“Two years ago,” said Joe.
After a little, one of the men succeeded in finding a match, and making a light with the pine kindlings that one of the two had brought. In a corner Mink found some pieces of dry wood and the small company soon had a fire burning. The weather was not cold, but the fire must have been very agreeable to the white men, who, as one of them expressed it, was “wringin, wet.” These men took advantage of the first opportunity to examine Joe Maxwell very closely. They had evidently expected to find a much more formidable-looking person than he appeared to be, for one of them remarked to the other:
“Why, he hain’t bigger’n a pound er soap arter a hard day’s washin’.”
“Naw!” said the other. “I’ve saw ’im be-fo’. He’s that little rooster that useter be runnin’ roun’ town gittin’ in all sorts er devilment. I reckon he’s sorter out er his element here in the country.”
“I’ve seen you, too,” said Joe. “I’ve seen both of you. I used to see you drilling in the Hillsborough Rifles. I was at the depot when the company went off to the war.”
The two men looked at each other in a peculiar way, and busied themselves trying to dry their clothes by the fire, standing close to the flickering flames. They were not handsome men, and yet they were not ill looking. One was short and stout, with black hair. He had a scar under one of his eyes that did not improve his appearance. But the expression of his face was pleasant in spite of this defect. The other was thin, tall, and stoop-shouldered. His beard was scanty and red, and his upper teeth protruded to such an extent that when his face was in repose they were exposed to view. But there was a humorous twinkle in his eyes that found an echo in his talk. Both men were growing gray. The dark man was Jim Wimberly, the other John Pruitt, and both had evidently seen hard times. Soldier-fashion, they made seats for themselves by sticking the ends of loose boards through the cracks, and allowing the other ends to rest on the floor. Thus they could sit or lie at full length as they chose. Joe fixed a seat for himself in the same way, while Mink and Injun Bill sat on the floor on each side of the fireplace.
“What do you call those here fellers,” asked Mr. Pruitt, lighting his pipe with a splinter, and turning to Joe—“these here fellers what jines inter the army an’ then comes home arter awhile without lief or license?”
“Deserters,” replied Joe, simply.
“So fur, so good.” said Mr. Pruitt. “Now, then, what do you call the fellers what jines inter the army arter they’er been told that their families’ll be took keer of an’ provided fer by the rich folks at home; an’ then, arter they’er been in a right smart whet, they gits word that their wives an’ children is a lookin’ starvation in the face, an’ stedder gittin’ better it gets wuss, an’ bimeby they breaks loose an’ comes home? Now what sort er fellers do you call them? Hold on!” exclaimed Mr. Pruitt, as Joe was about to reply. “Wait! They hain’t got no money an’ no niggers; they hain’t got nothin’ but a little piece er lan’. They goes off expectin’ their wives’ll be took keer of, an’ they comes home an’ fines ’em in the last stages. What sorter fellers do you call them?”
“Well,” Joe replied, “I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”