About five
miles out of town there was a long, gradual slope to climb, and I had
to give the through team their time in pulling to its summit. Near the
divide was a small box house, the only one on the road if I remember
rightly, and as I was nearing it, four or five dogs ran out and scared
my team. I managed to hold them in the road, but they refused to quiet
down, kicking, rearing, and plunging in spite of their load; and once
as they jerked me forward, I noticed there was a dog or two under the
wagon, nipping at their heels. There was a six-shooter lying on the
seat beside me, and reaching forward I fired it downward over the end
gate of the wagon. By the merest accident I hit a dog, who raised a
cry, and the last I saw of him he was spinning like a top and howling
like a wolf. I quieted the team as soon as possible, and as I looked
back, there was a man and woman pursuing me, the latter in the lead. I
had gumption enough to know that they were the owners of the dog, and
whipped up the horses in the hope of getting away from them. But the
grade and the load were against me, and the next thing I knew, a big,
bony woman, with fire in her eye, was reaching for me. The wagon wheel
warded her off, and I leaned out of her reach to the far side, yet she
kept abreast of me, constantly calling for her husband to hurry up.
I was pouring the whip into the horses, fearful lest she would climb
into the wagon, when the hub of the front wheel struck her on the
knee, knocking her down.
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