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A Thrilling Rescue
“YIP-EE!” yowled Pete Perkins, as he burst unceremoniously into the tent occupied by Bill Brown and the Gordon twins, in the camp at Dixon’s Ferry. “Watch out! I’m the bloodiest son of a wildcat alive!”
“Howdy, Pete,” smiled big Bill. “Ain’t seen you fer days. What’s doin’?”
“Drill, drill, drill,” complained the grizzled fellow, “nothin’ but drill. In the last week I vum I’ve marched nigh ez fur ez from Rock River ter the Pacific Ocean.”
“Well, set down an’ rest yer feet, you ol’ hoptoad. They prob’ly need it.”
“Is all that drill doing you any good?” grinned Tom Gordon. “Or are you just raising a crop of corns and bunions?”
“Say! I’m a tellin’ ye that our Sangamon County volunteers is gittin’ ter be the fanciest bunch o’ sojurs in this hull kemp. Ther ain’t a braver passel o’ volunteers—”
“Please, Pete, please,” begged Ben. “Easy on the bragging. Remember, I was at Stillman’s Run.”
Pete Perkin’s face turned a brick-red. He began to bristle. His enormous chest seemed to grow larger, and his buckskin jacket strained at the seams.