"I 'm a liar if ther was n't twenty in that last bunch," Hicks
muttered, just a trifle uneasily. "Good Lord boys! it 's an army they
're organizin' over yonder. Blame me if I onderstan' that sorter
scheme at all. It don't look nat'ral. I never thought Farnham was no
coward when ther time come fer fightin', but this kind o' fixin' shore
looks as if we had him skeered stiff. Wal, it 'll take more 'n a bunch
o' San Juan toughs to skeer me. I reckon ther present plan must be ter
try rushin' ther 'Little Yankee.'"
He wheeled about, driving the extended tubes of his glass together, his
gray beard forking out in front of his lean, brown face like so many
bristles.
"Oh, is thet you come back, Stutter? Thought I heerd somebody walkin'
behind me. I reckon, judgin' from ther outlook over thar, thet the
dance is 'bout ter begin; leastwise, the fiddlers is takin' their
places," and he waved his gnarled hand toward the distant crowd. "Got
somethin' like a reg'ment thar now, hoss and fut, an' it's safe ter bet
thar 's more a-comin'.
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