"Hark, Jerry," said I; "did you hear that? Some one's in trouble--wait a
minute."

"Thunder! judge, hain't you been in Texas long enough to know a painter's
yell when you hear it? That was a reg'lar out-and-out painter you heard.
I've--"

Just at this moment, a prolonged, heart-rending wail trembled upon the
stillness of the evening air: so piercing, yet so plaintive, was it, that
it sent a shudder through my frame I have not forgotton to this day.

"That critter ain't very far off," exclaimed Jerry. "Mebbe we'll git a
shot at him; though they're nasty things to hunt at night, fer yer can't
see 'em, they lay so clus onto the limbs."

"Did you ever kill one?" asked I.

"Yes, four on 'em; the last one was down on the Sabinal, just about a
year this time. I was--"

At this point, he was again interrupted by the animal's cry; this time so
near, that we both stopped short and cocked our rifles, for it seemed as
though he could be but a few feet from us.

"I tell you one thing, Jerry, I don't much like walking through this
grove, with one of those creatures so near; I'd rather take to the open
prairie. Besides, it's getting so dark I can't see anything."

"Pshaw! yer ain't afraid o' one of them critters, be yer? You jest foller