After takin’ a drink they went on, wonderin’ what on yearth had cum of the dogs. Next thing they cum to was a terrible muddy branch. After pullin’ through the briers and gettin’ on tother side, they tuck another drink, and after gwine a little ways they cum to another branch, and a little further they cum to another fence—a monstrous high one this time. “Whar upon yearth is we got to, Culpepper?” ses Bill, “I never seed sich a heap of branches and fences in these parts.” “Why,” ses Tom, “it’s all old Sturlin’s doins—you know he’s always bildin’ fences and making infernal improvements, as he calls ’em. But never mind, we’s through them now.” “Guess we is,” ses Bill; “here’s the all-firedest tall fence yet.” Shure enuff, thar they was right agin another fence. By this time, they begun to be considerable tired and limber in the gints, and it was sich a terrible high fence!—Tom drapped the last piece of the torch, and thar they was in the dark. “Now you is done it,” ses Bill. Tom know’d he had, but he thought it was no use to grieve over spilled milk, so ses he, “Never mind, old hoss, cum a-head, and I’ll take you out,” and the next minit kerslash he went into the water. Bill hung on to the fence with both hands, like he thought it was slewin’ round to throw him off. “Hellow, Tom!” ses he, “whar in the world is you got to?” “Here I is,” ses Tom, spoutin’ the water out of his mouth, and coffin’ like he’d swallowed something. “Look out, thar’s another branch here.” “Name o’ sense, whar is we?” ses Bill. “If this isn’t a fency country, dad fetch my buttons.” “Yes, and a branchy one, too!” ses Tom; “and the highest, and deepest, and thickest that I ever seed in my born days.” “Which way is you?” ses Bill. “Here, rite over the branch.” The next minit in Bill went, up to his middle in the branch. “Cum a-head,” ses Tom, “let’s go home.” “Cum thunder! in such a place as this, whar a man hain’t more’n got his cote tail unhitched from a fence, fore he’s over his head and ears in the water.” After gettin’ out and feelin’ about in the dark a little, they got together agin. After takin’ another drink, they sot out for home, denouncin’ the fences and the branches, and helpin’ one another up now and then; but they hadn’t got more’n twenty yards fore they brung up all standin’ in the middle of another branch. After gettin’ thro’ the branch and gwine about ten steps, they was brung to a halt by another fence. “Dad blame my pictur,” ses Bill, “if I don’t think we is bewitched. Who upon yearth would bild fences all over creation this way?”