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Updated: June 22, 2025
I had my gun ready to give him a mouthful of lead, as soon as he should show his snout outside o' the hole. "'Twar no go. I guess he had heard me when I first come up, and know'd I war thar. I laid still until 'twar so dark I thought I would never find my way back agin to the crik; but, after a good deal of scramblin' and creepin' I got out at last, and took my way home.
The skrimmage tuk place on the crik, whar we foun' them camped. It didn't last long; an' arter 'twere eended, lookin' about among thar bodies, we foun' thar beauty o' a chief wi' this gun upon his parson, tight clutched in the death-grup. Soon's seeing it I know'd 'twar yourn; an' in coorse surspected ye'd had some mischance. Still, the gun kedn't gie us any informashun o' how you'd parted wi' it.
"And jest sech as thet sneakin' coyote, Spanish Joe, would be guilty of tryin'. I've seen it done more'n a few times; and twict the critter was rounded up, and treated like he'd been a hoss thief; 'case ye see, in each case 'twar a woman as rid the animile as got the thorn. But ye must let me rub somethin' on thet wound right away, Bob."
"I guv et a rap across the spinal column, when I kim into the valley," said General Nix, thrusting his head in at the door, a ludicrous grin elongating his grisly features. "'Twar a-goin' ter guv me a yard or so uv et's tongue, more or less consider'bly less of more than more of less so I jest salivated it across ther back, kerwhack!"
Zack's smoke-dried complexion became whitewashed with disappointment. A day or two afterwards, Zack's son, Nimrod, made his appearance at the Wynns' shanty. 'I say, but you're a prime chap arter the rise you took out of the ole coon, was his first remark. 'Uncle Zack was as sartin as I stand of five gallons gone, anyhow; and 'twar a rael balk to put him an' them off with an apology.
Never mind, bubby, 'twar tore afore. But it'll do ter wrop up this money-purse what b'longs ter yer dad. He lef' it hid in the chinking o' the wall over yander close ter whar I war sittin' when I fust kem in. I'll put it back thar, 'kase yer dad don't want nobody ter know whar it air hid." He strode across the room and concealed the empty pocket-book in the chinking.
Ty Sudley, divided between wrath toward Nehemiah and quaking anxiety for the dangers that Leander had been constrained to run ex post facto tremors, but none the less acute felt moved now and then to complacence in his prodigy. "So 'twar you-uns ez war smart enough ter slam the furnace door an' throw the whole place inter darkness! That saved them moonshiners and raiders from killin' each other.
"Ye winna tak even the washin' o' a pocket nepkin frae me, an' ye wad gar me tak a haill half croon frae yersel'! Mem, ye're a gran' leddy an' a bonny; an ye hae turns aboot ye, gien 'twar but the set o' yer heid, 'at micht gar an angel lat fa' what he was carryin', but afore I wad affront ane that wantit naething o' me but gude will, I wad I wad raither be the fisher lad that I am."
He still gazed steadfastly at Rufe; the knife lay unheeded on the ground at his feet, and the hide was slipping from the wooden horse. At last he said slowly, "Birt tole ye 'bout'n it, eh?" "Naw, sir! Naw!" Rufe rocked himself fantastically to and fro in imminent peril of toppling off the wood-pile. "'Twar Tom Byers ez tole me." "TOM!" exclaimed Byers, with a galvanic start.
"I wonder what book it is," said Ginny. "That wad be ill to say," answered Nicie. "Donal reads a hantle o' buiks mair, his mither says, nor she doobts he can weel get the guid o'." "Do you think it's Latin, Nicie?" "Ow! I daursay. But no; it canna be Laitin for, leuk! he's lauchin', an' he cudna dee that gien 'twar Laitin.
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