“He rows out on the lake to where the water’s deep; then he takes the post-hole auger and bores a hole clean down to the bottom so as the whiffle-pooffle can come up to the top. Then he has the story-teller tell the funniest stories he can think of--all about Pat and Mike and an Englishman and a Scotchman, and all that. “Purty soon the whiffle-pooffle gits interested and pricks up his ears. Then Bill tells the story-teller to git funnier. Then purty soon the whiffle-pooffle is so amused that he comes up through the hole and sticks out his head. Bill tells the man to keep on gittin’ funnier and funnier till the whiffle-pooffle comes clean out on top of the water. Then Bill begins to ply the oars, very gentle-like at first. The whiffle-pooffle is so interested and amused that he jest naturally can’t help but foller the story-teller, who all the time is gittin’ funnier and funnier. Bill rows faster and faster, all the time makin’ straight for the bank. [Illustration: “_Purty soon the whiffle-pooffle gits interested and pricks up his ears._”] “Jest before he gits there, when he is rowin’ as fast as he can, he pours the oil out on the water and cuts sharply to the left. By that time the whiffle-pooffle has got up so much speed on the slick water that he can’t stop, and he jest naturally slides right out on the bank. Then Pecos Bill lands on him. If you ever git one of the critters on the land, he’s jest as helpless as a year-old baby. But they’re mighty bashful, mighty bashful.” “In that particular, thay ain’t a-tall like the club-tailed glyptodont,” said Red, “which is a very ferocious and vicious beast. I’ll tell you, Lanky, when you’re ridin’ around in the canyons and meet one of them fellers, you’d better not git into any disputes with him about your highway rights. Jist give him the whole road and don’t argue with him. And be careful you don’t hang around under the rim-rock when them critters is around.” “I take it they are animals,” said Lanky. “Yeah, I guess they belong to the kingdom of beasts,” replied Red. “Some people call ’em whang-doodles, but they ain’t real whang-doodles, bein’ much bigger and more ferocious. They’re purty scerce now, but when we work the canyon tomorrow, I can show you places where they have been. Yes, sir, I can show you the very spot where one of them fellers took off one of the very best friends I ever had in this world.” “A sort of mountain lion, I suppose,” said Lanky. “Son, one of them babies would make a mountain lion look like a kitten. Besides, they don’t belong to the feline species nohow, bein’ more like a kangaroo in build, and about sixteen hands high when on all-fours, though most of the time they hop along on their hind legs and tail and keep their forepaws ready to biff anything that gits in their way. And if one of them critters hits you--well, you’re lucky if they find anything to bury.