nd pain came
over his face on entering the silent shanty!

"Dead?" he gasped. "Who's dead--where are you? Thor?" Then, "Who is it?
Loo? Margat?"

"Corney--Corney," came feebly from the bunk. "They're in there. They're
awful sick. We have nothing to eat."

"Oh, what a fool I be!" said Corney again and again. "I made sure ye'd
go to Ellerton's and get all ye wanted."

"We had no chance, Corney; we were all three brought down at once,
right after you left. Then the Lynx came and cleared up the Hens, and
all in the house, too."

"Well, ye got even with her," and Corney pointed to the trail of blood
across the mud floor and out under the logs.

Good food, nursing, and medicine restored them all.

A month or two later, when the women wanted a new leaching-barrel, Thor
said: "I know where there is a hollow basswood as big as a hogshead."

He and Corney went to the place, and when they cut off what they
needed, they found in the far end of it the dried-up bodies of two
little Lynxes with that of the mother, and in the side of the old one
was the head of a fish-spear broken from the handle.

LITTLE WARHORSE

The History of a Jack-rabbit

The Little Warhorse knew practically all the Dogs in town. First, there
was a very large brown Dog that had pursued him many times, a Dog that
he always got rid of by slipping through a hole in a board fence.
Second, there was a small active Dog that could follow through that
hole, and him he baffled by leaping a twenty-foot irrigation ditch that
had steep sides and a swift current. The Dog could not make this leap.
It was "sure medicine" for that foe, and the boys still call the place
"Old Jacky's Jump." But there was a Greyhound that could leap better
than the Jack, and when he could not follow through a fence, he jumped
over it. He tried the Warhorse's mettle more than once, and Jacky only
saved himself by his quick dodging, till they got to an Osage hedge,
and here the Greyhound had to give it up. Besides these, there was in
town a rabble of big and little Dogs that were troublesome, but easily
left behind in the open.

In the country there was a Dog at each farm-house, but only one that
the Warhorse really feared; that was a long-legged, fierce, black Dog,
a brute so swift and pertinacious that he had several times forced the
Warhorse almost to the last extremity.

For the town Cats he cared little; only once or twice had he been
threatened by them. A huge Tom-cat flu