“Yes, my wife.”
“Wall, I’m blowed! An’ she ain’t a-hollerin’ and a-cryin’?”
“Do you hear her?” asked Dan irritably. “She’s braver than some men I know. But you can count on it that she is wet and cold. We are nearly frozen!”
“Wall, I’m blowed! An’ she’s right out thar in the middle er that run, an’ she ain’t a-hollerin’ and a-cryin’! Tell you uns what I’ll do. I’ll swim out there and bring her back on my back. An’ then I’ll swim back agin an’ bring you on my back.”
“I can’t!” I said. “I’m cold enough to die now, and I can’t get in that water. I’ll die if I do.”
The giant gave orders. The men hung back. Then we heard him roaring like a bull of Bashan.
“Git into that ar water, evvy man of you uns, an’ swim fur that ar ambulance! I was put in comman’ er this here expuddition, an’ I means ter comman’ it. ’Bey orders, you uns is got ter, or you uns’ll git reported to headquarters ez I’m a sinner. Git in that thar water. Furrard! Swim!”
How well I remember the great, good-natured giant as he swam around our ambulance, bobbing up and down, and taking in our bearings!
“You see, cap,” he said, “all the bridge is washed away but the sleepers, an’ that’s what you uns is hung on. Unhitch them mules,” to some of his men.
“Now, cap, soon’s them mules is loose we uns’ll lif the ambulance off er this, an’ pull you uns to shore. Jes you uns make yourse’fs easy, and we uns’ll git you uns out er this.”