The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1880-03-19
CRYING WOLF.

One hundred years ago there lived on
the shores of Stephens River Ga small
stream emptying into Casco Bay), man
named Peter Joliff, an honest, upright
fellow, good neighbor and friend, but
with one abominable habit that won him
many enemies, and caused much discom-
fort and even suffering to those around
him. This fault was an almost irresisti-
BILE fondness for practical joking that
would not allow him to let an opportuni-
ty pass unimpro%ed, wherein he could
gratify the special passion of his being.
There came time, however, when the
exercise of his popularity brought upon
him an ordeal so sharp that it cured his
unfortunate propensity, to the great Joy
of his family and friends. The process
was disagreeable, but the cure was effect
uai and permanent. t-
One day Peter had been at work few
miles from his home. After his days
labor was finished, his employer invited
him to partake of an evening meal with
him; this invitation Peter accepted, and
then, his system fortified by a hearty
supper, he commenced his journey home
ward.
The path which Peter trod that night
would lead one to-day through cultivated
fields, and by many pleasant farm-houses,
but then it was an unbroken forest.
1t was a dark, cold, December night.
The wind swept fitfully among the great
pines and beeches; strange, moaning
sounds went sobbing through the forest;
now and then an owl uttered its hoarse
cry, or the sudden rattling of the dead
leaves told when some timid animal sour
ried away from the sound of footsteps.
But Peter was strong, stout-hearted,
and trudged quietly along, without pay
ing much attention to the sighs and
soundsaround him, until he had achieved,
perhaps, one-haf of his journey, when
suddenly his ears caught the sound of
horses feet descending the long rocky
path behind him. Gradually the sounds
drew nearer, until the sharp, peculiar
voice of the horseman could be heard
urging the beast to faster gait.
."Ah, ah" said Peter to himself, as he
heard familiar tones, "that is Uncle Tom
Barry"
Now, Uncle Tom and Peter were
neighbors-that is to say, their clearings
lay about mile apart; and none knew
better than Peter that the old man was
naturally of a timid disposition; and
furthermore that nothing inspired him
with greater fear, nothing which he
would not rather meet, than wolf. No
sooner, therefore, had Peter become con-
vinced that the horseman behind him
was his neighbor, than he resolved to use
his knowledge of Uncle TOMS failing as
the means of working out what he con-
sidered would be capital joke. His
plans were soon laid, and he proceeded
to put them into execution. Creeping
through the underground which bordered
his path, he crouched down and patient
ly awaited the approach of his victim.
He had not waited long before Uncle
Tom, his horse at sharp trot and him
self casting timid glances around, ar
rived opposite his place of concealment.
Peter allowed him to pass few PAGES,
and then springing forward on his hands
and knees, he uttered one or two snarl.
ing yelps, instantly followed by the
loud, clear gathering cry of the wolves.
The effect upon Uncle Tom was cleo
trical. Springing halfway out of his
saddle, he uttered scream of terror, and
then stopping until his head nearly
touched the name, he plunged his spurs
into the horses fanks and was off down
the road like shot. As for Peter, he
rolled over on his back, and kicked his
heels in huge enjoyment Of his success
Loud and long he laughed, occasionally
varying the performance by making the
forest ring with repetition Of the wild
savage cry that had struck such terror
into Uncle Toms timid heart. But there
is an end to all things, and so after awhile
there was an end to Peters mirth, ane
he, wiping his eyes, regained the path
and was about to resume his Journey
when he heard sound that sent cole
shivers coursing over his body, and al
most froze the blood in his veins. TIL,
wolves had heard his successful imitation
of their music, and were coming dowl
full cry upon him.
In an instant he realized his positio,
and peril. From the sounds he knew
| that the wolves were coming down ol
either side of the path he had just trav
eled, and, therefore, the nearest point O
safety was his own clearing, more than
mile away.
All this passed through his mind lik
flash, and then, calling all his energie
into play, he dashed down the path witt
scarcely less speed and terror than ha
Uncle Tom Barry himself. Peter was
famous runner, and had come off yicto
in many trial of speed when the pee
pie had come together for log rolling
but this was no holiday game. He wa
not taxing his muscle to win the applaus
of admiring friends, Or to crafty an am
bition to excel.
The race was for life.
Down the long slope that led to Pilk
, in's Hollow, and up the ascent beyont
fled Peter, while hardly a hundred yard
behind came a yelping, snarling pac
, hungry and fierce. The life of an ur
/ armed man would rot be worth mir
: ute's purchase, could they once surrouu