Families fetched their dinners with them from the country, and eat them in the wagons.

There was considerable whisky drinking going on, and I seen three fights.

By and by somebody sings out: "Here comes old Boggs!--in from the country for his little old monthly drunk; here he comes, boys!" All the loafers looked glad; I reckoned they was used to having fun out of Boggs.

One of them says: "Wonder who he's a-gwyne to chaw up this time.

If he'd a-chawed up all the men he's ben a-gwyne to chaw up in the last twenty year he'd have considerable ruputation now." Another one says, "I wisht old Boggs 'd threaten me, 'cuz then I'd know I warn't gwyne to die for a thousan' year." Boggs comes a-tearing along on his horse, whooping and yelling like an Injun, and singing out: "Cler the track, thar.