in other respects. Well, suppose you're camping out, and suppose it's a hot night, or you're in a hurry, and you've made camp late, or anyway you haven't got inside any tent, but you have just bedded down in the open. Skunk comes travelling along and walks on your blankets. You're warm. He likes that, same as a cat does. And he tramps with pleasure and comfort, same as a cat. And you move. You get bit, that's all. And you die of hydrophobia. Ask anybody."
"Most extraordinary!" said I. "But did you ever see a person die from this?"
"No, sir. Never happened to. My cousin at Bald Knob did."
"Died?"
"No, sir. Saw a man."
"But how do you know they're not sick skunks?"
"No, sir! They're well skunks. Well as anything. You'll not meet skunks in any state of the Union more robust than them in Arkansaw. And thick."
"That's awful true," sighed another. "I have buried hundreds of dollars' worth of clothes in Arkansaw."
"Why didn't yu' travel in a sponge bag?" inquired Scipio. And this brought a slight silence.
"Speakin' of bites," spoke up a new man, "how's that?" He held up his thumb.
"My!" breathed Scipio. "Must have been a lion."
The man wore a wounded look. "I was huntin' owl eggs for a botanist from Boston," he explained to me.
