[CHAPTER XXXI.]
Narrow escape in quicksand
BY MAC A'RONY.
And the ass turned out of the way, and went into the field; and Balaam smote the ass, to turn her into the way.—Book of Numbers.
Shortly after reaching Overton, I took Pod with Coonskin and Don to pay our respects to Towserville, a large dog town so closely situated to Overton as to inspire a rivalry far more serious than that existing between Minneapolis and St. Paul. Overtonians complained of repeated raids made by prairie dogs of Towserville on their chickens and gardens. On the other hand, the Towser "villians" repudiated the calumny, then fled in confusion from the charge of shotguns and rifles.
As our party approached with guns trained for a complimentary salute, I saw his honor, the Mayor, seated in his hallway. The roof of his mound towered above the other habitations, and was undoubtedly the City Hall. Copying after New York, each burrow in Towserville had a representative in the City Council.
I'm sure we would have been welcomed cordially, had not Don wanted to be first to shake the Mayor's paw; his honor abruptly excused himself to avoid a scene, and his fellow townsdogs likewise, with the result that the above dogtown population rushed in and slammed the doors in our faces. The Professor was embarrassed. He had no visiting cards, so decided to leave at each door a sample box of cathartic pills; and a careful distribution was made.
Next morning as we passed Towserville, his dogcellency, the Mayor, his alderdogs and towndogs looked regretful of their slight to us, as each stood at his door or sat with his housekeeper, the owl, on the roof of his dwelling, nodding and waving at us. Others, however, were prostrate, either from remorse or Pod's magnanimity.
Sometime about noon, we approached the shallow current of the Platte, where we were unpacked and fed. We donks were almost roasted from the sun's scorching rays. Close by was a deep well, but no bucket in which to draw water. So Coonskin hitched a syrup can to the rope and drew water for Pod and himself. Soon a drove of cattle, accompanied by two ranchmen and a boy, came down to the river to drink with us donks, just to show there was no hard feeling. The lad laid down to drink from the stream.
"Here, boy, come and have a drink of cold water!" Pod called. "That ain't fit to drink."