He gin ’em the Sunflower “shuffle,” and the Big Greasy “cut,” and pushed ’em back. Chunkey dealt ’em mighty slow, and kept tryin’ to see my cards, but I laid my hand on ’em as fast as they fell on the log, to prevent him from seein’ the marks. He turned up the Ace of Clubs. When I looked at my hand, thar was the King, Jack, Nine, and Deuce,—I led my King—— “High!” says I. “Low!” said Chunkey, poppin’ down the Tray. “Not edzactly,” said I, hawlin’ in the trick, and leadin’ the Deuce, and jist as I done so, I seed Chunkey starin’ over my shoulder, lookin’ wilder nor a dyin’ bar. I never seed a man look so awful in my life. I thought he were gwine to have a fit. “Ya, ya!” said he, “fallin’ off the log,” cryin’ “_Snake! snake!_” I never took time to look, but made a big he-spring about twenty feet in the cane, the har on my head standin’ stiff as bristles and ratlin’ like a raftsman’s bones, with the Sky lake ager, and the bad feelins runnin’ down to my toes. I reckon you never seed a man so frightened of snakes as I is, and I’ve been so all my life; I’d rather fight the biggest bar in the swamp with his own weapons, teeth and claws, takin’ it rough and tumble, dependin’ on my mind and knowledge of a bar’s character, than come in contact with a big rusty highland mocassin or rattlesnake, and that’s the reason I never hunts in the summer time. When I lived up on Deer Creek, thar was a perfect cord of all sorts, and I used to wear all summer the thickest kind of cow-hide boots, reachin’ up to my hips, and I _never_ went into the field, ’ceptin on a mule, with a double-barrelled gun at that. This, Chunkey knowed; and whenever he seed one he gin me warnin’. Chunkey ain’t afraid of snakes; he’d jist as soon eat of a gourd with a snake, as not, if the snake would help himself and not meddle with his licker. Well, arter lookin’ about a spell I couldn’t see no snake-sign, and I then hollered to Chunkey, but darned a word did he say. It then flashed across my mind that as Chunkey fell on the side of the log whar the licker lay, he _might_ sorter taste it, as he were dry enough to be able to swaller a little at a time; so I struck a lick back to the log and looked over, and thar he lay, jist curled up like a ’coon in the sunshine, _and the bottle jist glued to his lips_, and the licker runnin’ down his throat like a storm! darn him, I hadden’t no time to think afore I bounced at him! I struck across his snout, and he nailed my thumb in his jaws, and rostled up a handful of dirt and throwed it in my eyes, and that sot me to gwine, and I throwed the licks into him right and left, and I made the fur fly, _I tell you_; but Chunkey stood it like a man! Darned the word did he say; he wouldn’t holler, he was _perfectly game_! “No, that’s a fact! I didn’t holler; I didn’t have time; while you were working away on that gum-knot, I were standin’ up agin a little dog-wood finishin’ the licker!”