I was you I wouldn't trust him
with a last year's bone!' Then they kept on jawing to each other about
this and that, and exchanging views about politics and religion, till
after a while Tom lets out a yowl that sounded as if it was meant for a
big laugh. Monty, he laughed too; and then he says, 'I never thought you
would have noticed it, but that's exactly what Slippery Jim does every
time he gets a chance.'

"I don't know," continued Jim, "what they were referring to, but I do
know that Monty and the cat talk together just as easy as you and me
could talk, and I say that if it's come to this, that we're going to
allow an idiot of a man and a devil of a cat to take away the characters
of respectable gentlemen, we'd better knuckle down and beg Monty to take
charge of this camp and to treat us like so many Injun squaws."

Other miners followed Slippery Jim's example, in watching and listening
to his conversations with the cat, and the indignation against the
animal and his companion grew deep and bitter. It was decided that the
scandal of an ostentatious friendship between a boycotted man and a cat
that was unquestionably possessed by the devil must be ended. The
suggestion that the cat should be shot would undoubtedly have been
carried out, had it not been that Boston, who was a spiritualist,
asserted that the animal could be hit only by a silver bullet. The camp
would gladly have expended a silver bullet in so good a cause, but there
was not a particle of silver in the camp, except what was contained in
two or three silver watches.

After several earnest discussions of the subject it was resolved that
the cat should be hung on a stout witch-hazel bush, growing within a few
yards of Simpson's cabin. It was recognized that hanging was an
eminently proper method of treatment in the case of a cat of such
malevolent character; and as for Monty himself, more than one man openly
said that if he made any trouble about the disposal of the cat, he would
instantly be strung up to a convenient pine tree which stood close to
the witch-hazel bush.

The next morning a committee of six, led by Big Simpson, cautiously
approached the trench in which Monty was working. There was nearly an
eighth of a mile between Monty's claim and those of the other miners.
The latter had taken possession of that part of Thompson's Flat which
seemed to hold out the best promise for gold, and Monty, partly because
of his unprepossessing appearance, had been compelled to content himself
with what was considered to be the least valuable claim in the camp.

The committee made its way through the long coarse grass, which had
sprung up under the fierce heat of summer, and was already as parched
and dry as tinder. They had intended to seize the cat before Monty had
become aware of their presence; and they were somewhat disconcerted when
Monty, with the cat clasped tightly in his arms, came running towards
them. "There's Injuns just over there in the woods," he cried. "Tom
sighted them first, and after he'd called me I looked and see three
devils sneaking along towards your end of the camp. You boys, rush and
get your Winchesters, and I'll be with you in a couple of minutes."

The men did not stop to question the accuracy of Monty's story. They
forgot their designs against the cat, and no longer thought of their
promise to shoot the boycotted man if he ventured to address them. They
ran to their cabins, and seizing their rifles, rallied at the saloon,
which was the only building capable of affording shelter. It was built
of stout logs, and its one door was immensely thick and strong. By
firing through the windows the garrison could keep at bay, at least for
a time, the cautious Indian warriors, who would not charge through the
open, so long as they could harass the miners from the shelter of the
wood.

After Monty had placed his cat in his bunk he took his rifle, and
carefully closing the door of his cabin, joined his late enemies in the
saloon. Several of them nodded genially to him as he entered, and
Simpson, who was arranging the plan of defence, told him to take a
position by one of the rear windows. The men understood perfectly well
that Monty's warning had saved them from a surprise in which they would
have been cruelly massacred. Perhaps they felt somewhat ashamed of their
previous treatment of the man, but they offered no word of apology.

However Monty thought little of their manner. Although he knew that in
all probability the siege would be prolonged until not a single miner
was left alive, his thoughts were not on himself or his companions.
Would the Indians overlook his cabin, or in case they found it, would
they offer violence to Tom? These were the questions that occupied his
mind as he watched through the window for the gleam of a rifle barrel in
the edge of the forest and answered every puff of smoke with an
instantaneous shot from his Winchester. The enemy kept carefully under
cover, and devoted their efforts to firing at the windows of the saloon.
Already three shots had taken effect. Two dead bodies lay on the floor,
and a wounded man sat in the corner, leaning against the wall, and
slowly bleeding to death. Suddenly a cloud of smoke shot up in the
direction of Monty's cabin. The Indians had set fire to the dry grass,
and the flames were sweeping towards the cabin in which the cat was
imprisoned.

Monty took in the situation and came to a decision with the same
swiftness and certainty with which he pulled the trigger. "You'll have
to excuse me, boys, for a few minutes," he said, rising from his
crouched attitude and throwing his rifle into the hollow of his arm.

"What's the matter with you?" growled Simpson. "Have you turned coward
all of a sudden, or are you thinking of scaring the Injuns by giving
them a sight of your countenance?"

"That there cabin of mine will be blazing inside of five minutes, and
I've left Tom in it with the door fastened," replied Monty, ignoring the
insulting suggestions of Simpson, and beginning to unbar the door.

