The old ladies present shakes their heads a heap solemn.
"'"It's a worse augoory," says one, "than the hoots of a score of squinch owls." "'When this reign of terror is at its height, the local eye is rolled appealin'ly towards us Chevy Chasers.

We rises to the opportoonity.
Day after day we're ridin' the hills an' vales, readin' the milk white snow for tracks.

An' we has success.

One mornin' I comes up on two of the Brackenridge boys an' five more of the Chevy Chasers settin' on their hosses at the Skinner cross roads.

Bob Crittenden's gone to turn me out, they says.