to stick hit inter me at every jump.Only wanted ter see me run, did yer?""O, mister, I only done it because I wuz ordered to.I couldn't help myself; I swear I couldn't.""Whar's the ossifers thet wuz a-orderin' ye? Whar's the captins that wuz puttin' ye up ter hit? Thar wan't no one in a mile of ye.Guess we'd better shoot ye."Again Jake raised his voice in abject appeal for mercy.There was nothing he was not willing to promise if only his life were only spared.
"Wouldn't hit be better ter bay'net him?" suggested one of the Rebels, entirely unmoved, as his comrades were, by Jake's piteous pleadings."Ef we go ter shootin' 'round yere hit'll liekly bring the Yankees right onter us.""I 'spect hit would be better ter take him back a little ways, any way," said the man whom Jake had pursued."Pick up his gun thar, Eph.Come along, you, an' be monty peart about hit, fur we're in a powerful bad frame o' mind ter be fooled with.I wouldn't gin a fi'-penny-bit fur all yer blue-bellied life's worth.The boys ar jest pizen mad from seein' so many o' thar kin and folks killed by yer crowd o' thievin' Hessians."Grateful for even a momentary respite, Jake rose from his knees with alacrity and humbly followed one of the Rebels along the path.
The others strode behind, and occasionally spurred him into a more rapid pace with a prick from their bayonets.
"O,---ough, mister, don't do that! Don't, PLEASE! You don't know how it hurts.I ain't got no rhinoceros skin to stand such jabs as that.That came purty nigh goin' clean through to my heart.""Skeet ahead faster, then, or the next punch'll go righ smack through ye, fur sartin.Ef yer skin's so tender what are ye doin' in the army?"They climbed the mountain laboriously, and started down on the other side.About midway in the descent they came upon a deserted cabin standing near the side of the road.
"By the Lord Harry," said one of the Rebels, "I'm a'most done clean gin out, so I am.I'm tireder nor a claybank hoss arter a hard day's plowin', an' I'm ez dry ez a lime-kiln.I motion that we stop yere an' take a rest.We kin put our Yank in the house thar, an' keep him.I wonder whar the spring is that the folks thet lived yere got thar water from?""Ef I don't disremember," said another, "this is the house where little Pete Higgenbottom lived afore the country got ruther onhelthy fur him on account of his partiality for other people's hosses.Imade a little trip up yere the time I loss thet little white-faced bay mar of pap's, an I'm purty sure the spring's over thar in the holler.""Lordy, how they must 've hankered arter the fun o' totin' water to 've lugged hit clar from over tha.I'd've moved the house nigher the spring afore I'd've stood thet ere a month, so I would.""The distance to the water ortent to bother a feller thet gets along with usin' ez little ez you do," growled the first speaker.
"A man whose nose looks like a red-pepper pod in August, and his shirt like a section o' rich bottom land, hain't no great reason ter make remarks on other folks's use o' water."Jake plucked up some courage from the relaxation in the savage grimness of his captors, which seemed implied by this rough pleasantry, and with him such recuperation of spirits naturally took the form of brassy self-assertion.
"Don't you fellers know," he began with a manner and tone intended to be placating, but instead was rasping and irritating, "don't you fellers know that the best thing you can do with me is to take me back to our people, and trade me off for one of your fellers that they've ketched?""An' don't ye know thet the best thing ye kin do is to keep thet gapin' mouth o' your'n shet, so thet the flies won't git no chance to blow yer throat?" said the man whose nose had been aptly likened to a ripe red-pepper pod, "an' the next best thing's fur ye to git inter that cabin thar quicker'n blazes 'll scorch a feather, an'
