" Every
colored man picked a tree, and the hounds kept coming, finally showing
up jumping the fence, and entering the woods, and the planter cut a club
to beat off the dogs. Pa looked as innocent as John Wanamaker's picture
addressing a Sunday school, the giant saw the dogs and started for a
tall tree, and the fat lady said she couldn't find any hole big enough
to hide in, and "the idea," if there were not men enough to protect a
lady.
Well, I never expected to see anything so fine as the way those hounds
run with their noses to the ground, scattered in three packs one pack on
the trail of each of the three whose shoes I had doctored. When they got
near us they broke up and went around everywhere that pa and the giant
and the fat lady had walked, and fell over each other, but finally one
pack went to the tall tree where the giant had climbed to the first
limb, and stood on their hind legs and barked a salute to him. He
trembled so I was afraid he would fall off, but he wound his arms and
legs around the tree, and began to cry. The planter told him whatever
crime he had committed it was all up with him.
The part of the pack that was on pa's trail began to close in on pa, and
I said: "Pa, if you don't want to be dog meat, it is up to you to climb,
and you better get a move on, or I shall be an orphan mighty quick,
'cause the dogs are starving.
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