The trooth is thar's not that dog a-whinin' about our hosses' fetlocks who ain't proudly descended from fifteen different tribes, an' they shorely makes a motley mass meetin'.

Still, they're good, zealous dogs; an' as they're going to go for'ard an' take most of the resks of that panther, it seems invidious to criticise 'em.
"'One of the Twitty boys rides down an' puts the eighty or more dogs into the bresh.

The rest of us lays back an' strains our eyes.

Thar he is! A shout goes up as we descries the panther stealin' off by a far corner.

He's headin' along a hollow that's full of bresh an' baby timber an' runs parallel with the pike.