“Dod rot your cowardly heart!” exclaimed Sneak, rising up and shaking the cold water from his clothes; “if I don’t pay you for this, I wish I may be shot!”
“I thought it was the Indians,” said Joe, still staring at the small thicket of briers, where the hounds were yet growling and bounding about in a singular manner.
“I’ll see what it is and then pay you for this ducking,” said Sneak, walking briskly to the edge of the thicket, while the water trickled down over his moccasins.
“What is it?” cried Joe, leaping farther up the ascent with great trepidation, as he saw the hounds run out of the bushes as if pursued, and even Sneak retreating a few paces. But what seemed very unaccountable was a smile on Sneak’s elongated features.
“What in the world can it be?” repeated Joe.
“Ha! ha! ha! if that ain’t a purty thing to skeer a full-grown man into fits!” said Sneak, retreating yet farther from the thicket.
“What makes you back out, then?” inquired Joe. The hounds now ran to the men, and the next moment a small animal, not larger than a rabbit, of a dark colour, with long white stripes from the nose to the tail, made its appearance, and moved slowly toward the spring. Sneak ran up the hill beyond the position occupied by Joe, maintaining all the time a most provoking smile.
“Who’s scared into fits now, I should like to know?” retorted Joe.
“I wish I had my gun,” said Sneak.
“Hang me, if I’m afraid of that little thing,” said Joe. Still the hounds ran round, yelping, but never venturing within thirty feet of the animal.