“Yes, that’s a streak of good luck; but I wish we could only get hold of their ringleader, that Doc. I’m mighty glad we’ve got Dan Pipsie, though.”
“Yes,” and the young men laughed. “I want Doc mighty bad too, but I’m thinking more about what we’re going to do with what we have got. I reckon the Court Martial is the best way. Captain Sweargon has got great respect fo’ General Baker. They shan’t let Watta and Pipsie off nohow.”
“No,” said the General, who rode up at that moment and caught the last remark. “Watta and Dan Pipsie are two dangerous men, and ought to be taken care of.”
“Now, General,” said a stumpy little man, strutting up to that dignitary, “yo’ve brought us all here, all this crowd, and we’ve got the niggers; and now if you won’t kill them, they’ll just go and give testimony agin us, and get us into trouble.”
The General stared at the little man with the most serene contempt, and turning his horse’s head, rode away without speaking.
But the little man was neither abashed nor silenced. He continued,—“Here General Baker has brought us here, and kept us up all night helping him to capture a lot of niggers, and he ought to kill the last one of ’em; for if he don’t they’ll be up here to vote against us, and they’ll be giving testimony against us.”
“That’s true enough, Volier, true enough,” said several of his associates.
“I’m sleepy and tired,” continued Volier. “Here, Bub,” addressing a small boy of twelve years, “You ought to be abed and asleep long ago.”
“No, sir-ee,” said the boy, ejecting a volume of tobacco-juice from his mouth. “I a’n’t sleepy.”