"What?"
"Send a man after me."
"Well, you jest come along with, me. Bet our men won't stop you; you don't belong to them."
This was just what I wanted; but I was afraid to show any eagerness. We were almost at the picket-line, and I had no doubt that my friend was marching straight toward his own rifle-pit; he was surely on the left of his company--he was such a small man.
"Stop," said I.
He halted, and turned to me. He was a good-looking young fellow. He had the palmetto button on his coat. Our eyes met.
"You won't give me away?" I said.
"What do you take me for?" he asked.
"Oh, you're all right; but if you should happen to say anything to anybody, it might get out. If you won't tell any of your men, I'll go."
"Oh, come along; you needn't be afeared of my tellin' on you. I don't know your name, and--not to cause hard feelin's--I don't want to know it; come on."