“Well, I was right sorry, and I looked on for some time, and hardly knowed what to do; but I saw 'twas all over, so, drawing my knife, I walked up to the bright yaller, and lifting up his tail, fetched a wipe, and took off his rattles.—I thought they belonged to me, for seeing fair play. But to my surprise, as I did so, I felt his tail slip through my fingers, and saw that the poor fellow had come to, and was moving off. But, Rolfe, in cutting them off, I made 'em rattle, and sich another squall as the old brown did set up,”——Here Earth whistled. “He hadn't been mad before:—he now doubled himself up in a hoop, and made after me. I streaked it; the faster I run, the more noise I made, and looking behind, I saw him rolling on; every time he turned over his eyes come up like two coals of fire in a dark night. He gained upon me, so I dropped the rattles, and as I did so, he settled down upon 'em, and spun round jest like he was a top. I thought it was a good time to get clear, so I slipped off, and continued my way home.”
“And that's what made you serious,” said Rolfe.
“No, it ta'int,” said Earth, “it might have made me serious; but since you think so lightly of it, I should like to know what would make you serious.”
“You mistake me, Earth, I do not, it is a good story, and I merely asked for information, come, go on.”
“Well,” said Earth, “since I see you believe in what I told you, and know how to appreciate the snakes, I will.”
“After I left the old brown spinning round, as I was saying, I took the nearest direction, and started off for home; I had walked along, I suppose, that is, as near as I can come at it, about two miles, when here 'twas agin.”
“What?” said Rolfe.
“Why the same bear that I had gin sich a race in the morning. He was setting up in a tree eating acorns.”
“How do you know 'twas the same?” inquired Rolfe.
“Do you know your horse?” said Earth.