206 RECREATION. 
ing jostled and snapped at could be plainly 
heard. The infernally cruel howling was 
incessant. 
When they reached Damon, Windy com- 
plained of feeling sick. He laid it to the 
whiskey. When they crossed the county 
line and the pack had again picked up the 
scent after swinging wide of the settle- 
ment, he lay down in the bottom of the 
wagon, explaining that he felt as if he 
would heave up his boots. He frequently 
assured the others, however, that there was 
no danger. 
“Don’t you s’pose you'd feel better to 
git out and walk a little, Windy?” asked 
Hank Root compassionately. 
“Naw, I'll be all right after a spell ;” re- 
plied Windy. 
The hills and gully thickets South of 
Big Creek swamp were wolf headquarters 
in those days. When the team wound in 
among them with the winking lanterns, 
they were greeted by a large and demon- 
strative mob which kept always at an in- 
distinct distance, swirling like phantoms, 
threatening, taunting, playing Indian tricks 
of fiendish humor. 
“Helofa tight job gittin’ through that 
swamp,” said the settler as he cracked 
the blacksnake over the wheezing horses. 
“You fellers had better git lined up where 
you kin do the most good in case they try 
to pull the hosses down.” 
Every body fired and yelled. They 
ploughed down the last sandy hill and 
crashed through the narrow rift in the 
cedars with the horses on the dead run. 
The pursuing pack took grand stand seats 
at the entrance and screeched bloody terror 
after them. There was another settlement 
within a mile, and Windy said he felt quite 
a lot better. He said the bumping over the 
crossway had kind of shook the sickness 
all out of him. 
“Aw, hell! Sick yer grannie!” sneered . 
Hank. “You're skairt; that’s all’s the mat- 
ter with you!” 
Windy ridiculed the idea. 
“Why didn’t you git out ’n kick a few 
of ’em in the ribs then?” Hank demanded. 
“He dassent git out of the wagon now,” 
taunted another; “an’ ther ain’t a wolf this 
side the swamp.” 
Windy hesitated, then jumped out and 
ran along beside the team. 
“Git out into the brush, why don’t you?” 
they yelled at him. He veered off and 
skulked along through the widely scattered 
trees. 
There were 2 hounds in the wagon, and 
Hank put a painful kink in the tail of one, 
while Bob Stevens operated on the other. 
Charley Arand and the settler tucked the 
stocks of their Winchesters beneath their 
arms and worked the levers for dear life. 
All yelled at the top of their voices. The 
horses broke into a mad gallop. 
“Git into a tree, fer Gawd’s_ sake, 
Windy!” roared Hank; “they’r tryin’ to 
climb the wagon.” Windy shed his rifle, 
then his coat, and lit indiscriminately into 
the side of the most promising jack pine. 
The ki-yi-ing, shooting, cursing load went 
reeling around a crook in the road and 
pulled up breathless at the settlement. 
Windy roosted all right in that ridiculously 
inadequate tree. . 
When they came out in the morning to 
rescue him he slid sheepishly out of the 
branches and said: 
“That’s all right. I’m one of the damn- 
dest liars on Gawd’s footstool; but if you 
fellers "11 promise not to say anything about 
this when we git home, I’ll swear off right 
now an’ do all the cookin’ while we're 
here.” 
They all swore never to tell, and, from 
that time, Windy was a changed man. 
Phrenologist—Here is a man out of his 
proper sphere. His head betokens high 
intellectual and spiritual qualities, yet he 
is spending his time behind a_ grocer’s 
counter. Sir (to the grocer), I wish to 
ask you a question. 
tions 

Have you any aspira- 
Grocer (calling to clerk)—John, have we 
any aspirations ? 
Clerk—All out, sir. 
Have some in the 
last of the week.—Kansas City Journal. 

: 
1 
