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 plages, 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 bigepheasant 
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 
