'Tain't wuth w'ile fer me to say anything 'bout them little skrimmages
'cept the last un, an' that un wa'n't a skrimmage but sumpin' that'd 'a'
skeert some folks dead in their tracks.
"Arter havin' a half-dozen or so o' rassels with this big b'ar, jist fer
fun, I made up my mind, ez 'twere gettin' late, an' ez Steve Groner's
folks was mebby feelin' anxious to hear which was gointer run the farm,
them or the b'ar, th't the next heat with bruin would be for keeps. I
guess the ol' feller had made up his mind the same way, fer w'en I run
agin him the las' time, he were riz up on his hind legs right on the
edge o' Deep Rock Gulley, and were waitin' fer me with his jaws wide
open. I unslung my gun, an' takin' aim at one o' the b'ar's forepaws,
thought I'd wing him an' make him come away from the edge o' the gulley
'fore I tackled him. The ball hit the paw, an' the b'ar throw'd 'em both
up. But he throw'd 'em up too fur, an' he fell over back'rd, an' went
head foremost inter the gulley. Deep Rock Gulley ain't an inch less'n
fifty foot from top to bottom, an' the walls is ez steep ez the side of
a house.
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