But Jones regarded them with considerable contempt.

When all was said, this was no small wonder, for that quintet of long-eared canines would have tried the patience of a saint.

Old Moze was a Missouri hound that Jones had procured in that State of uncertain qualities; and the dog had grown old over coon-trails.

He was black and white, grizzled and battlescarred; and if ever a dog had an evil eye, Moze was that dog.

He had a way of wagging his tail--an indeterminate, equivocal sort of wag, as if he realized his ugliness and knew he stood little chance of making friends, but was still hopeful and willing.