An' while I'm studyin' an' takin' a nip from a flask I happens t' have in my jeans, I forgets Bull for a minit, an' when I looks up, he's plumb absent.
"I ain't worried none, till I happens t' think we was only 'bout a quarter mile from that Englishman, Barclay's, place, what has that pack o' wolf-hounds that he hunts with.

Fox-huntin' he calls it, though what he mostly chases is coyotes.

Ain't it funny how when an Englishman comes t' this country he brings his habits with him, or twists ours aroun' t' fit his'n ?" "Say," demanded Jim.

"Is this a yarn 'bout a bulldog or a lecture on them foreign habits?
'Cause if it's that last, I--" "Well, anyway," Bill interrupted hastily, "I looks down th' road, an' Bull's beatin' it hot foot for that Barclay's place, an' I c'n see what happens if he meets up with them hounds.

So I follers, swift's I can, spillin' some language to Bull--prayers, an' warnin's an' such.