llow Red Dog to pack what reemains of him to the r'ar. This done, he
turns to reemonstrate with Cornwallis Bland for his obstinancy. He's
too late. Washington Boggs, who's stood all he will, drives the spurs
into his pony, an' next with a bound an' a rush, he hits Cornwallis
Bland an' his charger full chisle.

"The pony of Cornwallis Bland fa'rly swaps ends with itse'f, an'
Cornwallis would have swapped ends with it, too, only Washington Boggs
collars an' hefts him out of his saddle.

"'Now, you onwashed drunkard, will you surrender?' roars Washington
Boggs, shakin' Cornwallis Bland like a dog does a rat, ontil that
British leader drops all of his hardware, incloosive of his
pistol--'now will you surrender, or must I break your back across your
own pony, as showin' you the error of your ways?'

"It looks like thar's goin' to be a hostile comminglin' of all hands,
when--her ha'r streamin' behind her same as if she's a comet--Missis
Bland comes chargin' up.

"'Yere, you drunken villyun!' she screams to Boggs, 'give me my
husband this instant, onless you wants me to t'ar your eyes out!'

"'It's him who's to blame, ma'am,' says Enright mildly, comin' to
Boggs' rescoo; 'which he won't surrender.'

"'Oh, he won't, won't he?' says Missis Bland, as she hooks onto
Cornwallis Bland. 'You bet he'll surrender to me all right, or I'll
know why.'

"As the Red Dog chief is apol'gizin' to Enright, who's tellin' him not
to mind, Cornwallis Bland is bein' half shoved an' half drug, not to
mention wholly yanked, towards the Abe Lincoln House by Missis Bland.

"That's the end. This yere ontoward finale to our cel'bration gets
wide-flung notice in print, an' instead of bein' a boost, as we-all
hopes, Wolfville an' Red Dog becomes a jest an' jeer. Also, while it
don't sour the friendly relations of the two camps, the simple mention
of Fo'th of Jooly leaves a bitter taste in the Wolfville-Red Dog mouth
ever since."

VII

PROPRIETY PRATT, HYPNOTIST

"Do I ever see any folks get hypnotized? Which I witnesses a few sech
instances. But it's usually done with a gun. If you're yearnin' to
behold a party go into a trance plumb successful an' abrupt, get the
drop on him. Thar ain't one sport in a hundred who can look into the
muzzle of a Colt's .45, held by a competent hand, without lapsin' into
what Peets calls a 'cataleptic state.'

"Shore, son, I savvys what you means."

The last was because I had begun to exhibit signs of