“De yudder day, when Marse Jim killed dat grouse—I believe dat’s whut dey call it, but it look des lak a sho’ nuff ole speckle hen to me—an’ fetch it here, all whut see it, ’cepin’ dat Englishman, say dat it’s de bigges’ bird uv de kind in all de lan’, I wondered whut he gwine to say. Yes, sir, I des wonder whut he gwine to say. But I ain’t hafter wonder long, fur he come ’long, steppin’ two yards at a time, an’ stop, an’ put on dat single-bar’l eyeglass, an’ look down at de grouse. I helt my breaf until he say: ‘Yes, yes, dat’s er putty big bird, but dey’s gut bigger grouse dan dat in Englan’.’
“Dat wuz too much. I des gut right sick when he say it. An’ no longer dan de day befo’, right dare in de back yard, he say dat de deer whut de gemmun frum Atlanty kilt wuz er big one, but not as big as de ones dey have in Englan’.”
One afternoon, not long after the deer incident, the old negro was fishing in Horseshoe River, at the foot of the mountain, when he saw another fisherman catch a mud turtle, or cooter, as the natives called it. At the sight of the wriggling thing, a happy thought came to Uncle George.
“I sho’ will trade fur dat cooter an’ git even wid de Englishman,” said he. “Yes, sir; dat’s des whut I’ll do.”
Going up to the man who had landed the turtle, George asked: “Say, boss, how’ll you swap dat tuckle fur some fish?”
“I’ll trade fair,” said the mountaineer.
“Well, I’m yo’ man, ef you will, fur I wants dat cooter,” declared the darkey.
“I’ll give you two trouts fur him?”
The exchange was made and George set out for home. No one knew what the negro was up to until he let a few of his friends, white and black, onto his game.