ut of,
an' the way you-all gets in, you reminds me of that Thomas Benton dog I
owns when I'm a yoothful child on the Cumberland. Which Thomas Benton
that a-way is a mighty industrious dog an' would turn over a
quarter-section of land any afternoon diggin' out a ground-hawg. But
thar's this drawback to Thomas Benton which impairs his market valyoo.
Some folks used to regyard it as a foible; but it's worse, it's a
deefect. As I remarks, this Thomas Benton dog would throw his whole
soul into the work, an' dig for a groundhawg like he ain't got another
dollar. But thar's this pecooliarity: After that Thomas Benton dog has
done dug out the ground-hawg for a couple of hours, you-all is forced
to get a spade an' dig out that Thomas Benton dog. He's dead now these
yere forty years, but if he's livin' I'd shore change his name an'
rebrand him "Dan'l Boggs."'"

CHAPTER X.

The Ghost of the Bar-B-8.

"Spectres? Never! I refooses 'em my beliefs utter"; and with these
emphatic words the Old Cattleman tasted his liquor thoughtfully on his
tongue. The experiment was not satisfactory; and he despatched his
dark retainer Tom for lemons and sugar. "An' you-all might better tote
along some hot water, too;" he commanded. "This nosepaint feels raw
an' over-fervid; a leetle dilootion won't injure it none."

"But about ghosts?" I persisted.

"Ghosts?" he retorted. "I never does hear of but one; that's a
apparition which enlists the attentions of Peets and Old Man Enright a
lot. It's a spectre that takes to ha'ntin' about one of Enright's
Bar-B-8 sign-camps, an' scarin' up the cattle an' drivin' 'em over a
precipice, an' all to Enright's disaster an' loss. Nacherally, Enright
don't like this spectral play; an' him an' Peets lays for the wraith
with rifles, busts its knee some, an' Peets ampytates its laig. Then
they throws it loose; allowin' that now it's only got one lai'g, the
visitations will mighty likely cease. Moreover Enright regyards
ampytation that a-way, as punishment enough. Which I should shore
allow the same myse'f!

"It ain't much of a tale. It turns out like all sperit stories; when
you approaches plumb close an' jumps sideways at 'em an' seizes 'em by
the antlers, the soopernacheral elements sort o' bogs down.

"It's over mebby fifty miles to the southeast of Wolfville, some'ers in
the fringes of the Tres Hermanas that thar's a sign-camp of Enright's
brand. Thar's a couple of Enright's riders ho