I 84 



RECREATION. 



our camp utensils. Besides, I had linger- 

 ing remnants of sportsmanship and scorned 

 to lift a shot gun against so small an ani- 

 mal. I put a camp stool in a shaded place, 

 laid my .44 caliber Colt within reach, and 

 sat down to wait for the rat. Along in the 

 afternoon I heard a slight scratching 

 sound. Quiz was gnawing at the candle 

 box. Picking up the revolver I shot. I 

 can score a fair target average when in 

 good health, but the fever had left my 

 nerves in woeful condition, and the pistol 

 sight wobbled as if I were trying to hit 

 some spot on a rapidly moving wheel. 

 When the flash finally came Quiz jumped 

 to the floor unhurt. There was a hole, 

 however, through the bottom of our best 

 granite camp, kettle, and I could almost 

 take oath that the rat lifted a stubby thumb 

 to his sharp nose and wagged his fingers 

 before he darted to his home. What I 

 said was not classical. 



My comrade, who had heard the shot, 

 was so interested in the fate of the rat that 

 he ran 200 yards to inquire into the accur- 

 acy of my aim. 



"You would better shoot for the camp 

 kettle next time," he remarked, derisively, 

 "and perhaps you would hit the rat." 



"I should probably perforate the rest of 

 the kitchen utensils," I replied, humbly. 



"Well," he added, "I shall go to the vil- 

 lage to-morrow for some giant powder, 

 and I'll get a mouse trap, too. That may 

 prove a better investment than ammuni- 

 tion." 



I spent the next day keeping a sharp 

 lookout for Quiz, who danced in and out 

 of the cavities with tantalizing frequency 

 and a rapidity which enabled him to defy 

 me in the most brazen manner. Several 

 times I fired at him with no other effect 

 than to smash a bottle of headlight oil, 

 which fed the bicycle lamp by which I read 

 at night. That rat literally played hide- 

 and-seek with me all day. He would sit 

 on a stone out in the open, flirt his 

 brush of a tail until I leveled the revolver, 

 and then dart away with a grin on his 

 face. It was maddening, especially to one 

 who realized that his right hand had tem- 

 porarily lost its cunning, and that he could 

 not hit a covey of barns. It required an 

 effort of will to avoid resorting to the 

 shot gun. I believe, had the annoyance 

 continued a week longer, I should have 

 had a relapse, brought on by pure nervous 

 irritation. That night Jack returned with 

 his purchases. 



"I brought No. I powder," he remarked, 

 laying down a box of the dynamite sticks. 

 "It contains 60 per cent, nitro-glycerine. 

 That ledge is a tough conglomerate and 

 needs considerable nitro to tear it. By the 



way, that No. I may explode from a severe 

 blow, so we would better put it in a safe 

 place. I brought a mouse trap, too," con- 

 tinued Jack, displaying the article. 



He deposited the giant powder in one of 

 the niches of the cupboard and laid the 

 fuse and percussion caps near. The caps 

 were large ones, loaded heavily with ful- 

 minate of mercury, and required gentle 

 handling. The detonation of one in the 

 hand would cause the loss of a finger or 2. 



The next morning there were abundant 

 evidences of the depredations of Quiz. He 

 had gnawed into the box of candles, torn 

 open a sack of frijoles, and ruined a vest 

 which Jack had left in the cupboard; but 

 the trap was untouched. 



"Confound Quiz !" ejaculated my part- 

 ner, gazing sadly at the riddled vest. "I'll 

 put a bullet in him if the chance offers." 



I doubted neither Jack's ability nor his 

 will, but the rat seemed to divine that a 

 crack shot was after him, and kept out of 

 sight. The thefts, however, went on regu- 

 larly. 



On the evening of the second day, as we 

 were seated at supper, Jack suddenly drew 

 the big .45 caliber gun from its holster at 

 his side and took careful aim into one of 

 the niches. Following the direction of the 

 weapon I saw Quiz perked up on his hind 

 legs and biting away at something he held 

 between his paws. I also saw at the same 

 instant that the cavity he occupied was the 

 one which sheltered that box of dynamite, 

 and that the rat was immediately in from 

 of the tin of percussion caps. 



"Don't shoot ! Stop ! For the sake of 

 Heav — !" I yelled, the last of the sentence 

 being lost in a crashing report. Slivers of 

 rock, fragments of camp stuff and pieces 

 of sputtering fuse flew all about us and a 

 cloud of smoke hid the niche. Jack's arm 

 dropped nervelessly and his face, usually 

 the healthy red of Arizona sunburn, 

 blanched white. Slowly we looked each 

 other over to make sure that no portion of 

 the anatomy of either was missing; then 

 my comrade drawled, "It is said Provi- 

 dence watches over intoxicated men and 

 fools. I am sober, so you can draw your 

 own conclusions." 



Still trembling, we walked to the wall 

 and examined the niche. There was 

 nothing in it save the box of dynamite, 

 which had been moved against one side 

 of the cavity, and a few patches of furry 

 skin plastered on the rock. The bullet had 

 hit the box of caps and exploded them. 



"If that giant powder had gone off," 

 said Jack, slowly, "and I don't see why it 

 didn't, unless the wood casing and the 

 sawdust packing saved it, we would still be 

 traveling in the direction in which Glory 

 is supposed to lie." 



