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Pomp darted at the wooden spit, and drawing it out replaced it in a better position. "Dat duck lil rarksle," he said, showing his teeth. "Dat free time try to burn um 'tick and tummle in de fire, rock umself. Dah, you 'tan 'till, will you? Oh, I say, Mass' George, done um 'mell good?" "Yes; they begin to smell nice." "Dat de one hab green head. He berry juicy 'deed; dat one for Mass' George.
"'Gator 'fraid we come shoot um, and come out of de ribber and 'teal a gun." "Nonsense! An alligator wouldn't do that." "Oh, I done know. 'Gator berry wicked ole rarksle." "Where are the marks then?" I said. "Ah, Pomp find um foots and de mark of de tail."
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