right to left as she turned from right to left, to keep himself on a line with her and beyond the reach of her claws and teeth. Meanwhile, having inspected Betsy Grumbo, to make sure that she had sustained no damage in the conflict, Burl put her in "extry bitin' order" by loading her with two bullets and a double charge of powder. Then stepping a few paces to one side, so as not to endanger Grumbo, he took deliberate aim and let the dam have it full in the body, just behind the shoulder. With a fierce growl she sunk down lifeless by the side of her slain lord, the jaws of the dog still clinched like a vice upon her tail. "An' dat's de way," to finish Burl's own story in his own words, "Burlman Rennuls an' Grumbo woun' up de ol' she-bar. Den goes I up to de cubs, whar dey still kep a-gnawin' an' a-scratchin' an' a-clawin' ober Grumbo, an' tickles 'em to death wid de pint uf my knife. Den I looks roun' an' dare's Grumbo still a-holdin' on to de varmint's tail like a dead turtle to a corn-cob. Says I: 'Grumbo, onscrew yo' vice an' stop yo' chawin'; de varmint's dead. Don't you know Betsy Grumbo alwus bites in de heart, an' bars never play 'possum?' Den Grumbo lets go slow an' easy as uf he's afeerd de varmint wus makin' a fool uf him an' Burlman Rennuls, too. Den we skins de bars, an' we kindles a fire; briles some uf de bar meat on de coals, streeks uf lean an' lumps uf fat; an' den we sets down an' shakes hans--me an' Grumbo--ober de sweetest dinner eber et in ol' Kaintuck. An' now you say Grumbo got no human feelin's in him. Git out!" Should any of the white hunters choose to hint a doubt as to the truth of this story, Big Black Burl had but to point to the bear-skin bed in his cabin, on which he slept; to the bear-skin rug under the shed at his door, where Grumbo slept by day and watched by night; to his bear-skin leggins, his bear-skin hunting-shirt, and bear-skin war-cap--and the thing was settled and established beyond doubt or controversy. Concerning these and the like points Grumbo himself maintained a grim and dignified reserve, never speaking of them to common dogs, nor even to his master, excepting when the subject was forced upon him; though that was certainly frequent enough for wholesome airing. Grand, gloomy, and peculiar, he sat upon his bear-skin, a maneless lion, wrapped in the solitude of his own originality. Aloof from the vulgar pack, he lived and moved and had his being but in the atmosphere of the Fighting Nigger, in whose society only could he hope to find a little congenial companionship, and to whom only he unbosomed the workings of his mighty heart.