"And do they say that we-uns mustn't do it?" Jeff demanded.
"You've hit it again," was Rodney's reply. "That is just what they do say; and they say, further, that they won't give us our share of the goods. See how they hung on to that fort in Charleston Harbor until our gallant fellows made them give it up? That fort belonged to South Carolina; but when she broke up the firm, by which I mean the Union, the Yanks wouldn't give it up. Who ever heard of such impudence?"
"I never," answered Jeff. "We did lick 'em sure enough, didn't we?"
"Of course we did, and that isn't the worst of it. We're going to whip them as often as we get a chance at them. But what am I talking about. The Yankees won't fight."
"Didn't they have a sorter rucus up in St. Louis?"
"Those were not Yankees. They were Dutchmen—old country soldiers, who don't know enough about war to keep them from shooting into their own men. Who's afraid of such soldiers?"
"We're mighty glad you stopped off here, stranger," said Jeff, at length. "We didn't rightly know what all the furse was about, and there wasn't nobody who could tell us, because the steamboat cap'ns who come here for wood couldn't wait to talk about it. But we know now, and I do think that some on us had oughter have a hand in making them Yankees stay where they b'long. I'd go in a minute if it wasn't fur the ole woman and the young ones."
"I aint got none of them things to hold me back, and I'll go in your place, Jeff," said one of the wood-cutters. It was the man who had drawn his seat close in front of Rodney, and seemed to be so much interested in the boy's watch chain.
"Will you go with me and join Price?" asked the latter, eagerly.
"I reckon I might as well," replied the man.