"'Thar's a band of us settin' 'round when this lover of Polly's
shows in the door, drinkin' an' warblin' that entertainin' ditty,
which goes:"
"'"Thar sits a dog, by a barn door,
An' Bingo is his name, O!
An' Bingo is his name."
"'As Polly's other beau comes in, we ceases this refrain. He pitches
his rifle to the landlord over the bar, an' calls for a Baldface
whiskey toddy. He takes four or five drinks, contemplatin' us
meanwhile a heap disdainful. Then he arches his back, bends his
elbows, begins a war-song, an' goes dancin' stiff-laig like a Injun,
in front of the bar. This is how this extravagant party sings. It's
what Colonel Sterett, yere, to whom I repeats it former, calls
"blanket verse."
"'"Let all the sons of men b'ar witness!" sings this gent, as he
goes skatin' stiff-laig about in a ring like I relates, arms bent,
an' back arched; "let all the sons of men b'ar witness; an'
speshully let a cowerin' varmint, named Sam Enright, size me up an'
shudder! I'm the maker of deserts an' the wall-eyed harbinger of
desolation! I'm kin to rattlesnakes on my mother's side; I'm king of
all the eagles an' full brother to the b'ars! I'm the bloo-eyed lynx
of Whiskey Crossin', an' I weighs four thousand pounds! I'm a he-
steamboat; I've put a crimp in a cat-a-mount with nothin' but my
livin' hands! I broke a full-grown allagator across my knee, tore
him asunder an' showered his shrinkin' fragments over a full section
of land! I hugged a cinnamon b'ar to death, an' made a grizzly plead
for mercy! Who'll come gouge with me? Who'll come bite with me?
Who'll come put his knuckles in my back? I'm Weasel-eye, the dead
shot; I'm the blood-drinkin', skelp-t'arin', knife-plyin' demon of
Sunflower Creek! The flash of my glance will deaden a whiteoak, an'
my screech in anger will back the panther plumb off his natif heath!
I'm a slayer an' a slaughterer, an' I cooks an' eats my dead! I can
wade the Cumberland without wettin' myse'f, an' I drinks outen the
spring without touchin' the ground! I'm a swinge-cat; but I warns
you not to be misled by my looks! I'm a flyin' bison, an'
deevastation rides upon my breath! Whoop! whoop! whoopee! I'm the
Purple Blossom of Gingham Mountain, an' where is that son of thunder
who'll try an' nip me in the bud! Whoop! whoopee! I'm yere to fight
or drink with any sport; any one or both! Whoopee! Where is the
stately stag to stamp his hoof or rap his antlers to my
proclamations! Where is that boundin' buck! Whoopee! whoop! whoop!"
"'Then this yere vociferous Purple Blossom pauses for breath; but
keeps up his stilt-laig dance, considerin' me meanwhile with his
eye, plenty baleful.
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