"He war headed fur that thar salt lick, whenst I las' seen him,"
replied the tanner; "ef ye stir yer stumps right lively, mebbe ye'll
overhaul him yit."

Rufe rose precipitately. Towse, believing his petition for the
papaw was about to be rewarded, leaped up too, gamboling with a
display of ecstasy that might have befitted a starving creature, and
an elasticity to be expected only of a rubber dog. As he uttered a
shrill yelp of delight, he sprang up against Rufe, who, reeling
under the shock, dropped the remnant of the papaw. Towse darted
upon it, sniffed disdainfully, and returned to his capers around
Rufe, evidently declining to believe that all that show of gustatory
satisfaction had been elicited only by the papaw, and that Rufe had
nothing else to eat.

Thus the two took their way out of the tanyard; and even after they
had disappeared, their progress through the underbrush was marked by
an abnormal commotion among the leaves, as the saltatory skeptic of
a dog insisted on more substantial favors than the succulent papaw.

The tanner smoked for a time in silence.

Then, "Birt ain't goin' ter be let ter work hyar ag'in," he said.

Byers elevated his shaggy eyebrows in surprise.

"Ye see," said the tanner in a confidential undertone, "sence Birt
hev stole that thar grant, I kin argufy ez he mought steal su'thin'
else, an' I ain't ekal ter keepin' up a spry lookout on things, an'
bein' partic'lar 'bout the count o' the hides an' sech. I can't