was the same thing.

I remember we were trying to teach Tige to "lead" one day. He had no
more natural aptitude for leading than an unbroken calf. The perverse
dog at last flattened himself down on his stomach, spread-eagled
himself on the ground, and stretched his four legs out as stiff as he
could. We dragged him over the yard until he raised a pile of dirt and
leaves in front of him like a plow in an untilled field. He would not
"lead," although we nearly choked him to death trying to teach him.
Then we tried picking him up by the ears, applying that test for
courage and blood, you know! You might have heard that dog yelp for
miles. He had no spirit at all. Charles Peter Van Buskirk was
disgusted with him.

We got out a can of wagon-grease and spotted him artistically to make
him look like a coach-dog, which was legitimate, as coach-dogs are
notoriously remarkable for lack of courage. They are only for
ornament. That was a pretty-looking animal when it rained. We changed
his name, too, and called him "Kitty," regardless of his sex. It was
the last insult to a dog, we thought, but he never seemed to mind it.
I feel sorry for that dog as I look back at him now, and it rather
provoked Charles when we subsequently asked his opinion of any other
dog. This we did as often as there were enough of us together to make
it safe.

When we felt very reckless, we used to go in swimming in the river,
which was a very dangerous proceeding indeed, for the Missouri is a
treacherous, wicked {324} stream, full of "suck-holes" and whirlpools
and with a tremendous current, especially during the June "rise." The
practice was strictly forbidden by all right-minded parents, including
our own. Frequently, however, in compliance with that mysterious sign,
the first two fingers of the right hand up-lifted and held wide apart,
which all boys over a thousand miles of country knew meant "Will you go
swimming?" we would make up a party after school and try the flood.

Father usually inspected us with a rather sharper eye, when we came
sneaking in the back way after such exercises. For a busy man, father
had a habit, that was positively maddening, of happening upon a boy at
the wrong time. We used to think we had no privacy at all.

"Hum!" he was wont to say, looking suspiciously at our wet, sleek heads
and general clean appearance--clean for us, that is, for the Missouri
River, sandy though it was, was vastly cleaner than Duff