" he said. "Pete, go and hustle them people over
here. I start in three minutes by the watch."

"Sure," said Pete, and slouched across. Pete was surprised at the
sight that met his gaze, but orders were orders. He walked up and
kicked Billy, at the same time shouting "All aboard for the West! Git
a wiggle on yer!"

The man owed his life to the fact that the deer could get no foothold
on the slippery hardwood floor. As it was, Billy tried to push, and
his feet shot out; man and deer came to the floor together, the
brakeman holding hard. The passengers boiled out of the hotel like a
mountain torrent. The punchers, thinking the brakeman in danger,
sprang through the window and tied the deer. Pete gasped his thanks
and hustled out. No one was left but Billy, the punchers, the darkey
waiters, and Mr. D----.

[Illustration: The punchers to the rescue]

"This your deer?" inquired the punchers of the latter.

"It is," said Mr. D----. "Take him out and hang him--don't shoot
him--hang him!"

"All right," replied the punchers. They took Billy out and turned him
loose in the deer-pen.

"Reckon the old man'll feel better about it to-morrow," they said.

And it came to pass that the old man did feel better; so Billy was
spared. Perhaps if you have travelled to the West you have seen him--a
noble representative of his kind. Well, this is his private history
which his looks belie.

The Demon in the Canon

"_I know not where the truth may be;
I tell the tale as 'twas told to me._"
(Probable misquotation of old couplet.)

There was once an earnest missionary who went to the trouble of
learning the Sioux language, in order to be of more use in his chosen
field. He spoke it with a strong Boston accent. One day he laboured
with a big Uncapapa brave long and eagerly. The Injun listened to all
he had to say. When at great length silence fell, the Redman spoke.

"Have you any tobacco?" said he.

"Why, no!" returned the missionary.

"Hungh! So long!" said the Injun, and rode away on a trot.

Now, there may be those who will object that the plain, unvarnished
tale of my friend "Hy" Smith, which follows, is lacking in the robust
qualities that truth alone can bring; to them I recommend the attitude
of the Injun. But I must add this: Heaven forbid that I should have to
stand good for any of Hy's stories! Still, some of what I considered
his most outrageous lies afterward received strong