44 
PLAYING DOG. 
At one time they camped upon the banks of a 
lonely little lake in the Laramie valley. A ranch 
which had once served as a stage station on the 
overland route to California, occupied at this 
time by a single man, bore the only trace of 
humanity for miles around. 
The borders of the lake were deeply edged 
with tall reeds and rushes, which had grown up 
year after year, and fallen undisturbed each 
winter about their submerged roots. On and 
around the water were large numbers of beautiful 
water fowl ; how to obtain some of them was 
soon Mrs. Maxwell’s absorbing thought. 
They had no dog. The moment the water 
was rippled by the rude little skiff belonging to 
the ranch, the birds would retreat to the rushes 
and remain hidden while it was in sight. 
It was soon apparent that there was no way to 
secure them but for either herself or husband to 
play dog, and by wading around among the reeds, 
frighten them out on to the lake where the other 
could shoot them. 
Mr. Maxwell had hardly recovered from an 
attack of rheumatic fever, and such exposure was 
not to be thought of for him. He could, how- 
ever, lend his boots and an extra pair of his lower 
garments. 
Equipped in these, surmounted by her loose 
dress, Mrs. Maxwell waded boldly out into the 
