"Fust rate; but I'd be enjoyin' myse'f er good deal better ef I had my rifle. How I'd like ter draw er bead on that whopper; that old shaggy feller."
"Laws er massy, how I would. He's er ole pollertician, he is, an' I lay he gits ever' vote in de croud. Bet he ain't been de sheriff o' de den no less 'en er dozen times. I—whut de matter wid 'em?"
Suddenly the wolves with one impulse ceased their howling, "tucked" their tails, and ran away.
"A very gentlemanly act," Potter exclaimed. "Now we can get down from these uncomfortable perches."
"Hol' on," cried Alf. "Set right whar you is, fur dar's suthen wus den wolves round yere now. Look dar! Lawd an' de mussyful hebens proteck us!"
Two enormous panthers bounded into the open space. They cast quick glances in the direction which the wolves had taken, and then, turning about, bent their fiery gaze on Potter and the old negro. Potter turned pale, and, addressing Alf, said: "Old man, we are doomed. They will never leave us until their awful mouths are stained with our blood."
"Oh, Lawd," the old negro cried, "look down yere an' see de awful fix yo' po' servant dun got inter. Lawd, da gwine ter chaw de life outen yo' po' servant. Lawd, de bigges' one got his eyes dead set on yo' po' servant. Where'll I be dis time ter mor'. Oh, Mr. Potter, how I wush I wuz at de house drinkin' butter milk. Lawd, yo' ole servant wushes you'd strike deze pant'ers wid lightnin'. Oh, Lawd, I'd ruther die den ter be killed by er pant'er."
The panthers stood gazing at them.
Potter's pallor was gone, and on his face there rested an expression of resignation. "If they intend to do anything," said he, "I wish they would not put it off any longer. This delay is awful."
"Oh, doan say dat, Mr. Potter; oh, sweet Mr. Potter, doan say dat. Doan make no sich subjestions ter 'em, fur doan you see da's jes' waitin' fur dar mines ter git made up. My greshus, I ken feel dat monster's eyes. Da burns inter my flesh. Da ain't payin' no 'tention ter John. Look yere, dat boy ain't in de tree!"