From the Coon Dogs Ajax and I received a letter commanding us to
discharge Mary. A skull and cross-bones, and a motto, "Beware the bite
of the Coon Dogs!" embellished this billet, which was written in red
ink. Courtesy constrained us to acknowledge the receipt of it. Next
day we put up a sign by the corral gate--
NO HUNTING ALLOWED ON THIS RANCH!
In the afternoon Mary disappeared.
Uncle Jake was of opinion that Mary had divined the meaning of our
sign. He had said to Uncle Jake: "I go. Me makee heap trouble for
boss."
Later, upon the same day, we learned from a neighbour that the Coon
Dogs had tarred and feathered one poor wretch; another had been
stripped and whipped; a third was found half-strangled by his own
queue; the market-gardens near San Lorenzo, miracles of industry, had
been ravaged and destroyed. Before taking leave our neighbour
mentioned the sign.
"Boys," said he, "take that down--and ship Mary. I'm mighty glad," he
added reflectively, "that my ole woman does the cookin."
"Mary skedaddled after dinner," said Ajax, frowning, "but I'm going
into town to-morrow to bring him back.
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