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"What am I growlin' about, when here's a river, mebbe ten thousand miles long that we know next to nothin' 'bout, an' buffalers an' b'ars an' panthers an' deer to shoot, an' red Injuns to fight ez long ez I live. After all, we're shorely mighty lucky to live at the time we do, ez I've said before. Do you think thar'll ever be any times hereafter as interestin' ez ourn, Paul?"
I reckon I'd call that my estate, Paul, an' I'd want it swarmin' with b'ars an' buffaler an' deer, an' all kinds uv big an' little game.
But as I gets to the door I hears a noise I don't savey; an' when I Injuns up to a crack an' surveys the scene, I'm a coyote if thar ain't 'Doby, with his wife in his lap, singin' to her. That's squar'; actooally singin'; which sech efforts reminds me of ballards by cinnamon b'ars.
'I was just going to show you when you stopped me. 'Hold on; no need of bein' in a sweat about it. Do yer come alone? 'No. I came with a hunter. 'What war his name? 'Baldy Bicknell. 'B'ars and bufflers! did yer come with him? 'Yes; he was my companion all the way. 'Whar mought he be? Johnny Brainerd hesitated a moment.
Hadn't seen so much of the world. And sure hadn't seen so much o' b'ars," cackled Jerry. "Not bein' used to b'ar sassiety I natcherly balked when that ol' she b'ar appeared so lovin'. I had pretty nigh walked right into her arms and there wasn't much chance to make any particular preparations.
It's about six years followin' on the Mexican war, an' I'm shot up'ards into the semblances of a man. My affections for Polly has their beginnin's in a coon-hunt into which b'ars an' dogs gets commingled in painful profoosion. "'I ain't the wonder of a week with a rifle now, since I'm old an' dim, but them times on the Cumberland I has fame as sech.
They may make it hot for us." "That's what I want to ask you about, Harney. Isn't there some place around here where we might hide the prisoners? A cave, or something like that?" The big guide scratched his chin thoughtfully. "There's a tolerable place about quarter of a mile from here the old B'ars' Hole, we use ter call it."
'I stopped here to get water for this steam man, as we call him. You know anything that travels by steam must have the water to generate it. 'I say, younker, I don't want none of yer big words to me. Ef I h'ar any more, b'ars and bufflers, ef I don't crack yer over the head with Sweetlove, my shootin'-iron, so mind what yer say, fur I won't stand no nonsense.
B'ars an' catamounts, how them clouds are a-trottin' 'cross the sky! Here come the fust flakes an' they look ez big ez feathers!" The colonel's anxiety deepened, turning rapidly to alarm. "You spoke of our being holed up, Mr. Reed, what did you mean by it?" he asked. "Shet in by the snow. But I know a place, colonel, that we kin reach, an' whar we kin stay ef the snow gits too deep fur us.
Artemus Ward's reports of his own conversations with the mighty of the earth were made highly ludicrous by the homely want of self-consciousness, displayed by the owner of the Kangaroo, that "amoosin' little cuss," and of the "two moral B'ars." But it is vain to attempt to analyze the fun of Artemus Ward. Why did he make some people laugh till they cried, while others were all untouched?
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