Peril, old lad, is what I seek”
“O then, there’s plenty to be had—
By all means on, and have our fill”
With that, grotesque, he writhed his neck,
Showing a scar by buck-shot made—
Kind Mosby’s Christmas gift, he said.
“But, Colonel, my prisoners—let a guard
Make sure of them, and lead to camp.
That done, we’re free for a dark-room fight
If so you say.” The other laughed;