"Fhat," said Barney contemptuously, surveying the cartridge. "There isn't enough powdher there to throw a ball as far as Oi can a pebble. Fwhy, Oi used to put a whole handful o' powdher in the old blunderbuss. Oi wud do betther to whack a man wid a shillelah. And fwhere is the flint to stroike foire?"
"O, the flintlock's played out, you flannel-mouthed Irishman," said Shorty irritably. "It's as out-of-date as a bow and arrer. This's a percussion-lock; don't you understand? This is a cap. You stick it right on this nipple, an' when the hammer goes down off goes your gun. Don't you see?"
"Well, you can say, maybe, an' maybe you can't But Oi can't. Take your old goon. Oi'll none avit.
"May the divil fly away wid it, an' wid you, too. Oi'd rather have a good shtick. Wid a shtick in me fist Oi'll take care of ony spalpeen fwhat'll stand up in front av me. But wid a fool goon loike that Oi'd be kilt at wance."
While Si and Shorty were still worrying about what to do for arms for the remainder of their men, they heard what seemed to be about a company marching toward them through the darkness.
"I suppose we had better stop here and stack our arms out of the way," they heard the officer say who seemed to be in command. "We've got an all-night's job before us, fixing up that bridge, and getting those wagons across. Stack arms, boys, and leave your belts and traps with them. There's lots of work down there for us."
They could see dimly the men obeying the orders, and going down the bank of the creek, where they started large fires to light them at their work.
"They have got a job ahead of 'em," remarked Shorty, looking in the direction of the fires.
"It'll take 'em all night and a large part o' tomorrow," said Si, significantly, as a thought entered his mind.
"Indeed it will," accorded Shorty, as the same idea occurred to him. "An' they won't need their guns. They're only pioneers, anyway."