ler who found himself laid over here for two days in late
winter. He asked after the sights of the place. A white Muskrat stuffed
in a case "down to the saloon"; old Baccy Bullin, who had been scalped
by the Indians forty years ago; and a pipe once smoked by Kit Carson,
proved unattractive, so he turned toward the prairie, still white with
snow.

A mark among the numerous Dog tracks caught his eye: it was the track
of a large Jack-rabbit. He asked a passer-by if there were any Rabbits
in town.

"No, I reckon not. I never seen none," was the answer. A mill-hand gave
the same reply, but a small boy with a bundle of newspapers said: "You
bet there is; there's lots of them out there on the prairie, and they
come in town a-plenty. Why, there's a big, big feller lives right round
Si Kalb's melon-patch--oh, an awful big feller, and just as black and
as white as checkers!" and thus he sent the stranger eastward on his
walk.

The "big, big, awful big one" was the Little Warhorse himself. He
didn't live in Kalb's melon-patch; he was there only at odd times. He
was not there now; he was in his west-fronting form or bed, because a
raw east wind was setting in. It was due east of Madison Avenue, and as
the stranger plodded that way the Rabbit watched him. As long as the
man kept the road the Jack was quiet, but the road turned shortly to
the north, and the man by chance left it and came straight on. Then the
Jack saw trouble ahead. The moment the man left the beaten track, he
bounded from his form, and wheeling, he sailed across the prairie due
east.

A Jack-rabbit running from its enemy ordinarily covers eight or nine
feet at a bound, and once in five or six bounds, it makes an
observation hop, leaping not along, but high in the air, so as to get
above all herbage and bushes and take in the situation. A silly young
Jack will make an observation hop as often as one in four, and so waste
a great deal of time. A clever Jack will make one hop in eight or nine,
do for observation. But Jack Warhorse as he sped, got all the
information he needed, in one hop out of a dozen, while ten to fourteen
feet were covered by each of his flying bounds. Yet another personal
peculiarity showed in the trail he left. When a Cottontail or a
Wood-hare runs, his tail is curled up tight on his back, and does not
touch the snow. When a Jack runs, his tail hangs downward or backward,
with the tip curved or straight, according to the individual; in some,