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One day the cook rolled a rain bar'l down-hill from the kitchen, and when them blooded critters saw it comin' they throwed down their tails and tore out like rabbits. After that I couldn't see no good in 'em with a spy- glass. "'They 'ain't got no grit. What makes you think they can fight? I asked one day. "'Fight? says H'Anglish. 'My deah man, they're full-blooded. Cost seventy pun each.
About a mile from the house we jumped up a little brown bear that scampered off when he seen us, but bein' agin' a bluff where he couldn't get away, he climbed a cotton-wood. H'Anglish was simply frothin' with excitement. "'What a misfortune! Neyther gun nor hounds. "'I'll scratch his back and talk pretty to him, says I, 'while you run back and get a Winchester and them ferocious bull-dogs.
He took 'em to his boosum as if he'd just got back off a long trip, then, droppin' the last one, he made at that younger son an' put a gold fillin' in his leg. Yes, sir; most chewed it off. H'Anglish let out a Siberian-wolf holler hisself, an' I had to step in with the hatchet and kill the brute though I was most dead from laughin'. "That's how it is with me an' Glenister," the old man concluded.
"He takes aim at Mr. Bear's chin and misses it three times runnin', he's that excited. "'Settle down, H'Anglish, says I. 'He 'ain't got no double chins. How many shells left in your gun? "When he looks he finds there's only one more, for he hadn't stopped to fill the magazine, so I cautions him. "'You're shootin' too low. Raise her. "He raised her all right, and caught Mr. Bruin in the snout.
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