I shore regyards his advent that a-way as the
day of jedgment.
"'No, we don't corral him. The b'ar simply r'ars back long enough to
put Andrew Jackson an' Thomas Benton into mournin', an' then goes
scuttlin' off through the bushes like the grace of heaven through a
camp-meetin'. As for myse'f, I lays thar; an' what between dog an'
b'ar an' the fall I gets, I'm as completely a thing of the past as
ever finds refooge in that strip of timber. As near as I makes out
by feelin' of myse'f, I ain't fit to make gourds out of. Of course,
she's a mistake on the part of the dogs, an' plumb accidental as far
as the b'ar's concerned; but it shore crumples me up as entirely as
if this yere outfit of anamiles plots the play for a month.
"'With the last flicker of my failin' strength, I crawls to my old
gent's teepee an' is took in. An' you shore should have heard the
language of that household when they sees the full an' awful extent
them dogs an' that b'ar lays me waste. Which I'm layed up eight
weeks.
"'My old gent goes grumblin' off in the mornin', an' rounds up old
Aunt Tilly Hawks to nurse me. Old Aunt Tilly lives over on the
Painted Post, an' is plumb learned in yarbs an' sech as Injun
turnips, opydeldock, live-forever, skoke-berry roots, jinson an'
whitewood bark.
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