s the other side of the fence or the top of the nearest
tree.

[Illustration: "_Bill Budlong was always the last man to come up to the
mourners' bench._"]

When I was clerking in Missouri, a fellow named Jeff Hankins moved down
from Wisconsin and bought a little clearing just outside the town. Jeff
was a good talker, but a bad listener, and so we learned a heap about
how things were done in Wisconsin, but he didn't pick up much
information about the habits of our Missouri fauna. When it came to
cows, he had had a liberal education and he made out all right, but by
and by it got on to ploughing time and Jeff naturally bought a mule--a
little moth-eaten cuss, with sad, dreamy eyes and droopy, wiggly-woggly
ears that swung in a circle as easy as if they ran on ball-bearings. Her
owner didn't give her a very good character, but Jeff was too busy telling
how much he knew about horses to pay much attention to what anybody was
saying about mules. So finally the seller turned her loose in Jeff's lot,
told him he wouldn't have any trouble catching her if he approached her
right, and hurried off out of range.

Next morning at sunup Jeff picked out a bridle and started off whistling
Buffalo Gals--he was a powerful pretty whistler and could do the Mocking
Bird with variations--to catch the mule and begin his plowing. The
animal was feeding as peaceful as a water-color picture, and she didn't
budge; but when Jeff began to get nearer, her ears dropped back along
her neck as if they had lead in them. He knew that symptom and so he
closed up kind of cautious, aiming for her at right angles and gurgling,
"Muley, muley, here muley; that's a good muley," sort of soothing and
caressing-like. Still she didn't stir and Jeff got right up to her and
put one arm over her back and began to reach forward with the bridle,
when something happened. He never could explain just what it was, but we
judged from the marks on his person that the mule had reached forward
and kicked the seat of his trousers with one of her prehensile hind
feet; and had reached back and caught him on the last button of his
waistcoat with one of her limber fore feet; and had twisted around her
elastic neck and bit off a mouthful of his hair. When Jeff regained
consciousness, he reckoned that the only really safe way to approach a
mule was to drop on it from a balloon.

I simply mention this little incident as an example of the fact that
there are certain animals with whic