Rocky Mountain Sam — page 181: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

172 ROCKY MOUNTAIN SAM. nobody who don’t keer for me, and that ’ere doctrine, along with never trusting an Injun out of long range, has bronght me luck. I don’t owe a darned cent in the world. SoPm just as happy as a prince, an’ don’t keer whether school keeps or not. Well, gentlemen,” he added, some moments later, ‘‘you all seem to have finished your grub, so suppose we go out tosee the pups; it’s about the time my men feed them.” , Following the general and his hired men, the aeronauts _ passed out of the house, and approached an inclosure which evidently, from the chorus of deep-throated, angry growls issuing therefrom, constituted the kennel of the hounds. “We'll just go up here,” said the general, pointing to a number of rude steps leading up to the top of the stockade, ‘cand take a glance at the pups.” They followed him up the steps and looked over into the corral. ‘l'here!”” exclaimed the general, fairly beaming with pride and good nature, ‘‘aren’t they beauties?” In a deep inclosure, about twenty yards square, at one end of which were clustered a number of peak-roofed kennels for the shelter of the brutes, were gathered between twenty and thirty of the most formidable specimens of the canine species it had ever been the lot of the enterprising balloonists to gaze upon; while here and there in shining heaps were scattered the bones of the flesh which they had consumed at some previous meal. The dogs included a number of breeds, and were all of enormous size and ferocious aspect, with blood-shot eyes and terrible teeth, which they seemed to be very fond of show- ing at intervals, with a sort of canine pride, as though per- petually anticipating some feast of blood. “There!” repeated the proprietor, with emphasis, ‘‘aren’t they beauties! I'll tell you the different breeds while my men are bringing in the carcass for their morning meal!—I only feed “em once a day—and then you can decide which sort you prefer to take with you. You see them fellers with long ears and heavy chops, that keep their muzzles so close to the ground, as though they was snuffin’ up a dinner from the bowels of the earth—them’s regular Southern blood-. hounds they used to run down runaway niggers with through the rice swamps and canebrakes, Then them suckers with pointed ears, that hold their mugs so high, as though about “comicboo ¢€o