de. He wouldn't mind no one but Bill, an' it was all I could do to
get room enough on the perch to hang on. Then Bill would open up his
vau-dee-ville show, an' when he'd simmer down, the pup would begin to
chase jackrabbits, which was the most devilish-lookin' sight I ever
see. He'd lay there with his eyelids rolled up, an' his eyes turned
inside out, givin' short barks an' jerkin' his legs.

"Bill," I sez one night, "I ain't no chronic coward, but doggone me if
I want to be mistook for a jack-rabbit, an' have this bulldog sock his
ivories into me."

"He ain't no bulldog," snaps Bill. "It looks to me as if you might
learn purty soon that he's a brindle bull-terrier!"

"Oh, I know that all right, an' I'm willin' to swear to it," sez I,
"but just now it's his teeth, not his ancestors, that are botherin' me.
If I'm to be mistook for a jack-rabbit, I ain't nowise particular just
which kind of a bulldog is goin' to do the mistakin'."

Bill, he smiled sadly an' walked over an' stuck his naked finger right
into the pup's mouth. I looked to see it bit off, but the pup only
opened his eyes, looked foolish, an' tramped down another acre of
imaginary grass; finally goin' to sleep again an' usin' my feet for a
piller.

Talk about grit! That little cuss was willin' to fight any-thing that
walked. We took him out to the herd one day, an' after he'd been kicked
an' tossed an' trampled, he got on to throwin' a steer by the nose, an'
from that on it was his favorite pastime. He played the game so
enthusiastic, that I finally sez to Bill, "Bill, you mustn't forget
that Colonel Scott has other uses for these cattle besides usin' 'em
for dog exercisers." From that on, Bill made the pup be a little more
temperate in the use o' steers.

The muscles on that pup got to be like hard rubber, an' you couldn't
pinch him hard enough to make him squeak. He allus took a serious view
o' life except when the' was a chance for a little rough an' tumble;
then his face would light up like an angel's. Pullin' on a rope was his
idee o' draw poker, an' he could wear out the whole bunch of us at it.
Bill fair idolized him--fact is, we all thought a heap of him; but I'd
'a' liked him a mite better if the' 'd been more bunks in the shack.

If he got cold, he'd scratch your face till you let him under the
covers, an' then when he got too hot, he'd pull the covers off an' roll
'em into a nice soft heap, with himself on top. He never overlooked
himself muc