powder horn and game bag. Ellis Usher, who lived in
Sand Lake and often hunted with Den, is an editor in Milwaukee and one
of the political leaders of his state. In those days he had a small
opinion of me. No doubt I _was_ a nuisance.

The road which led from our farm to the village school crossed a sandy
ridge and often in June our path became so hot that it burned the soles
of our feet. If we went out of the road there were sand-burrs and we
lost a great deal of time picking needles from our toes. How we hated
those sand-burrs!--However, on these sand barrens many luscious
strawberries grew. They were not large, but they gave off a delicious
odor, and it sometimes took us a long time to reach home.

There was a recognized element of danger in this road. Wildcats were
plentiful around the limestone cliffs, and bears had been seen under the
oak trees. In fact a place on the hillside was often pointed out with
awe as "the place where Al Randal killed the bear." Our way led past the
village cemetery also, and there was to me something vaguely awesome in
that silent bivouac of the dead.

Among the other village boys in the school were two lads named
Gallagher, one of whom, whose name was Matt, became my daily terror. He
was two years older than I and had all of a city gamin's cunning and
self-command. At every intermission he sidled close to me, walking round
me, feeling my arms, and making much of my muscle. Sometimes he came
behind and lifted me to see how heavy I was, or called attention to my
strong hands and wrists, insisting with the most terrifying candor of
conviction, "I'm sure you can lick me." We never quite came to combat,
and finally he gave up this baiting for a still more exquisite method of
torment.

My sister and I possessed a dog named Rover, a meek little yellow,
bow-legged cur of mongrel character, but with the frankest, gentlest and
sweetest face, it seemed to us, in all the world. He was not allowed to
accompany us to school and scarcely ever left the yard, but Matt
Gallagher in some way discovered my deep affection for this pet and
thereafter played upon my fears with a malevolence which knew no mercy.
One day he said, "Me and brother Dan are going over to your place to get
a calf that's in your pasture. We're going to get excused fifteen
minutes early. We'll get there before you do and we'll fix that dog of
yours!--There won't be nothin' left of him but a grease spot when we are
done with him."