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Yo-ho
!
he
begins
to
show
sign
!
He
'll
soon
rekiver
his
senses
--
all
seven
o
'
'em
,
I
reck
'n
--
an
then
he
kin
mount
the
maar
o
'
hisself
.
"
Yee-up
,
ole
hoss
!
"
continues
Zeb
,
grasping
Calhoun
by
the
collar
of
his
coat
,
and
giving
him
a
vigorous
shake
.
"
Yee-up
,
I
say
;
an
kum
along
wi
'
us
!
Ye
're
wanted
.
Thar
's
somebody
desirin
'
to
have
a
talk
wi
'
you
!
"
"
Who
?
where
?
"
inquires
the
captive
,
slowly
recovering
consciousness
,
and
staring
unsteadily
around
him
.
"
Who
wants
me
?
"
"
Wal
;
I
do
for
one
;
an
--
"
"
Ah
!
you
it
is
,
Zeb
Stump
!
and
--
and
--
?
"
"
An
'
that
air
's
Mister
Maurice
Gerald
the
mowstanger
.
You
've
seed
him
afore
,
I
reck
'n
?
He
wants
ye
for
two
.
Beside
,
thar
's
a
good
grist
o
'
others
as
ud
like
to
see
ye
agin
--
back
thar
by
the
Port
.
So
ye
'd
best
get
upon
yur
legs
,
an
'
go
along
wi
'
us
.
"
The
wretched
man
rises
to
his
feet
.
In
so
doing
,
he
discovers
that
his
arms
are
encircled
by
a
lazo
.
"
My
horse
?
"
he
exclaims
,
looking
inquiringly
around
.
"
Where
is
my
horse
?
"
"
Ole
Nick
only
knows
whar
he
air
by
this
time
.
Like
enuf
gone
back
to
the
Grand
,
whar
he
kim
from
.
Arter
the
gallupin
ye
've
gi
'n
him
,
I
reck
'n
he
air
sick
o
'
the
swop
;
an
's
goed
off
to
take
a
spell
o
'
rest
on
his
native
pasters
.
"
Calhoun
gazes
on
the
old
hunter
with
something
more
than
astonishment
.
The
swop
!
Even
this
,
too
,
is
known
to
him
!
