led by the
legs, and I threw a handspring over his head. From that on it was just
like a circus all the way down the hill to where we fell off the ledge
into the pool--twenty-five foot of a drop, clear, to ice-water--wow!
'J'ever see a dog try to walk on the water when he's been chucked in
unexpected? Well, that was me. I was nice and warm from rastlin' with
Grandma before I hit, and I went down, down, down into the deeps, until
my stummick retired from business altogether. I come up tryin' to
swaller air, but it was no use. I got to dry land. Behind me was the
old Harry of a foamin' in the drink--Grandma couldn't swim. Well, I
got him out, though I was in two minds to let him pass--the touch of
that water was something to remember.

[Illustration: Twenty-five foot of a drop, clear, to ice-water--wow!]

"Now, you old fool!" says I, when I slapped him ashore. "Look at you!
Just see what trouble you make! Scarin' people's horses to death and
fallin' in the creek and havin' to be hauled out! Why don't you wear
pants and act like a Christian? Ain't you ashamed to go around in
little girl's clothes at your age? What in the devil are you doing out
here, anyhow?"

With this he bust out cryin', wavin' his hands and roarin' and yellin',
with tears and ice-water runnin' down his face.

"Well!" says I; "I don't catch you, spot nor colour, any stage of the
deal. You'd have me countin' my fingers in no time. I'm goin' to sit
still and see what's next."

By-and-by he got the best of his emotions, come over to me and blew a
lot of words across my ears. From a familiar sound here and there, I
gathered he was trying to hold up the American language; but it must
have been the brand Columbus found on his first vacation, for I
couldn't squeeze any information out of it. I shook my head, and he
spread his teeth and jumped loose again.

"No use," says I. "I dare say you understand, but the only clue I have
to those sounds is that you've eat something that ain't agreed with
you. Habla V. Espanol?"

"Si, senor!" says he. So then we got at it, although it wasn't smooth
skidding, either; for my Spanish was the good old Castilian I'd learned
in Panama, whilst his was a mixture of Greaser, sheepblat, and Apache,
flavoured with a Scotch brogue that would smoke the taste of whiskey at
a thousand yards.

He explained that while he wasn't fully acquainted with my reasons for
assault-and-batterin' him in the first place, he