"Burlman Rennuls, whar you gwine?" Don't know whar, but dat we's rollin' fas'er an' fas'er, an' dat we's startin' de rocks to rollin' too, a-hoppin' an' pitchin' behin' us as ef dey's in fur a frolic. Now we's all in a whirl down dar at de foot uf de hill, an' no lebel country—nothin' but a leanin'-ober river-bank forty foot high. "Burlman Rennuls, whar you gwine?" Don't know whar. But ober we pitches a-whirlin' [throwing out one of the revolving fists at a tangent]—down we draps into water full forty foot deep, kerslash; de rocks a-pitchin' in arter us thick as hail. [Audience: "Laws-a-marcy!" "Goodness gracious!" "Hoo-weep!" (with a whistle). After an impressive pause the speaker, with an impressive gesture, resumed his exciting story.]
Now, ladies an' gen'lemen, you's thinkin' dat's de las' uf Burlman Rennuls, an' dis his ghos' up here on de stump a-talkin' to you. 'T ain't so: Burlman Rennuls pulled out; pulled out, I say. Ef he didn't he wouldn't be up here a-tellin' you uf it. I ups an' looks roun', big Injun ups an' looks roun'. I pulls fur big Injun, big Injun pulls for lan'. Bes' swimmer; gits dar fus', an' ter keep me from landin' too, 'gins beatin' me back wid rocks, wid no more kunsideration fur de feelin's uf a gen'leman dan ef I'd been a shell-backed tarapin. Whack comes one uf de rocks on my head. "Ouch!" an' down I dives. "Burlman Rennuls," ses I to myself, down dar in de bottom uf de riber, "whar ar' you come to? Not whar you started to go. Dis ain't yo' lebel country. Dis won't do. Big Injun too much fur you in water. Git out uf de water quick as you kin. Two loaded guns up dar on top uf de hill. You scratch out an' git de guns, an' yo' day's work's ober."
So, I ups ag'in; an' dis time under de leanin'-over bank, whar de cane-brake wus, de roots uf de brake a-hangin' down 'mos' to de water. Now comes de rocks ag'in, as thick as hail. Grabbin' de cane-brakes, up I goes, han' ober han', han' ober han'. De rocks stop flyin'. I looks behin' me to see fur why. Dar goes Black Thunder drivin' 'cross de riber down at de riffle, makin' de water fly befo' him like a runaway hoss. O my little marster! Up I goes, in double-quick time. Half way up I sees a painter a-grinnin' down at me frum a tree on de bank. Didn't like his looks, but climbed on.
[Here the speaker was interrupted by a voice from the audience: "Cap'n Rennuls, see yer now; ain't you lettin' on?">[
You g' long! Who stops fur painters in a pinch like dat, or any thing else? Ef I'd turned back den would I be here now to tell you uf it? Git out! So, painter, or what not, up I scrabbles, ober de bank wid a tug, an' through de brake wid a squeeze, tel dar I wus at de foot uf de hill. O my little marster! [A woman's voice in the audience: "Tsht, tsht, tsht! Pore little feller!" See Glossary.]
Up we goes a-scratchin'; pullin' at de bushes an' weeds an' grass ter help us 'long, an' tearin' dem up, like flax on a rainy day. Injun has furder ter go, but longer legs ter go wid. So he gits ter de top uf de hill as quick as me—him nighest his gun, me nighest my ax. He's reachin' his han' out fur de gun, my han' 's on my ax a'ready, an' at him de ax goes whizzin', an' pops him plump on de hip, an' ober he tumbles. I runs to pick up my ax, dis time ter give de tough varmint a cleaver, or neber. He can't run, he can't crawl; but he kin wollop, an' wollop he does, like a rooster wid his head cut off. In de flash uf a gun-flint, dar he's wolloped hisse'f to de turn uf de hill. I sends my ax wid a good-by arter him, an' gives him a gash in de arm to 'member me by. He sends me back a grin an' a whoop, an' away big Injun goes rollin' an' tumblin'. I grabs up a gun—his own gun it was—an' sends him a long far'well. He sends back a yell—de o-f-f-ullest yell I eber heerd in all my bo'n days; offul enough ter come frum a grave-yard. Out comes spirtin' de blood, a-flyin' frum de rollin' body like water frum a flutter-mill. Down to de foot uf de hill a-whirlin' he goes, tel ober de bank uf de riber he pitches. An' dat's de las' I sees uf big Injun. [Audience: "I yi!" "Oho!" "U-gooh!">[
"Burlman Rennuls," says I to myself, still p'intin' my gun at de bank, "yo' day's work's done." But hain't hardly said it when, "Burl, Burl!" ses Bushie; "Bow-wow," ses Grumbo; and "w-h-izz," ses a tommyhawk, grazin' my nose an' stickin' itse'f in a tree by my side. [Here hurling the identical tomahawk over the heads of the wincing listeners and sinking it in a tree behind them. "Goodness gracious, Bu'lman Rennuls, how you skeer a pusson!" exclaimed a finical female voice in the audience. It may have been another coincidence, but just here Grumbo fetched the stump another ratifying rap of the tail.]
I wheels about, an' dar's t'udder dead varmint up on his legs an' a-comin' at me wid his knife, but Grumbo holdin' him back by de coat-tail. "I yi, you dogs!" an' at him I go—grabs his knife, clinches his throat, when down to de groun' we come—Injun, nigger, an' dog, dog-fashion, all in a pile togedder.
["Cap'n Rennuls," said a voice in the audience, "ef de varmint wus a dead one, how could he do all dat like a live one?">[
You g' long! Dat's none uf my lookout. Ef it wusn't as I tell you, would de young Injun be dar in my doo' now, smokin' his pipe? Ef you won't b'lieve me ax him; an' ef you can't take his word fur it, ax Grumbo. [Audience: "H-yah, h-yah, h-yah!" "Shucks!" See Glossary. And here again, too roundly and soundly for mere coincidence, Grumbo fetched the stump a ratifying rap of the tail, that said as plainly as a dog's tail ever said any thing: "Yea, and I'll swear to it.">[