"Cat-hound?" flared Jaffrey Bretton. "I've got a thousand-dollar slate-colored hound in the baggage car if that's what you mean?"
"You ain't done got him now," regretted the Darky. "It was him that jumps off first at the water tank. The cat was yeller. One of them sort of swamp cats that——"
With a cry of real dismay Jaffrey Bretton pushed the Darky aside and started for the door.
"'Twon't do you no good now, sah," protested the Darky. "It was more'n an hour ago I reckon and the Captain of this 'ere train he don't stop nothing for no dog."
"No, of course not!" cried Jaffrey Bretton, "But we've got to do something! The swamp country——"
"Yes, sah, that's the trouble with these 'ere hound-dogs," reflected the Darky. "They runs till they busts. And when they 87 busts they bogs down. And jes' as soon as they bogs down Mr. Alligator or Mr. Little Ole Mocassin snake he——It was when the young gentleman sees the swamp that he jumps. Tell the folks not to worry, he hollers. Tell 'em this little ole good works 'speriment am only just begun! Was you his folks?" brightened the Darky.
"No!" flared Daphne.
"Yes!" said Jaffrey Bretton. "Go get me a telegraph blank quick!" he ordered. "Find out what the last station back was! And the next one ahead!"
Expeditiously the Darky plunged through the door, then swung back for one more sentence.
"There was some gentlemens down here las' year what lost their hound-dog. Jes' two hours it was and when they foun' him he was all buzzard-et."