Mebby them shots was uh heap opportune, cause if we hadn’t uh laid down of our own accord, ol’ Abe shore would have spread us some.
He didn’t seem to pay no attention to them shots, but somethin’ in his carcass seems to say, “Go east, ol’ bear, go east,” and Abie shore heeds th’ summons, and hurries right across us.
He plants one foot on th’ part uh my carcass where uh civilized man wears his rear collar button, and his long toe-nails seems to shake dice all th’ way down my vertebray.
We arises too late to see him leave, but he’s shore pointed toward our happy home.
“Abie seems to have hit his second childhood,” yawns Magpie. “I’d ——”
“Did I hit it?” yells uh voice across th’ clearin’, and there stands th’ doc.
He shore is uh sight. He sets there, hangin’ onto uh tree, and tries to watch four directions to oncet. His hat is gone along with uh lot of his clothes, and his respect as uh big game hunter seems to leak out of every pore.
“There was two,” he wails. “I shot one, and before I could see whether I had killed it or not, the other one walked all over me. I didn’t know they went in flocks. I lost my gun. I wonder if I hit it?”
“You did,” states uh voice behind us, and there stands Mighty Jones. He’s standin’ sorta bent forward at th’ waist line, while one hand explores th’ rear of his pants.
“Did I hit it?” asks th’ Doc, ag’in, sorta eager like, and Mighty replies more in sorrow than in anger: