 
As the herd stampedes some wild, dark 
night, 
Down by the forks of the Dry Cheyenne. 
To see the grim, grey wolf at dawn, 
Sneak through the hills to his rocky den, 
To start the buck from his leafy bed, 
Down by the forks of the Dry Cheyenne. 
To others the faded life of town, “ 
For me a horse and a gun, and then 
The swelling plains and the pine-bound 
hills, 
Down by the forks of the Dry Cheyenne. 
