'You couldn't hit me if I stood up an'
marked the place on my chest. Nothin' will save you but them days on the
plain in the blizzards when you was more useful with a shovel than you
are with a rifle, 'cause to-morrow at sunrise we're goin' to cross this
little river and tie all you fellows hand an' foot an' take you away as
prisoners to Washington.'
"That made him mighty mad, but the part 'bout the blizzards on the
plains set him to thinkin', too. 'Who in thunderation are you?' sez he.
'You're Bill Brayton, of Tennessee, fightin' in the rebel army, when
you ought to know better,' says I. 'Now, who in thunderation am I?'
'Sufferin' Moses!' says he, 'that voice grows more like his every time
he speaks. It can't be that empty-headed galoot, Dan Whitley, who never
knew nothin' 'bout the rights an' wrongs of the war, an' had to go off
with the Yanks!'
"'It's him an' nobody else,' says I, as I rose right up an' stood there
on the bank, 'an' mighty glad am I to see you Bill, an' to know that your
fool head ain't knocked off by a cannon ball.' He shorely jumped up an'
down with pleasure an' he called back: 'The good Lord certainly watches
over them that ain't got any sense.
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