"I am a scout," said Paul.
"Be you a scout? Wal, I hope you will run across Old Abe Linkum. If you do, jest take his skelp for me." (She meant his scalp.)
"Wal, if I cotch him, I reckon I'll skelp him," said Paul, flourishing his knife, as if he was ready for such bloody work.
"The Yanks are a set of vagabonds; they are the meanest critters on airth," said the woman. "They'll hang you if they cotch you."
"I reckon I won't let 'em cotch me," said Paul.
"Where be you gwine next?"
"Down to Cairo, I reckon; though I go wherever the General sends me."
"May be you would do a little chore for me,—get me some pins, needles, and thread?"
"It is mighty skittish business, but I'll see what I can do," said Paul.