“The old man is a preacher,” said Captain Moseley in a tone that seemed to dispose of the matter.
“Well, the Lord help us!” exclaimed Chadwick. “In about the wuss whippin’ I ever got was from a young feller that was preachin’ an’ courtin’ in my neighborhood. I sorter sassed him about a gal he was flyin’ around, an’ he upped an’ frailed me out, an’ got the gal to boot. Don’t tell me about no preachers. Why, that chap flew at me like a Stonefence rooster, an’ he fluttered twice to my once.”
“And have you been running from preachers ever since?” dryly inquired the captain.
“Not as you may say, constantly a-runnin’,” replied Chadwick; “yit I ain’t been a-flingin’ no sass at ’em; an’ my reason tells me for to give ’em the whole wedth of the big road when I meet ’em.”
“Well,” said the captain, “what will you do about this preacher?”
“A man in a corner,” responded Chadwick, “is obleeged to do the best he kin. I’ll jest keep my eye on him, an’ the fust motion he makes, I’ll”—
“Run?” suggested the captain.
“Well, now,” said Chadwick, “a man in a corner can’t most ingener’lly run. Git me hemmed in, an’ I’ll scratch an’ bite an’ scuffle the best way I know how. It’s human natur’, an’ I’m mighty glad it is; for if that old man’s eyes didn’t tell no lies we’ll have to scratch an’ scuffle before we git away from this mountain.”
Captain Moseley bit his mustache and smiled grimly as the tired horses toiled up the road. A vague idea of possible danger had crossed his mind while talking to Uncle Billy Powers, but he dismissed it at once as a matter of little importance to a soldier bent on carrying out his orders at all hazards.