The Bourbon news. [volume] (Paris, Ky.) 1895-19??, 1902-01-14

stumbling over the hummocks of
sand of the Platte river bottoms,
among the scraggy willows that
marked the scanty watercourses in
it's bed
There my faith in animal intelli.
gence began to waver, and l bitterly
concluded that neither the sheep nor
the dog knew any more than l did of
| our whereabouts or destination. Be
ing chilled through by the cutting
wind, wet from the icy needles that
penetrated my clothes and melted, I
was in q discouraged stupor, and
wanted nothing so much as to lie
down and sleep.
The dog was exhibiting signs of
alarm. He struggled round the flank
of the hating flock with wf:ines of
eagerness, and finally disappeared. I
fencied that 1 once heard his bark
above the roar of the blizzard, but I
did not attempt to learn what was
the matter. 1 was too exhausted and
desperate to know or care.
But the sheep, after struggling to
crowd forward, and slipping to right
! and left, stopped and began to lie
down and seek to get under one an
other i'll the snow. Except for the
tumult of the storm and the shrill
patter of the ice on the low willows,
there was no further sound As 1
staggered toward the sheep, thought
that, as l must lie down, 1 should
seek the shelter of their bodies. So 1
crawled over the backs of a dozen of
the wearied animals and then kicked
and pushed my way down between
the heavy, ill-smelling fieeces. The
animals made way for me and then
crowded round me so closely that I
had to force my face out to keep from
smothering. The darkening night
was closing down, the blizzard swept
above, and the sleet sifted unceasing-
ly between the warm, wet sides of
my protectors.
An overpOwering desire to sleep was
upon me, but 1 struggled against it,
feeling that danger lurked in all this
soothing comfort. But the heavy
warmth of the sheep and their quiet
ness so affected me that l soon drift
ed into slumber. At troubled periods
l awOke to find darkness all about,
but the breathing of my fleecy COM
paniOns again and again renewed my
drOwsy sense of security and comfort
till oblivion came once more. 1t was
only when the cramped position of
my body made a change necessary
that l awOlle enough to see that there
was a dim light shining through the
snow above me.
I broke through the chilly covering
to find it broad daylight; the sun,
high in the clOUdless sky, was glaring
intolerably on the wide, white coun-
try. The sheep were still quiet under
their snow blanket, and the surface
was unbroken, but beyond them I saw
the black water of the open river
smoking against it's glittering banks.
The blind march had led us out on a
narrow, sandy peninsula, where the
river curved around in it's narrow bed,
and here, it seemed, the faithful dog
had OWNED danger and had slipped
around the flock in time to keep the
leaders from venturing on the treach-
erOus ice.
Where the brave fellow was I did
not know until l climbed the low bank
and discovered him watchfully upright
on the highest point, gazing across
the drifts to the town, which was, to
my amazement, hardly a mile away.
He welcomed me with delight and saw
me plunge into the snow toward the
settlement with barks of pleasure and
encouragement, but did not offer to
follow the broken path. 1 felt SO
happy at the termination of the adj
venture that I soon covered the dis
lance, hungry and weak though 1 was.
Then [ found that the children and
my sister had stayed all night in the
schoOlhOuse, and had suffered but lit
tie discomfort.
My runaway mule was discovered
in the shelter of crib in the town;
his mate was frozen to death as he lay
by the wagon.
The rancher who owned the sheep
was out early looking them up, and,
although nearly One-half of them had
persisted on the march, or died before
they could be dug out, he was glad
enough to find any of them alive.
AS for the gallant dog, l tried in
vain to buy him of the owner; he
would not consider any price. But for
many years I used to make frequent
trips to the ranch for the sole pur-
pose of a visit to the brave and saga
cious 'Bink. Youths Companion.
Beating an EIOpement.