"See dar, uncle!" said Rube in a scared voice. The old man also ceased
work, adjusted his iron-rimmed spectacles, and looked toward the fence.
Within a few feet of where the flint lock musket inclined against the
rails, a yellow dog was trying to push his way through. Watching his
efforts for a few minutes, the elder said:
"Rube, I wish we had de gun; dat dog ain't peaceable."
"He am mad; dis ain't de place fur us."
"Slip down to de fence and got de gun; dat's a good boy!"
"Gracious!" gasped the youth; "it am right dar by de dog."
"He won't notice you; run behind him and be quick 'bout it, or he'll
chaw us bofe to def."
"He'll chaw _me_ suah if I goes near him," was the reply of Rube, who
felt little ardor for the task his relative urged upon him.
"Ain't it better dat _one_ ob us should go dead, dan bofe should be
obstinguished?" asked the uncle reproachfully.
"Dat 'pends which am de one to go dead; if it am _me_, it am better for
_you_, but I don't see whar _I'm_ to come in; 'spose you see wheder you
can got de gun--"
"Dar he comes!" whispered Uncle Pete.
Sure enough the cur, having twisted his body between the rails, began
trotting toward the couple that were watching him with such interest.
There was good reason for fear, since the canine was afflicted with the
rabies in the worst form. He showed no froth at the jaws, for animals
thus affected do not, but his eyes were fiery, his mouth dry, the
consuming fever burning up all moisture.
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