Then “ah!” says he again, and in he comes. “Chunkey!” says he. “What’s busted, Jem?” “North pole has busted, and no mistake. The ground is kivered with snow.” I sprung up, and sure enough thar was the snow, the first that ever fell in the creek, jest follerin’ civilization. I knowed thar’d be howlin’, smashin’ of teeth, burnin’ of brimstone, and a worryin’ of the stranger, on the creek to-day, and so, I reckon, did the dogs, ’cause when Hembry blowed the horn, they come a shoutin’ like so many imps. Jest imagin, Captin, thirty full-grown dogs, a cross of the blood on the old Virginny foxhound, keen as a bowyer, and adzactly of Jem’s opinion, signifying as plain as they could, if huntin’s goin’ on, they’d take a chance. Well, we splurged about till breakfast-time, gettin’ up and cleanin’ guns, and countin’ balls, and dividin’ powder. “Bring out them bar-sassage and deer melts,” says Jem; “and then, Chunkey, we’ll locomotion.” His eyes all the time lookin’ like a live coal of fire, and every muscle jumpin’ for joy. “Look out, bar,” says he. “Say low, and keep dark, panter,” says I. “Deer, don’t you come nigh me,” says Jem, and then he commenced singin’: “Oh, rain come wet me, sun come dry me, Take care, white man, don’t come nigh me,” and strikin’ a few flourishes of the goin’ and comin’ double shuffle. “Hurrah for Sky Lake,” says I. “Hurrah for the Forkin’ Cypress drive,” says Jem, takin’ a drink, and cuttin’ a few pigeon-wings with his left leg. “Now mind, Chunkey, no deer or wild turkey, no hogs or cub—nothin’ but bar or panter.” “Agreed,” says I, and then we budged. Captin, you’ve hearn Jem say, he’s hard of hearin’? Well, he is sometimes, ’specially when he don’t want to hear; but that mornin’ he was wide awake all over, and could have hearn an old he bar grunt in a thunder-storm. “I’ll carry the horn, Chunkey. If you blow, I can’t hear you; and when I want you, I’ll blow, and you can.” I didn’t ’spect anything then, but you’ll see. Well, we had our big guns, them the govenor gin us; they throw twelve to the pound, and war made by that man what lives in Louisville; what’s his name? He promised to send me a deer-gun gratis for two young panters, but he ain’t done it. Jem’s gun war in bar order that mornin’, and if you’d jest say varment above your breath, click it would go, cockin’ itself. Lots of deer war ’tinually passin’; that day some on ’em stood feedin’ jist as careless as a loafer with a full belly; they kno’ed they war safe. The day was mighty clear and yaller; it warn’t very cold, but still the snow diddent melt, but floated sorter like turkey-feathers in the wind, and in the tall cane it fell round us like a fog. When we got to the Forkin’ Cypress, Sol soon had a camp made; and I and Jem started to look for sign. We hadn’t been gone long, when I hearn Jem’s horn, and made to him; thar war a sign at the foot of a tree, and thar war his track in the snow. “Shall we hail him, Chunkey?”