"Oh, air he?" said Johnse. "I 'low I'll scuse em then fo' not drawin'—I knowed I hit em hard—but I didn't think he 'lowed to die—th' way he jest naturally hung on—he air so karnsarned tricky. Say, Buddy—how is hit a goin'—air th' fellers at em yit?"
"Sho'—we'uns licked 'em bully, Johnse—they's jest a playin' tag now up in town—Sap plugged me twict up by ole Hank's store, as I cum by—Johnse, I got t' rack out now an' git th' men to tote yo' to th' wagons—I reckon th' doc-man kin peert yo' up a pinch—does yo' hurt bad, Johnse?"
"Ded Sap plug yo', Buddy?"
"Yep—hit don't hurt powerful bad though—an' our men jest plugged Sap, jest now—didn't yo'-all heer th' shoots?"
"I mought hev, Buddy,—but I wus powerful busy arguing with Orlick—yo' sho' they got Sap?"
"Sho," reassured Buddy. "He air a layin' up on th' road yonder now—I got t' rack out an' git yo' away from heah now."
"An' I got ole Hank—Gawd'll Moughty!—hain't we'uns in luck?"
Hatfield's voice sunk now to a thin, lingering whisper.
"Buddy," he muttered wearily, "'fore yo' go—kin yo' fetch me a speck o' water—jest a mouthful o' water somehow——"
The boy hurried behind the old shack in quest of something that would hold water. He found an old tomato can, but there was a rent in its bottom. Presently, he caught sight of a rusty tin bucket hanging by a wire, against a rotting porch post. He dumped the earth and dried roots out of this and held the bucket up to the moon. Then he ran toward the river. When he returned a few minutes later with the water, he was trailing Hatfield's piebald mare after him. The wounded man gulped the water greedily and Buddy unknotted the handkerchief about his neck and bathed his head.