an unusual
uproar mixed with yelps of Dogs, and he knew that Little Jack Warhorse
had been served with finish No. 4.

All his life he had loved Dogs, but his sense of fair play was
outraged. He could not get in, nor see in from where he was. He raced
along the lane to the Haven, where he might get a good view, and
arrived in time to see--Little Jack Warhorse with his half-masted ears
limp into the Haven; and he realized at once that the man with the gun
had missed, had hit the wrong runner, for there was the crowd at the
Stand watching two men who were carrying a wounded Greyhound, while a
veterinary surgeon was ministering to another that was panting on the
ground.

Mickey looked about, seized a little shipping-box, put it at the angle
of the Haven, carefully drove the tired thing into it, closed the lid,
then, with the box under his arm, he scaled the fence unseen in the
confusion and was gone.

'It didn't matter; he had lost his job anyway.' He tramped away from
the city. He took the train at the nearest station and travelled some
hours, and now he was in Rabbit country again. The sun had long gone
down; the night with its stars was over the plain when among the farms,
the Osage and alfalfa, Mickey Doo opened the box and gently put the
Warhorse out.

Grinning as he did so, he said: "Shure an' it's ould Oireland thot's
proud to set the thirteen stars at liberty wance moore."

For a moment the Little Warhorse gazed in doubt, then took three or
four long leaps and a spy-hop to get his bearings. Now spreading his
national colors and his honor-marked ears, he bounded into his hard-won
freedom, strong as ever, and melted into the night of his native plain.

He has been seen many times in Kaskado, and there have been many Rabbit
drives in that region, but he seems to know some means of baffling them
now, for, in all the thousands that have been trapped and corralled,
they have never since seen the star-spangled ears of Little jack
Warhorse.

SNAP

THE STORY OF A BULL-TERRIER

I

It was dusk on Hallowe'en when first I saw him. Early in the morning I
had received a telegram from my college chum Jack: "Lest we forget. Am
sending you a remarkable pup. Be polite to him; it's safer." It would
have been just like Jack to have sent an infernal machine or a Skunk
rampant and called it a pup, so I awaited the hamper with curiosity.
When it arrived I saw it was marked "Dangerous," and there came from
within a high