The Painter. 141 



understand, we're here arter deer, and not arter part- 

 ridges or sqiiin-els, and you're not to spoil sport by 

 shootin' anything short of a painter or a big buck ;' 

 and th5 old man grinned, as he started off with his 

 hounds. 



" He hadn't been out of sight long, and I'd seen 

 'twas all right with the rifle, when I heard a scratchin' 

 like among the branches of the great oak, six or eight 

 rods from which I was standing. Looking over that 

 way. Squire, I'm blamed if I didn't see, laying 

 stretched out along one of the great branches that put 

 out towards me from the trunk of that old oak, may 

 be thirty feet from the ground, a great painter, lookin' 

 with most villainous fierceness straight at me. That 

 was the first of these varmints that I'd ever seen alive 

 in the woodsj and the way I kind a crept all over. 

 warn't pleasant. I was standin' by the side of a maple 

 v/hich was partly between me and the animal, and I 

 warn't sorry it was so. I don't know as the painter 

 meant me any harm. It's very likely he'd made up 

 his mind to let me alone, if I'd let him alone ; but I 

 didn't like the way he eyed me. I drew up old Pete's 

 rifle by the side of the tree, and my hand shook some 

 as I sighted at his head. I wasn't fool enough to fire 



