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out the back door, where he stumbled over 
a feller what groaned, ‘Oh, God, fellers, 
I’m all in. They hid the stake-holder 
and kept him there by telling him he would 
be accused of killing that man at the door; 
the vigilanters would be looking for him, 
and it wouldn’t be wise to show up. 
“Next mornin’ a feller sauntered down by 
the creek where the trail crosses on a log. 
He tacked a card on an old barrel that 
stood by a bench of brush and sez, ‘Now, 
Dick, I'll count off 30 paces and we'll shoot 
fer $1 a shot. He counted about 3 when 
the barrel rose up, with a man’s legs under 
it, and tipped over, and there was our neigh- 
bor, the whole gang howling about him and 
ready to take what was comin’ to ’em.” 
Soon after the water in the creek became 
clear the newspaper man was seen on the 
bank with a whip, slashing at something 
in the stream. Suddenly the whip was seen 
to bend to nearly a half circle, then the 
shimmer of a silken line could be seen 
running from the end of it to the water. 
_ The fellow was fishing and had evidently 
fastened to a big one. He was a picture of 
wild excitement. “I’ve got ’im; got ’im,” 
he cried; “he’s a moose!” 
The fish was darting here and there, 
now in deep water, then in shallow, now 
splashing on the riffles, then doubling on 
his trail like a hunted whitetail. The bank 
rose some 6 feet almost straight above the 
water and how the fish was to be landed 
was a problem. The newspaper man was 
looking for a way down the bank when the 
soft loam gave way and he slipped knee 
deep into the creek. At the same instant 
the rod whipped out strait and there was 
a tremendous splash. He held the rod well 
up and wound desperately at the crank. A 
look of disappointment came over his face 
when he saw only a tuft of gaudy feathers 
fluttering at the end of his line. 
He said not a word, but climbing up the 
RECREATION. 
bank, looked about for his hat. It could 
not be found. Down stream a light gray ob- 
ject glanced over the riffles. He said he 
didn’t mind losing a hat, but that fish was 
the biggest thing that ever wore scales, and 
he regretted that the scales could not show 
how much it weighed. . 
He was preparing for another cast when 
his attention was attracted to a cow that 
stood with her head in the entrance of his 
tent. Our friend picked up a club and 
running up dealt the unsuspecting cow a 
sound blow and simultaneously gave a war 
whoop or college yell. The cow started 
and ran into the tent. There was a bulg- 
ing on one side, stakes started from the 
ground, lines snapped and the tent started 
for the creek. The camp stove rattled and 
crockery crashed. Our friend caught the 
trailing lines and digging his heels in the 
earth kept the cow from going over the 
bank into the creek. 
Assistance arrived and the mess of lines, 
canvas and cow was untangled. Old 
Frank remarked that he had seen cattle 
roped in all sorts of ways, but ““never seed 
a feller rope one with a tent before.” He 
wanted to know “if that wasn’t a Ioth 
century stunt.” The expert arrived, and 
as he drew near walked slowly as if 
he half expected another explosion. He 
stood like a statue of despair over the scene 
of disaster. Assaying utensils and mater- 
ials, photographic apparatus, groceries, tin- 
ware and camp stools were badly mixed. 
He must have known that all he could say 
would not do justice to the occasion, for all 
he said was: “That’s a d—— pretty mess, 
now isn’t it?” 
* The sun came up over the Wonaca lake 
district, peeped into the valley of Solomon 
creek and lay on the riffles where the camp 
wedged its self into the hills. One tent 
was missing from our group. The tender- 
feet had taken an early start for Spokane. 
“Father,” remarked little Johnny Beanpod, 
as he glanced over his glasses from the 
perusal of his favorite Boston paper, “you 
have ever inculcated the principle, in your 
arduous training of my intellectual being, 
that males are more punctual in keeping ap- 
pointments than females.” 
“Yes, my son.” 
“Then, father, how can you explain the, 
fact that, in my perusal of the select obit: ’ 
uary notices, I find most of them refer to, 
‘the late Mr. 
News. 
So-and-So?’ ”—Four-Track 
~ 
