THE BOY-HUNTER. 51 



So, at last, with all our stoppages in this way, and in 

 climbing the half-buried fences, where the negroes' dogs would 

 be sure to get nearly hung to death in jumping through the 

 wrong places, we would come to the old stubble just about 

 when the sunrise scattered the 'purple dawning, and every- 

 thing was a-glitter with the yellow blaze. We veiled our 

 eyes from the dazzle with our coat-sleeves and caps when the 

 white glare of the wide, unbroken surface was thrown into 

 our faces. 



But my eyes would soon bear it when I caught a glimpse 

 of Milo's flying ears almost disappearing in his deep plunges 

 through the snow, then rising again with his high leaps. 

 He knew the time for action had come in earnest, and the 

 little dogs, straining on their leashes, would whine and shift 

 their feet, and yelp to get away, while they watched him, 

 with great white eyes, almost popping out of their heads with 

 their choked eagerness. 



We all stand still, in breathless watching, as he covers his 

 ground right and left, scientifically, as if there were no snow 

 to hinder. But standing still, over the knees in the snow, is 

 very hard for boys, and I begin to stamp with the cold and 

 impatience, and rub my hands, while Pomp and his darkies 

 gradually draw their breaths and commence gabbling away 

 as noisy as ever. 



"Yah! yah! Massa Charles, see dat Milo jump! He 

 long ear down dat sink-hole dar look jes like de big pheasant 

 fly 'long de snow ! He hab dat molly-cotton soon, now !" 



" Keigh ! hush you nigger, dar ! d' 'aint no cotton tail 

 down dat briar-patch, 't all !" 



" Sambo, what you know ? Milo knows more 'n ten sich 

 nigger ! He find him !" 



" There ! he stops ! that's a point !" 



"Whoop! yah! yah! told you nigger ! dar dat cotton !" 



" Hush your noise ! Steady boy ! steady ! Silence ! Hold 



