"It weren't just a skunk. It was a momma with young'uns. But Ol' Davy didn't give her the passage. Instead, he rips off a big sycamore branch. He bundles up his gun rag on the end, and he gives that momma a pokin' and proddin'. "That momma weren't happy. She gets her hair up, and when she has enough she just lets that rag have it, a couple a times. Finally the momma just has it up and patters off with her brood. "I can barely keep myself from heavin' at this point. Davy breaks his sycamore branch down to a nice pokin' stick, and holds that rag out in front of him as we head on. Davy's just smilin', not telling me nothing. "But I figured out what's what when we get to the horse-thieves' camp. Their dog comes bawlin' through the trees to tear us. Davy smacks that stick right on the hound's snout. That was enough for the hound. He goes hackin' and sneezin' back into camp, while we just let the camp settle down again..." |
