Wolves--awfully afraid they will get the hounds. Outnumber them and pull
them down--fierce at this season.... Yes, I hope so! You'll look out for
Fairy-foot?... Thanks, awfully.... Yes, _he_ would do--careful fellow!
Tell him to drive slowly coming back. Dean will race her down there at
the top of her speed. (Hush up, Frank, _I_ know what I am talking about.)
Mr. Dean will be there all right. Thank you very much. Do as much for you
some day. Goo'-by."
But Dean's protests were serious. His duties admitted of no trifling. He
wanted no such superfine commodity as Fairy-foot, but a horse stout and
sound he must have to-night and the favor of leaving his disabled steed
in Briscoe's stable. He explained that his misfortune in laming the horse
and the fog combined had separated him from the revenue posse just from a
secluded cove, where his men had discovered and raided an illicit
distillery in a cavern, cutting the copper still and worm to bits,
demolishing the furnace and fermenters, the flake-stand and thumper,
destroying considerable store of mash and beer and singlings, and seizing
and making off with a barrel of the completed product.
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