334 WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



smartest man of the lot, fur she brought out a big 

 pitch pine knot all afire, to see what we were goin' 

 after. 



" I put right for the pig pen ; that was about eight 

 rods off from the house, and where the pigs were a squee- 

 lin' bloody murder all the time. That's what bothered 

 me. I knew if the painter had got a pig he must have 

 killed it right off, and then he would up and away with 

 the carcass. That's the natur' of the varmint. Could it 

 be an old she painter a havin' one of her cubs out exer- 

 cising him, and the cub couldn't lug off his share of the 

 game ? 



" We got up to the pen. It was a log cabin about 

 twelve feet square, built of heavy logs, jist to stop such 

 doin's as this. ' The dogs had their noses to the cracks 

 baying away like all fired, and the pigs were a snortin' 

 and squealing inside ; but the strangest thing was, that 

 the door was tight fast, the chain across it, and the big 

 oak pin drove in as tight as ever. 



" ' Whar is the painter ?' says the Doctor, as he came 

 sidelin' up, lookin' behind every stump. 



" ' That's jist what I want to know,' says I, as I cum 

 around the buildin' to looK for his hole, but without 

 findin' it. The pigs were a squealin' away as if they 

 would split their throats, and the dogs were a dancin' 

 and a howlin. The old woman was a sayin' somethin', 

 but you couldn't hear what it was, for the wind blew as 

 bad as ever ; it only wanted that cussed painter's screech 

 to make it all complete ; and jist then, as I am a livin' 



