, 1888-09-05
..struok it'll Struck It, Struck it'll" cried

'Struck It'll Struck fi Struck it'll" cried
the frog in what seemed to Pete a tri-
umphant tone.
"An right, me byei" cheerily assented
Pete, noading his head toward the little
fellow that sat winking and blinking on
the end of the stick. "An right, me
bye; av coorse I've struck it,"
Pete then picked up his pan of gravel,
carried it to the water hole, washed it
out and did not find a speck of gold.
you're the worst liar 1 ever sawP'
cried Pete, rising up from his work and
shaking his fist in the direction of the
frog. Not a sign of the frog did he see,
however, the little fellow having very
prudently retired to the bottom of the
pond.
Pete grumbled for a time, then went
and dug another pan of gravel. As he
was carrying the dirt to his panning
place the frog stuck his head above the
water and called out, 'tStruck it2' and
again no gold was found. Thus it went.
When the frog said nothing he got a
good yield of gold, but when he made
his usual inquiry-sneering inquiry, Pete
now considered it to be-no gold was
found.
At last Pete had washed so many pans
of dirt out of which the frog had
charmed all the gold that he began to
grow very angry. He was also not a
little discouraged. Finally, just as he
began to scrape the gravel out of a very
promising c~revice, and Just as he was
beginning to think the frog would this
time hold his tongue, out came the little
fellow with his "Struck it, Struck it2"
Pete quietly laid down his crevicing
spoon, slyly gathered two or three big
rocks, then softly, on tiptoe, began steal
ing toward his little prosecutor, and just
as the frog cried out, ''Struck it2 Struck
it2' the irate O'Reilly let drive at him
with a rock so huge that it could have
been hurled by no lesser Ajax. The
rock missed its mark, but raised a great
connection in the little pond.
Thinking he had given his bad angel a
fright that would last him a fortnight,
Pete returned to his work. He had
almost filed his pan with very rich look
ing dirt, when up popped the frogs head
and out came his tantalizing ''Struck it?
Struck it?'
Pete threw the pan of gravel as far as
he could send it and made for the frog,
determined on its destruction. He would
stand no more of its internal deviltry.
Shovel in hand, he waded out into the
middle of the little reservoir and scooped
and tore about in it with a vigor and
venom of a mad bull. Once or twice he
saw, or imagined he saw, the frog dart
through the discolored water, and
brought down the back of the shovel on
the spot with such a ''spat' that the
blow might have been heard a mile away.
At last, not seeing anything more of
the frog, Pete concluded that he had
killed him. He gave the little animal a
parting curse, and being wrought up to
such a pitch of excitement and nervous
ness that he could work no more that
afternoon, strobe away, put on his coat
and went home.
The next morning he returned to his
claim and his work. He washed out
several pans Of dirt, and was getting
good pay out of all he washed, when sud
denly there fell upon his ear the shrill
cry of ''Struck it?'
The first note sent a thrill through
Pete's stalwart frame like the sharp shock
of an electrical battery; then a chill fell
Upon his heart, and his hair almost rose
on end. His evil genius, as he now
firmly believed the little green frog to be,
was still there, alive and at his old tricks.
"May the curse of howly st. Patrick
light on vel" cried Pete. Then he kicked
over the pan of dirt he dug and made a
a rush for the reservoir, the frog ''plump-
ing'' under the water with a little chirp
at his approach. Again Pete went into
the reservoir with his long handled
shovel. He charged about, but could see
nothing of the frog nor anything that
looked like it. Being determined to do
his enemy this time, Pete went for his
pan and began trying to bail out the
reservoir. Finding this too great a task,
he got his pick, dug down the embank-
ment of rocks and earth forming the
little dam, and eagerly watched, with
uplifted shovel, for the frog as the water
ran off. The water all ran out of the
reservoir, but his little tormentor was
nowhere to be seen.
Pete waded out into the oozy bed of
the pond, digging and blowing about
with his shovel, but he failed to start the
goblin frog. He then arrived at the
very reasonable conclusion that the little
imp had gone down the stream with the
body of water that rushed out of the res
ervoir when it was opened. He cruised
about the spot for an hour or more, going
down the channel of the canyon, turning
over rocks and beating tufts of grass
with his shovel, but saw nothing of the
frog. Thinking his evil genius had been
washed.down through the canyon into the
Carson river, Pete rebuilt his dam in
order that he might have water ready
for use in the morning. This job done,
he went home, feeling quite sure that he
had either killed Oh permanently ousted
his little enemy.
The next day he returned to his work.
Before starting in, however, he walked
around the reservoir several times, peer
ing keerly into the water and kicking
every bunch of grass about its margin.
The frog was nowhere to be seen or
started.
Pete then went to his prospect hole