Lengthy nodded again. "He aimed at ye. I got him fust." There was a long pause.
"Do you want to go back to your camp, Lengthy, if—"
"Naw."
Presently he said: "They's mo' o' them then they is o' you alls."
Griffith grasped his idea. "You think we better leave here? You think they will attack?"
"Kin leave me layin' here. They'll git me—'n' him;" he pointed with his thumb again toward the friend of his life—the body that lay awaiting burial on the morrow.
"Would you rather go with us?" began Griffith, and the swarthy face lightened up.
"Kin you alls take me?"
"Certainly, certainly, if you want to go. We won't leave you. The General——"
"Hain't goin' with him. Goin' 'th you."