ighty leetle turn of his
finger. He cheats in everything, and cheats everybody. Thar's not an old
woman in the country that don't say her prayers back'ards when she
thinks of Jared Bunce. Thar's his tin-wares and his wood-wares--his
coffeepots and kettles, all put together with saft sodder--that jest go
to pieces, as ef they had nothing else to do. And he kin blarney you
so--and he's so quick at a mortal lie--and he's got jest a good reason
for everything--and he's so sharp at a 'scuse [excuse] that it's
onpossible to say where he's gwine to have you, and what you're a gwine
to lose, and how you'll get off at last, and in what way he'll cheat you
another time. He's been at this business, in these diggings, now about
three years. The regilators have swore a hundred times to square off
with him; but he's always got off tell now; sometimes by new
inventions--sometimes by bible oaths--and last year, by regilarly
_cutting dirt_ [flight]. He's hardly a chance to git cl'ar now, for the
regilators are pretty much up to all his tricks, and he's mighty nigh to
ride a rail for a colt, and get new _scores_ ag'in old scores, laid on
with the smartest hickories in natur'."

"And who are the regulators?" asked the youth, languidly.

"What! you from Georgy, and never to hear tell of the regilators? Why,
that's the very place, I reckon, where the breed begun. The regilators
are jest then, you see, our own people. We hain't got much law and
justice in these pairts, and when the rascals git too sassy and
plentiful, we all turn out, few or many, and make a business of cleaning
out the stables. We turn justices, and sheriffs, and lawyers, and settle
scores with the growing sinners. We jine, hand in hand, agin such a chap
as Jared Bunce, and set in judgment upon his evil-doings. It's a regilar
court, though we make it up ourselves, and app'ints our own judges and
juries, and pass judgment 'cordin' to the case. Ef it's the first
offence, or only a small one, we let's the fellow off with only a taste
of the hickory. Ef it's a tough case, and an old sinner, we give him a
belly-full. Ef the whole country's roused, then Judge Lynch puts on his
black cap, and the rascal takes a hard ride on a rail, a duck in the
pond, and a perfect seasoning of hickories, tell thar ain't much left of
him, or, may be, they don't stop to curry him, but jest halters him at
once to the nearest swinging limb."

"Sharp justice! and which of these punishments will they