In the logging camps of Michigan might makes right and the man who has whipped all comers in fair fights is king of his camp.
One of these, said a logger, was very boastful of his exploits. He had been the victor in a dozen fights and no one cared to enter the lists with him but every man in the camp hated the champion. Going into the saloon one day he announced: “I’m tired of these babies in camp. I ain’t had a good fight in Michigan. I can whip my weight in dogs, wildcats or anything that breathes for $100.”
A meek-looking man took the bet and arrangements for the fight were made. It was to take place in a closed room one week from the time the bet was made.”
The day came and the champion called: “C’mon, bring out your animal.” The man who had bet against the king of the camp brought in his antagonist a large sack, which had been deposited behind the stove in the saloon where the match had been entered into, the weather just beginning to get cold. The gladiator entered the room, the sack was emptied and the people crowded at the window to see the contest. Out of the sack came three large hornet nests, the occupants of which had been revived by the heat.
They issued from the nests in swarms and lit all over the man. He fought them for a minute or two, then, with a yell, jumped through the windows, carrying sash and glass with him, never stopping until he reached the river, into which he jumped.
