“It air awk’ard. I mout not heer yur shout.”
Zeb, who had by this time passed through the doorway, again stopped to reflect.
“Heigh!” he exclaimed, after a pause of six seconds. “I’ve got it. I’ve treed the eydee. Ye see my ole maar, tethered out thur on the grass?”
“Shure I do, Misther Stump. Av coorse I do.”
“Wal, ye see thet ere prickly cacktis plant growin’ cloast to the edge o’ the openin’?”
“Faith, yis.”
“Wal, that’s sensible o’ ye. Now lissen to what I say. Ye must keep a look out at the door; an ef anybody kums up whiles I’m gone, run straight custrut for the cacktis, cut off one o’ its branches—the thorniest ye kin see—an stick it unner the maar’s tail.”
“Mother av Moses! For what div yez want me to do that?”
“Wal, I reck’n I’d better explain,” said Zeb, reflectingly; “otherwise ye’ll be makin’ a mess o’ it.”
“Ye see, Pheelum, ef anybody interlopes durin’ my absince I hed better be hyur. I ain’t a goin’ fur off. But howsomediver near, I moutn’t hear yur screech; thurfore the maar’s ’ll do better. You clap the cacktis under her tail, cloast up to the fundament; and ef she don’t squeal loud enuf to be heern by me, then ye may konklude that this coon air eyther rubbed out, or hev both his lugs plugged wi picket pins. So, Pheelum; do you adzactly as I’ve tolt ye.”