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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Wal, wherever the poor critter's gone, I reckon she's l'arned to bridle her tongue," said Mr. Peterby Paul cheerfully. "Howsomever, as the feller said, that's another day's job. Mr. Frenchy, let's pour this gasoline into them tanks." Ruth insisted upon paying for the gasoline, and paying well.
By this time Elbridge had found out that Abel was in earnest, and had something to tell. He looked at the litter in the mustang's stall, then at the crib. "Ha'n't eat b't haalf his feed. Ha'n't been daown on his straw. Must ha' been took aout somewhere abaout ten 'r 'levee o'clock. I know that 'ere critter's ways. The fellah's had him aout nights afore; b't I never thought nothin' o' no mischief.
"Hi, Rosa!" says Becky again, and begun to pound the pan with the potater. And I give you my word that that mare started up, turned the wagon around nice as could be, and begun to swim ashore. When we got where the critter's legs touched bottom, Becky remarks: "Whoa!" "Here!" I yells, "what did you do that for?" "Pay thirty-five dolla NOW," says she. She was bus'ness, that girl.
When Billy told her of the sudden death of Mrs. Howard and Frank, an expression of "What? That all?" passed over her face, and she said, "Dear me, and so the poor critter's gone? Hand me my snuff, Billy. Both died last night, did they? Hain't you nothin' else to tell?" "Yes, Mary Judson and Ella Campbell, too, are dead." Mrs.
Sister Sall's Courtship. There goes one of them are everlastin rottin poles in that bridge, they are no better than a trap for a critter's leg, said the Clockmaker. They remind me of a trap Jim Munroe put his foot in one night, that near about made one leg half a yard longer than tother. I believe I told you of him, what a desperate idle feller he was he came from Onion County in Connecticut.
"Now here, you see" he pointed to the middle of the road "is where you, sir, met up with the madam and her niggers, and given her yo' hoss and taken her span. Here's the tracks o' the span, you takin' 'em back; you can see they're the same as these comin' this way. T'other critter's tracks I don't make out, but no matter, here's the niggers' along here and here, see? and here here there."
"I kin tell yer whether it wur mounted, Cap'n," continued the hunter, "if yer'll let me slide down and take a squint at the critter's tracks." "It is out of our way. Perhaps you had better," I added, after a little reflection. "Raoul, you and Chane dismount and go with the sergeant. Hold their horses, Jack."
He leaned back and awaited the "critter's" approach. He was a tall, raw boned man with a shock of reddish grey hair and tangled beard; a pair of keen grey eyes shown from behind deep, overhanging brows. Though he had the appearance of a farmer, he might have been anything from a deacon to a rustler, so far as could be judged by his appearance.
The cow was lying down, breathing with difficulty. Elihu Perkins looked at her sharply through his "specs." "What do you think of her, neighbor Perkins?" asked the owner, anxiously. The cow doctor shifted a piece of tobacco from one cheek to the other, and looked wise. "I think the critter's nigh her end," he said, at last. "Is she so bad as that?" "Pears like it.
Their task was almost finished, when Gyp's savage barking up among the thick trees arrested their attention. "Let's go and see what he's got," Rod suggested. "Oh, it's only a squirrel he's treed," the captain contemptuously replied, straightening himself up for an instant from his bent position. "It's all that critter's good fer. If he'd something big it'd be worth while."
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