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Updated: May 8, 2025
An' a herd of hogs broke in the pasture an' was eatin' the dead bodies ..." "My God!" burst out Ellen. "Uncle John, y'u shore cain't mean my father wouldn't stop fightin' long enough to drive the hogs off an' bury those daid men?" "Evarts says they stopped fightin', all right, but it was to watch the hogs," declared Sprague. "An' then, what d' ye think?
"You mus' speak to him; you got to do it, Jim; you got to." "What kin I say? 'Tildy's daid." She reached up and put her arms around her husband's brawny neck. "Go bring that po' little lamb hyeah," she said. "I kin save it, an' 'ten' to two. It'll be a sort of consolation fu' him to keep his chile." "Kin you do that, Marthy?" he said. "Kin you do that?" "I know I kin."
"I believe he's daid, anyway," said Missou presently, peering down into the white face of the unconscious man. "Got to hang onto the remains, anyhow, for Miss Helen. Those coyotes are too much of the wolf breed to leave him with them." "Looks like they're gittin' the aim some better," equably remarked the other a minute later, when a spurt of sand flew up in front of him.
They's moh houn'-dawgs in Citron City than they's wood-ticks to keep them busy. I reckon a dollah 'll do a heap foh you, suh." "Could you get me a dog for a dollar?" I asked; "one with points?" "Points? I sholy can, suh; plenty of points. What kind of dawg do yoh requiah, suh? live dawg? daid dawg? houn'-dawg? raid-dawg? hawg-dawg? coon-dawg?
Will Hogg of Texas says that down in Houston one Monday morning a Negro boy in his employ came to him with a request. "Boss," said the darky, "I'd lak to git off nex' Friday fur the day." "What for?" inquired Hogg. "Got to go to a fun'el." "Whose funeral is it?" "My uncle's." "When did your uncle die?" "Lawd, boss, he ain't daid yit!"
With some difficulty he brought the big horse to a standstill in front of them and grabbing off his ragged cap stammered out his message: "Howdy, Massa Dominie. Sarvint, Missy Peggy, but Josh done sont me fer ter fin' yo' an' bring you back yon' mighty quick, kase kase, de de sor'el mar' done got mos' kilt an' lak' 'nough daid right dis minit.
"Why, is you 'shamed o' me?" he asked brokenly. "'Shamed? No! Oh, Be'y," and she sank into a chair and began rocking to and fro in her helpless grief. "What 's de mattah, Fannie? Ain't you glad to see me?" "Yes, yes, but you don't know nothin', do you? Dey lef' me to tell you?" "Lef' you to tell me? What 's de mattah? Is Joe or Kit daid? Tell me." "No, not daid.
"Allie it ain't you?" he asked, hoarsely, as he hugged her close. "Oh, Larry yes yes and I'll die of joy!" she whispered. "Then you shore ain't daid?" he went on, incredulously. How sweet to Allie was the old familiar Southern drawl! "Dead? Never....Why, I've kissed you! ... and you haven't kissed me back." She felt his breast heave as he lifted her off her feet to kiss her awkwardly, boyishly.
Hit looks pow'ful like dey wuz gwine ter run twel dey bofe drap down daid, so I done come all dis way atter a dose er dem bitters ole miss use ter gin us befo' de wah." "Well, I never!" said Cynthia, laughing. "I believe he means the brown bitters mother used to make for chills and fever. I'm very sorry, Uncle Isam, but we haven't any. We don't keep it any longer."
"Come heah!" "No!" shouted Neale, violently. "Is he dead?" "Daid! Wal, I should smile.... An' mebbe he ain't alone." The cowboy ran down to his horse and Neale followed suit. They rode up on the ridge to reconnoiter, but saw no moving objects. "I reckon thet redskin was shore a-goin' to plug me," drawled Larry, as they trotted homeward. "He certainly was," replied Neale, with a shudder.
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