"No sich thing. Them fires ain't a mile off.
"Their pickets are likely right along that 'ere ridge thar."
"Bushwhackers," whispered Si, rising a little to reconnoiter. "One, two, three, four, five, six on 'em. Sneakin' up to pick off our pickets. What'd we better do?"
"Only thing I kin think of," whispered Shorty back, feeling around for a stick that would represent a gun, "is the old trick of ordering 'em to surrender. It's an awful bluff, but we may work it this time. If they've got any grit we needn't worry no more about rations. They'll git us."
Si snatched up a piece of rail, and they sprang up together, shouting:
"Halt! Surrender! Don't move a hand or we'll blow your heads off."
"All right, Yank. We surrender. Don't shoot. We'uns 've bin a-huntin' yo'uns to gin ourselves up. We'uns is tired o' the wah."
"The thunder you do," said Si in amazement.