“‘Thar’s a ugly outcast of a squatter, mattock in hand, comes tumblin’ down the hillside from some’ers out back of the shanty where he’s been grubbin’: 

“‘"What be you-all eediots chasin’ my dog for?” demands this onkempt party.  Then he menaces us with the implement.

“’We makes no retort but stands passive.  The great orange brute whose nerves has been torn to rags creeps to the squatter an’ with mournful howls explains what we’ve made him suffer.

“‘No, thar’s nothin’ further to do an’ less to be said.  That cavalcade, erstwhile so gala an’ buoyant, drags itself wearily homeward, the exhausted dogs in the r’ar walkin’ stiff an’ sore like their laigs is wood.  For more’n a mile the complainin’ howls of the hysterical yeller dog is wafted to our y’ears.  Then they ceases; an’ we figgers his sympathizin’ master has done took him into the shanty an’ shet the door.

“’No one comments on this adventure, not a word is heard.  Each is silent ontil we mounts the Big Murray hill.  As we collects ourse’fs on this eminence one of the Brackenridge boys holds up his hand for a halt.  “Gents,” he says, as—­hosses, hunters an’ dogs—­we-all gathers ‘round, “gents, I moves you the Chevy Chase Huntin’ Club yereby stands adjourned sine die.”  Thar’s a moment’s pause, an’ then as by one impulse every gent, hoss an’ dog, says “Ay!” It’s yoonanimous, an’ from that hour till now the Chevy Chase Huntin’ Club ain’t been nothin’ save tradition.  But that panther shore disappears; it’s the end of his vandalage; an’ ag’in does quadrilles, pra’rs, an poker resoom their wonted sway.  That’s the end; an’ now, gents, if Black Jack will caper to his dooties we’ll uplift our drooped energies with the usual forty drops.”

CHAPTER III.

How Faro Nell Dealt Bank.

“Riches,” remarked the Old Cattleman, “riches says you!  Neither you-all nor any other gent is competent to state whether in the footure he amasses wealth or not.  The question is far beyond the throw of your rope.”

My friend’s tone breathed a note of strong contradiction while his glance was the glance of experience.  I had said that I carried no hope of becoming rich; that the members of my tribe were born with their hands open and had such hold of money as a riddle has of water.  It was this which moved him to expostulatory denial.

“This matter of wealth, that a-way,” he continued, “is a mighty sight a question of luck.  Shore, a gent has to have capacity to grasp a chance an’ savey sufficient to get his chips down right.  But this chance, an’ whether it offers itse’f to any specific sport, is frequent accident an’ its comin’ or failure to come depends on conditions over which the party about to be enriched ain’t got no control.  That’s straight, son!  You backtrack any fortune to its beginning an some’ers along the trail or at the farthest end you’ll come up with the fact that it took a accident or two, what we-all darkened mortals calls ‘luck,’ to make good the play.  It’s like gettin’ shot gettin’ rich is; all you has to do is be present personal at the time, an’ the bullet does the rest.