“It’s just like shooting deer at a salt lick.”
But the dullness continued. Those red-clad bodies, two of them with their faces upturned to the sun, were a terrible warning to the others not to make the trial. Two of our men, finding time heavy, produced a worn pack of cards and began to play old sledge, their rifles lying beside them.
The waters of the broad river glittered in the sun. Now and then a fish leaped up and shot back like a flash, leaving the bubbles to tell where he had gone. The spatter of musketry around the circle of the British camp had become so much a habit that one noticed it only when it ceased for the time. The white rings of smoke from the burnt powder floated away, peaceful little clouds, and, like patches of snow against the blue sky, helped out the beauty of an early autumn day.
All of us were silent except the two men playing cards. I half closed my eyes, for the sun was bright and the air was warm, and gave myself up to lazy, vague thought. I was very glad that we had nothing to do, and even should the time to act come, I resolved that I would follow Whitestone’s hint.
The two men playing cards became absorbed in the game. One threw down a card and uttered a cry of triumph.
“Caught your Jack!”
“All right,” said the other; “it’s only two for you, your low, Jack against my high, game. I’m even with you.”
I became interested. I was lying on my back with my head on a soft bunch of turf. I raised up a little that I might see these players, who could forget such a business as theirs in a game of cards. Their faces were sharp and eager, and when they picked up the cards I could tell by their expression whether they were good or bad.
“Four and four,” said one, “and this hand settles the business. Five’s the game.”
The other began to deal the cards, but a rifle was fired so close to my ear that the sound was that of a cannon. The echo ceasing, I heard Bucks and the man in the tree swearing profusely at each other.