It’s all right to play such games in daylight in town, but when it gets to be pretty dark, and you’re ’way off in the woods and not a soul anywheres in sight—well, I’d just as soon play something else. Before we got to old-man Fugle’s I was really seeing Injuns and what not, and the cold chills was a-chasing themselves up and down my spine like they had got up a game of tag. I, for one, was all-fired glad when Fugle’s light came into view. We drove up to the gate and about a thousand dogs came boiling out of the yard at us. Old-man Fugle kept more dogs than he did sheep. Judging from some of the mutton that comes from his place, he makes a mistake sometimes and ketches a dog instead of a sheep.
Well, the old man came busting out of his house, dragging a shot-gun, and bellows out to know who is there, and we tell him, meantime keeping our legs tucked up out of reach of his dogs.
“What you want this time of night?” says he.
“We want to g-g-give you some m-money,” says Mark.
“Come and give it, then,” says he
“Call off them dogs,” says Mark.
“They won’t harm you,” says Fugle.
“You b-bet they won’t,” says Mark, “not so l-long as I set up here out of reach. If you calc’late to git this money, either come after it or shet up them wolves.”
“How much you got?”
“All of it.”