"Animyles sich as don't prowl raound yere, man-yeatin' snakes as big as thet tree, an' the blood-thirstiest salvages as ever was.

An' arter a while ther ain't no more trees grows, ther lan' is thet poor, by gosh! jist a plumb dead levil er' short grass, an' no show ter hide ner nuthin'." "Were you ever there, Seth ?" I questioned with growing anxiety, for I had heard some such vague rumors as these before.
"Me?
Not by a dinged sight!" he replied, emphatically.

"This yere is a long way further west thin I keer 'bout bein'.

Ol' Vermont is plenty good 'nough fer this chicken, an' many 's ther day I wish I was back ther.

But I hed a cousin onct who tuk ter sojerin' 'long with Gineral Clarke, an' went 'cross them ther prairies ter git Vincennes frum the British.