As Captain Moseley rode down the mountain, reflecting, it occurred to him that his expedition was taking a comical shape. He had gone marching up the hill, and now he came marching down again, and Israel Spurlock, so far as the captain knew, was as far from being a captive as ever—perhaps farther. Thinking it all over in a somewhat irritated frame of mind, Moseley remembered Lovejoy’s eagerness to recapture Spurlock. He remembered, also, what he had heard the night before, and it was in no pleasant mood that he thought it all over. It was such an insignificant, such a despicable affair, two men carrying out the jealous whim of a little militia politician.
“It is enough, by George!” exclaimed Captain Moseley aloud, “to make a sensible man sick.”
“Lord, yes!” cried out a voice behind him. Looking around, he saw the hunchback following him. “That’s what I tell ’em; goodness, yes!”
“Now, look here!” said Captain Moseley, reining in his horse, and speaking somewhat sharply. “Are you following me, or am I following you? I don’t want to be dogged after in the bushes, much less in the big road.”
“Ner me nurther,” said the hunchback, in the cheerfulest manner. “An’ then thar’s Spurlock—Lord, yes; I hain’t axt him about it, but I bet a hoss he don’t like to be dogged atter nuther.”
“My friend,” said Captain Moseley, “you seem to have a quick tongue. What is your name?”
“Danny Lemmons,” said the other. “Now don’t say I look like I ought to be squoze. Ever’body inginer’lly says that,” he went on with a grimace, “but I’ve squoze lots more than what’s ever squoze me. Lord, yes! Yes, siree! Men an’ gals tergether. You ax ’em, an’ they’ll tell you.”
“Lemmons,” said the captain, repeating the name slowly. “Well, you look it!”
“Boo!” cried Danny Lemmons, making a horrible grimace; “you don’t know what you’re a-talkin’ about. The gals all ’low I’m mighty sweet. You ought to see me when I’m rigged out in my Sunday-go-to-meetin’ duds. Polly Powers she ’lows I look snatchin’. Lord, yes! Yes, siree! I’m gwine down to Polly’s house now.”
Whereat he broke out singing, paraphrasing an old negro ditty, and capering about in the woods like mad.