“I’m afeared this army life is gittin’ you down, Pete,” chided Bill.
“Guess what, Pete,” broke in Tom Gordon, who had sauntered up.
“Now what, younker? Be the dad-busted war over?”
“Hardly think so. But I want to tell you that there’s a fresh bunch of volunteers in from Shawneetown, way down on the Ohio River.”
“Fierce bunch, them Shawneetown boys,” opined Pete, shaking his head grimly. “Claim ter be half man an’ half alligator.”
“Well, they’ve got a chap named Mike Mitchell who they say is the rip-roaringest wrestler to ever tread the prairies.”
“Oh, they says so, do they?” snorted old Pete, his eyes shooting fire. “Mus’ be they ain’t never heared tell o’ Sangamon’s Abe Lincoln.”
“Yes, they have, Pete. That’s just it. They’re sayin’ that this man Mitchell can throw Abe half-way across Rock River.”
“Humph!” growled the frontiersman, “that I gotta see.”
“Reckon Mitchell’s bitin’ off more’n he kin chaw, Pete?” asked Bill Brown.