Dean Fenneben's angle of vision. And in these picturesque surroundings
he forgot about the weather and the prudence of getting home early.

"Throw that log on the fire, Vic. It begins to look spooky back here.
I've just had my ear to the ground and I heard an awful roaring somewhere."
Trench, who had been sprawling lazily in the shadows, now declared,
"Say, I'd hate to be penned into this place so I couldn't get out.
There's no skinning up that rock wall even if a fellow could swim the river,
and I can't," and the big guard stretched himself on the ground again.

"What's that old story about the Kickapoos here?" somebody asked.
"Dennie Saxon knows it. Tell us about it, Dennie, AND THEN WE'LL
ALL GO HOME." The last words were half-sung.

"Be swift, Dennie, be quite swift. I heard that noise again.
I'm afraid it's a stampede of wild horses." Trench, who had
had his ear to the ground, sat up suddenly. But nobody paid
any attention to him.

"Come, Denmark Saxon, let's close the day in song and story.
You tell the story and then I'll sing the song," somebody declared.

"Aw-w-w!" a prolonged chorus. "Make your story long, Dennie;
make it lengthy."

"Don't you do it, Dennie. I tell you this ground is shaking.
I feel it," Trench insisted.

"Say, who's got the bromo-seltzer? The right guard's supper is n't treating
him right. Go ahead, Dennie," the crowd urged.