While thus employed, they were approached by a strange-looking individual, who walked right into their midst, and without ceremony, flung down his pack and seated himself among them.
"B-b-boys," said he, "I'm most d-d-darned hungry, w-w-w-what do you s-s-say to givin' me a b-b-b-bite to eat; d-d-dang my buttons, I'm willin' to p-p-pay for it in t-t-trade or cash."
"How did you manage to get inside the camp?" inquired one, who seemed to be the leader of the mess.
"F-f-f-followed my legs, and they b-b-b-brought me right in," replied Stuttering Dave, as he coolly produced a short-stemmed, dirty-looking pipe, which he deliberately filled, and then lighted with a coal from the glowing embers at his feet.
"What have you got to sell?" asked a soldier at his side.
"O, n-n-needles, p-p-pins, thread, b-b-buttons and n-n-notions."
"Did you come from the Yanks?" now asked the man who had first addressed him.
"D-d-d-am the Yanks!" ejaculated Dave, "I d-d-don't know anything about 'em. Ain't them your s-s-sentiments?" he added, nudging the fellow who sat nearest to him.
His companion evidently did not relish this sly poke, for he growled:
"I, for one, am gettin' most thunderin' tired of runnin' around the country, and nothin' would suit me better than for us to stop long enough to giv' 'em a good lickin'."