The picture is all his revenge
can ask. Thar sets Zekiel on the doorstep, with his happy
countenance turned up to the dome above, an' his right paw elbow
deep in the jar, still rollin' an' feelin' them buckshot 'round, an'
allowin' he's due to ketch a crawfish every moment.
"Which it works out exactly as the wretched Olson figgers. The sun
goes down, an' the Sunday sun comes up an' sets again; an' still
pore Zekiel is planted by the jar, with his hopeful eyes on high,
still feelin' of them buckshot. He can't quit no more'n if he's
loser in a poker game; Zekiel can't. When Bill rides up to his door
about second-drink time Monday afternoon, Olson is shorely even on
that hawg. Thar lays Zekiel, dead. He's jest set thar with them
buck-shot an' felt himse'f to death.
"But speakin' of the sapiency of Bill Hoskins's Zekiel," continued
the old gentleman as we lighted pipes and lapsed into desultory
puffing, "while Zekiel for a raccoon is some deep, after all you-all
is jest amazed at Zekiel 'cause I calls your attention to him a
whole lot. If you was to go into camp with 'em, an' set down an'
watch 'em, you'd shorely be s'prised to note how level-headed all
animals be.
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