"Here! Come back, you blamed lunatic!" roared Simpson. "Do you call
yourself a white man, and then throw your life away for a measly,
rascally cat?"

"I am going to help my friend if I kin," said Monty. "He stood by me
when thishyer camp throwed me over, and I'll stand by him now he's in
trouble."

So saying he quietly passed out and vanished from the sight of the
astonished miners.

"I told you," said Slippery Jim, "that Monty was bewitched by that there
cat. Who ever heard of a man that was a man who cared whether a cat got
burned to death or not?"

"You shut up!" exclaimed Simpson. "You haven't got sand enough to stand
by your own brother--let alone standing by a cat."

"What's the matter with you?" retorted Jim. "You was the one who
proposed boycotting Monty, and now you're talking as if he was a tin
saint on wheels."

"Monty's acted like a man in this business," replied Simpson, "and it's
my opinion that we've all treated him pretty particular mean. If we pull
through this scrimmage Monty's my friend, and don't you forget it."

Monte Carlo lost none of his habitual caution, although he was engaged
in what he knew to be a desperate and nearly hopeless enterprise. On
leaving the saloon he threw himself flat on the ground, and slowly drew
himself along until he reached the shelter of the high grass. Then
rising to his hands and knees he crept rapidly and steadily in the
direction of his cabin.

His course soon brought him between the fire of the miners and that of
the Indians, but as neither could see him he fancied he was safe for the
moment. He was drawing steadily closer to his goal, and was already
beginning to feel the thrill of success, when a sharp blow on the right
knee brought him headlong to the ground. A stray shot, fired possibly by
some nervous miner who had taken his place at the saloon window, had
struck him and smashed his leg.

He could no longer creep on his hands and knees, but with indomitable
resolution he dragged himself onward by clutching at the strong roots of
the grass. His disabled leg gave him exquisite pain as it trailed behind
him, and he knew that the wound was bleeding freely; but he still hoped
to reach his cabin before faintness or death should put a stop to his
progress. He felt sure that the shot which had struck him had not been
aimed at him by an Indian, for if it had been he would already have felt
the scalping knife. The nearer he drew to his cabin the less danger
there was that the Indians would perceive him. If he could only endure
the pain and the hemorrhage a few minutes longer he could reach and push
open the door of his cabin, and give his imprisoned friend a chance for
life. He dragged himself on with unfaltering resolution, and with his
silent lips closed tightly. Not a groan nor a curse nor a prayer escaped
him. He stuck to his task with the grim fortitude of the wolf who gnaws
his leg free from the trap. All his thoughts and all his fast-vanishing
strength were concentrated on the effort to save the creature that had
loved him.

After an eternity of anguish he reached the open space in front of the
cabin, where the thick smoke hid him completely from the sight of both
friends and foes. The flames had just caught the roof, and the heat was
so intense that for an instant it made him forget the pain of his wound,
as his choked lungs gasped for air. The wail of the frightened animal
within the cabin gave him new energy. Digging his fingers into the
ground he dragged himself across the few yards that separated him from
the door. He reached it at last, pushed it open, and with a smile on his
face lost consciousness as the cat bounded out and fled like a mad
creature into the grass.

Two hours later a troop of Mounted Police, who had illegally and
generously crossed the border in time to drive off the Indians and to
rescue the few surviving members of the camp, found, close to the
smouldering embers of Monty's cabin, a scorched and blackened corpse, by
the side of which sat a bristling black cat. The animal ceased to lick
the maimed features of the dead man, and turned fiercely on the
approaching troopers. When one of them dismounted and attempted to touch
the corpse the cat flew at him with such fury that he hurriedly
remounted his horse, amid the jeers of his comrades. The cat resumed the
effort to recall the dead man to life with its rough caresses, and the
men sat silently in their saddles watching the strange sight.

"We can't bury the man without first shooting the cat," said one of the
troopers.

"Then we'll let him lie," said the sergeant in command. "We can stop
here on our way back from the Fort, and maybe by that time the cat'll
listen to reason. I'd as soon shoot my best friend as shoot the poor
beast now."

And the troop passed on, leaving Tom alone in the wilderness with his
silent friend.

                                              WILLIAM LIVINGSTON ALDEN.




THE QUEEN'S CAT


Once there was a great and powerful King who was as good as gold and as
brave as a lion, but he had one weakness, which was a horror of cats. If
he saw one through an open window he shuddered so that his medals
jangled together and his crown fell off; if any one mentioned a cat at
the table he instantly spilled his soup all down the front of his
ermine; and if by any chance a cat happened to stroll into the audience
chamber, he immediately jumped on to his throne, gathering his robes
around him and shrieking at the top of his lungs.

Now this King was a bachelor and his people didn't like it; so being
desirous of pleasing them, he looked around among the neighbouring royal
families and hit upon a very sweet and beautiful princess, whom he asked
in marriage without any delay, for he was a man of action.

Her parents giving their hearty consent, the pair were married at her
father's palace; and after the festivities were over, the King sped home
to see to the preparation of his wife's apartments. In due time she
arrived,