The Graysons: A Story of IllinoisEggleston, Edward
General
The Graysons: A Story of Illinois
Eggleston, Edward
Illinois -- Fiction; Lincoln, Abraham, 1809-1865 -- Fiction; Presidents -- United States -- Fiction
[Footnote 1: Why it was that Bob said "bears," and did not say "b'ars,"
as some of his class did, I do not know. Broad as his dialect was, it
was perceptibly less aberrant than that of Lazar Brown's family, for
example. It is impossible to trace the causes for local and family
variations of speech; nor is a word always pronounced in the same way in
a dialect,--it varies in sound sometimes, when more or less stress is
put upon it. The varieties are here set down as they existed, except
that print can never give those shades of pronunciation and inflection
that constitute so large a part of the peculiarities of speech, local,
personal and temporary.]
The dogs took the hint and ceased their nosing about the roots of trees
for squirrels, and in beds of leaves and bunches of grass for hares.
They began to make large circles through the trees about Bob, who moved
forward as the center of a sort of planetary system, the short-legged
dog keeping near the center, while Pup ranged as far away as he could
without losing sight of his master,--the remote Uranus of the hunt. Joe,
having "tairrier" blood in him, ran with his nozzle down; but
long-legged Pup, with a touch of greyhound in his build, carried his
head high and depended on his eyes. The fact that Tom Grayson's life was
at stake afforded no reason, in Bob's view, for giving over the pursuit
of bears. Nor did he hunt in serious earnest merely because there was
neither bread nor meat at home. A cat will catch mice for the mere fun
of it, and with Bob the chase was ever the chief interest of life. But
Bob did not forget his other errand; while the dogs were seeking for
bears, he was eagerly scanning the bushes in every direction for Zeke
Tucker. Half a mile above Lazar Brown's he encountered Zeke, carrying a
blind-bridle on his arm, and still looking in vain for Britton's stray
horse.
"Hello, Zeke! the very feller I wuz a-lookin' fer. Don't ax me no
questions about what I'm a-doin' over h-yer, an' I won't tell you no
lies. Let's set down a minute on that air hackberry log."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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