AN ADVENTURE WITH A FROG
“ALLEE same where Clowboy?” gasped the Chinaman, stopping at the back porch of the shoe house, were the Cook sat slicing a grape for lunch.
“I saw him a while ago talking to the Indian,” answered the Cook. “They were sitting under that big mushroom on the other side of the house.”
“Thankee,” and the Chinaman hurried around the corner of the house, puffing like a steam engine.
“Oh there you are,” he cried, as he spied the Indian and the Cowboy, lying in the shade of the mushroom. “Allee same me gottee much to tell.”
“Well what is it, Chink?” asked the Cowboy.
“Me see big clowflog.”
“You mean a big bullfrog,” corrected the Cowboy.
“Yes, yes—a bulltoad—bullflog,” cried the excited Chinaman. “Him sleep on log at pond. Him snore like everythings. You come and throw lasso over his head and we catchee him.”
“You round up the fellows and I’ll get my rope,” cried the Cowboy, smacking his lips over the thought of delicious baked frog ham.