Take, for instance, How They Travel In The West (if some of the words trip your tongue up, trying saying them aloud):
My ol friend Mike Fink don’t mine usin his haid an savin his hide. I was goin out scoutin fer possum round Little Creek, near yellow-leg Swamp last fall, when I seed the waters of the Mississip riled up somethin fierce. I peered over the river bank ta find what was causin all the fuss an there were two great alligators whiskin along side by side like two saplins in a whirlwind. Behind them was Mike in a boat, an goin like all possessed. I grinned til I loosened two front teeth when I reelized he had them beasts tackled up an harnessed ta his boat.
Mike kept them critters fer quite a while, ridin round the river in style an hardly ever doin a lick of real work. But alligators like lots of meat ta eat, an finally got too costly for Mike ta feed. He turned them out ta pasture, figgerin they’d find their own feed an wouldn’t be no charge on him. Those ungrateful ‘gators jest took off down the river, an never did come back ta Mike. One of them had been a mean-tempered beast, an Mike wasn’t too sorry ta see him go, but he felt real bad bout losin the youngest one, cause he’d been planning to train him ta the saddle an ride him ta meetin on Sundays.