“Ah! bad business! bad business!” exclaimed the major, qualifying the words with an energetic oath.
“How, sir?”
“Atrocious business! dangerous service! Can’t see why they sent me.”
“I came, Major, to inquire the nature of the service, so that I may have my men in order for it.”
“Dangerous service!”
“It is?”
“Infernal cut-throats! thousands of ’em in the bushes—bore a man through as soon as wink. Those yellow devils are worse than—!” and again the swearing major wound up with an exclamation not proper to be repeated.
“Can’t see why they picked me out. There’s Myers, and Wayne, and Wood, not half my size, and that thin scare-the-crows Allen; but no—the general wants me killed. Die soon enough in this infernal nest of centipedes without being shot in the chaparral! I wish the chaparral was—!” and again the major’s unmentionable words came pouring forth in a volley.
I saw that it was useless to interrupt him until the first burst was over. From his frequent anathemas on the “bushes” and the “chaparral”, I could gather that the service I was called upon to perform lay at some distance from the camp; but beyond this I could learn nothing, until the major had sworn himself into a degree of composure, which after some minutes he accomplished. I then re-stated the object of my visit.
“We’re going into the country for mules,” replied the major. “Mules, indeed! Heaven knows there isn’t a mule within ten miles, unless with a yellow-hided Mexican on his back, and such mules we don’t want. The volunteers—curse them!—have scared everything to the mountains: not a stick of celery nor an onion to be had at any price.”