mighty proud en
high-strung. He wuz a mighty high-up man in dem days, Brer Wolf wuz, en
'mos' all de yuther creeturs wuz feared un 'im. Well, he wuz gwine 'long
lickin' his chops en walkin' sorter stiff-kneed, w'en he happen ter look
down 'pon de groun' en dar he seed a track in de san'. Brer Wolf stop,
he did, en look at it, en den he 'low:

"'Heyo! w'at kind er creetur dish yer? Brer Dog ain't make dat track, en
needer is Brer Fox. Hit's one er deze yer kind er creeturs w'at ain't
got no claws. I'll des 'bout foller 'im up, en ef I ketch 'im he'll
sholy be my meat.'

"Dat de way Brer Wolf talk. He followed 'long atter de track, he did, en
he look at it close, but he ain't see no print er no claw. Bimeby de
track tuck 'n tu'n out de road en go up a dreen whar de rain done wash
out. De track wuz plain dar in de wet san', but Brer Wolf ain't see no
sign er no claws.

[Illustration: "BRER WOLF MAKE LIKE HE GWINE TER HIT DE CREETUR, EN
DEN----."]

"He foller en foller, Brer Wolf did, en de track git fresher en fresher,
but still he ain't see no print er no claw. Bimeby he come in sight er
de creetur, en Brer Wolf stop, he did, en look at 'im. He stop
stock-still and look. De creetur wuz mighty quare-lookin,' en he wuz
cuttin' up some mighty quare capers. He had big head, sharp nose, en bob
tail; en he wuz walkin' roun' en roun' a big dog-wood tree, rubbin' his
sides ag'in it. Brer Wolf watch 'im a right smart while, he act so
quare, en den he 'low:

"'Shoo! dat creetur done bin in a fight en los' de bes' part er he tail;
en w'at make he scratch hisse'f dat away? I lay I'll let 'im know who
he foolin' 'long wid.'

"Atter 'while, Brer Wolf went up a leetle nigher de creetur, en holler
out:

"'Heyo, dar! w'at you doin' scratchin' yo' scaly hide on my tree, en
tryin' fer ter break hit down?'

"De creetur ain't make no answer. He des walk 'roun' en 'roun' de tree
scratchin' he sides en back. Brer Wolf holler out:

"'I lay I'll make you year me ef I hatter come dar whar you is!'

"De creetur des walk roun' en roun' de tree, en ain't make no answer.
Den Brer Wolf hail 'im ag'in, en talk like he mighty mad:

"'Ain't you gwine ter min' me, you imperdent scoundul? Ain't you gwine
ter mozey outer my woods en let my tree 'lone?'

"Wid dat, Brer Wolf march todes de creetur des like he gwine ter squ'sh
'im in de groun'. De creetur rub hisse'f ag'in de tree en look like he
feel mighty good. Brer Wolf keep on gwine todes '