“Yes; but somebody's likely to get killed.”
“Well, you nor me don't have to pay their life insurance, as I know on.”
“But it may be you or me.”
“The devil'd be might anxious for green wood before he'd call you in.”
“Come, now, don't talk that way. This is a mighty serious time.”
“I'll make it a durned sight seriouser for you if you don't keep them splay feet o'your'n offen my heels when we're marching.”
“Don't you think we'd better pay, or—something?”
“You might try taking up a collection.”
“Try starting a hymn, Jake,” said a slender young man at his right elbow, whose face showed a color more intimately connected with the contents of his canteen than the heat of the day. “Line it out, and we'll all join in. Something like this, for example:
'Hark, from the tombs a doleful sound
Mine ears attend the cry.
Ye living men, come view the ground
Where you must shortly lie.'”