“Name o’ sense, whar is we?” ses Bill. “If this isn’t a fency country, dad fetch my buttons.”
“Yes, and a branchy one, too!” ses Tom; “and the highest, and deepest, and thickest that I ever seed in my born days.”
“Which way is you?” ses Bill.
“Here, rite over the branch.”
The next minit in Bill went, up to his middle in the branch.
“Cum a-head,” ses Tom, “let’s go home.”
“Cum thunder! in such a place as this, whar a man hain’t more’n got his cote tail unhitched from a fence, fore he’s over his head and ears in the water.”
After gettin’ out and feelin’ about in the dark a little, they got together agin. After takin’ another drink, they sot out for home, denouncin’ the fences and the branches, and helpin’ one another up now and then; but they hadn’t got more’n twenty yards fore they brung up all standin’ in the middle of another branch. After gettin’ thro’ the branch and gwine about ten steps, they was brung to a halt by another fence.
“Dad blame my pictur,” ses Bill, “if I don’t think we is bewitched. Who upon yearth would bild fences all over creation this way?”
It was but a ower’s job to get over this one; but after they got on the top, they found the ground on tother side ’thout much trouble. This time the bottle was broke, and they come monstrous near having a fight about the catastrophy. But it was a very good thing, it was; for, after crossin’ two or three more branches, and climbin’ as many more fences, it got to be daylight, and they found out that they had been climbin’ the same fence all night, not more’n a hundred yards from whar they first cum to it.