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14 "TRA VELIN' ON"

the sky and at the swaying brush and trees bowing
to the coming storm, and he takes the little fellow's
trail and follows and soon the storm breaks and the
rain comes down in torrents and the brush sweeps
his face, but little Jacko is in the timber somewhere
and he must find him. The trail is gone and he is in
a forest of swaying trees, and beating, twisting winds,
and blinding rain, but still he never falters; and when
the heavens are lit up with great flashes of lightning,
his face is seen set but, oh, so kind and gentle and
anxious, as he hunts for his little friend, the poor little
chattering monkey. He hunts for hours, his hat is
a shapeless thing, his clothing is torn, his face is scratch-
ed and bloody from the brush and branches, but still
he goes on and calls "Jacko, Jacko," and then listens
in vain for the chatter of the little friend in the noise
of the storm. It is not an exemplification of the Al-
mighty that he should create a man in the likeness
of his own image, so hard, so seemingly cruel, as to
be an outcast among men of his race, and yet there
is this touch of the Almighty's hand in this man's
nature. He is out in the wilderness, in this blinding
storm, where the heavens are being torn asunder,
searching for this little animal. There is a great flare
of light, a big sentinel of the forest has been struck
and torn from its resting place of years and falls to
the ground, and as J. B. jumps back to escape its crash-
ing force, little Jacko is thrown from its branches at
the feet of his friend. And this illiterate gun man,
this man from nowhere, this traveler on, ta_kes him
in his arms and hugs him, hugs him close to his breast.

When the dawn breaks in Tumble Bluff, the mud-
bespattered stage comes in, its four horse team splash-
ing thru the pools left by the storm. It has been held