rabbit run--
Ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!
En de rabbit say:
'Gimme time ter pray,
Fer I ain't got long fer to stay, to stay!'
Oh, ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!

"Ketch him, oh, ketch him!
Run ter de place en fetch him!
De bell done chime
Fer de breakfast time--
Oh, ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!"

"If there are any more verses, Uncle Eb, keep them until we've had
supper, or breakfast, or whatever you like to call a meal at this
unearthly hour. I'm so hungry that I could chew nails!" cried Cyrus,
springing from behind the bushes, and reaching the, camp-fire with a few
strides, Neal following him.

"Sakes alive! yonkers; is dat you?" cried the darkey, uprearing his
gray figure. "I'se mighty glad to see you back. Whar's yer meat? Left it
in de canoe mebbe? De buck too big to drag 'long to camp--eh?"

There was a wicked rolling of Uncle Eb's eyes while he spoke. Evidently
from the looks of the sportsmen he guessed immediately what had been the
result of their excursion.

"No luck and no buck to-night!" answered Garst. "But don't roast us,
Uncle Eb. Get us something to eat quicker than lightning or we'll go for
you--at least we would if we weren't entirely played out. It isn't
everybody who can manage a hard shot as cleverly as you do, when he can
only see the eyes of an animal. And that was the one chance we got."

No man living ever heard a further word from Cyrus as to how his English
friend bore the scares of a first night's jacking.

"Ya-as, dat's a ticklish shot. Most folks is skeered o' trying it,"
drawled out Ebenezer Grout, a professional guide as well as "colored
gen'leman," familiarly called by visitors to this region who hired the
use of his hut and his services, "Uncle Eb."

"There's some comfort for you," whispered Cyrus slyly into Neal's ear.
Aloud he said, addressing the guide, "We had a spill-out, too, as a
crown-all. I'm mighty glad that this is the second of October, not
November, and that the weather is as warm as summer; otherwise we'd be
in a pretty bad way from chill. I feel shivery. Hurry up, and get us
some steaming hot coffee and flapjacks, Uncle Eb, while we fling off
these wet clothes. The trouble is we haven't got any dry ones."

"Hain't got no oder suits?" queried the woodsman. "Den go 'long, boys,
and rig yerselves up in yer blankets. Ye can pertend to be Injuns fer
to-night. Like enough dis ain't de worst shift ye'll have to make 'fore
ye get out o' dese