mulus followed hard at his heels
till they got well up the hillside, when the coyote felt that he was on
his own ground and turned on the dog, who fled back to his master with
his tail between his legs. The lad, clapping his hands, set the dog on
the coyote again, and this animated but bloodless performance was
repeated and kept up till both were tired out, the animals chasing each
other back and forth from the sycamore to the hillside with as much
energy and perhaps as much courage as was displayed by that historic
king of France who had five thousand men and--

"... marched them up a hill and then
He marched them down again."

On one side of the sycamore was a great wall of weeds higher than my
head when on horseback; a dense mass of yellow mustard, and fragrant
wild celery which was covered with delicate white bloom. I saw
blackbirds carrying material into this thicket, but as I had known of
neighbors' horses getting bitten by rattlesnakes among the high weeds,
did not think it worth while to wade around in it much for such common
birds as they. But one day, seeing a pair of rare blue grosbeaks fly
down into the tangle, I turned Billy right in after them, though holding
his head well up in consideration of the snakes. The birds vanished, so
we stood still to wait. Suddenly I heard a slight sound as of something
slipping through the weeds at Billy's feet, and looking down saw a snake
marked like a rattler; and as it slid by Billy's hoof I noticed with
horror that the end of its tail was blunt--the harmless gopher snake
that resembles the rattler has a tapering tail! I gazed at it
spellbound, but in the dim light could not make out whether it had
rattles or not. I had seen enough, however, and whipping up Billy was
out of those weeds in a hurry. Safely outside, I looked at my little
horse remorsefully--what if my desire to see a new nest had been the
cause of his getting a rattlesnake bite!

The next day when I went down to the sycamore a German was mowing there
with a pair of mules. He was a typical Rhinelander, with blue eyes and
long curling hair and beard, and as he drove he sang in a deep rich
voice one of the beautiful melodies of his fatherland. Screened by the
branches, I listened quite unmindful of my work till my reverie was
interrupted by the man's giving a harsh cry to his mules. It was only an
aside, however, for he dropped back into his song in the same rich
sympathetic voice.

I