was jes black as powder could make
hit. Naturely hit was red; but a feller
can't do nothin' in these mountains
with a red mustache; an' Jeb had a
big black ribbon tied in the butt o'
the bigges' pistol Abe Shivers could
borrer fer him--hit was a badge o'
death an' deestruction to his enemies,
Abe said, an' I tell ye Jeb did look
like a man. He never opened his
mouth atter he says ``howdy''--Jeb
never does say nothin'; Jeb's one o'
them fellers whut hides thar lack o'
brains by a-lookin' solemn an' a-keepin'
still, but thar don't nobody say much
tell the ole folks air gone to bed, an'
Polly Ann jes 'lowed Jeb was a-waitin'.
Fact is, stranger, Abe Shivers had got
Jeb a leetle disguised by liquer, an' he
did look fat an' sassy, ef he couldn't
talk, a-settin' over in the corner a-
plunkin' the banjer an' a-knockin' off
``Sour-wood Mountain'' an' ``Jinny git
aroun' '' an' ``Soapsuds over the Fence.''

``Chickens a-crowin' on Sour-wood Mountain,
Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!
Git yo' dawgs an' we'll go huntin',
Heh-o-dee-um-dee-eedy-dahdy-dee!''