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Den it's rise up, Primus! en gin it turn strong; De cow's gwine home wid der ding-dang-dong Sling in anudder tetch er de ole-time song: Good-night, Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long! Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long! Don't stay long! Hi my rinktum!
"Ohquamehud talks like a crow that knows not what he says." "When next," said the Indian, with a laugh, "Quadaquina tries to be a bird, let him remember that the bashful whipperwill likes not the sun to hear his song." The boy fancying that he had been discovered, and that any further attempt at concealment was vain, answered boldly,
Jud Shelby, while admitting the excellence of the steer, resolutely confined himself to open admiration of the landscape, to the end that the entire picture receive its meed of praise. "That piece of range," he declared, "is a dead ringer for Dead Hoss Valley. Same grass, same lay of land, same old Whipperwill Creek skallyhootin' in and out of them motts of timber.
As the form of Ohquamehud became dimmer in the distance, the boy could not repress his exultation at the success of his ambush, but gave it vent in a whistle, imitating the notes of the whipperwill. It caught the ear of the Indian, and he turned, and as he did so, the boy threw himself on the ground. The sun had hardly set.
"What does a child like Quadaquina, mean by wandering so far in the dark away from its mother?" demanded Ohquamehud. "Quadaquina is no longer a child," answered the boy, "to need his mother. He runs about, like a squirrel, in the woods, whenever he please." "Quah! He is more like a bird, and it is to take lessons from the whipperwill, that he comes into the woods."
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