“Well, Somers, I tell yer what it is, Somers, it was a great mistake comin’ off without no whiskey, Somers.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Don’t yer, Somers?”
“I can get along very well without it.”
“May be you can, Somers; but I can’t. I feed on whiskey, Somers; and I could no more go to Raybold’s without sunthin’ to drink than I could go afoot on hossback, or go hossback afoot; ’n’ I take it, Somers, that can’t be did.”
“But you will have to go without it, if you have none.”
“No, I won’t—you bet!” exclaimed Skinley. “Thar’s a Union house over here a good piece. They allus has whiskey and bacon when we poor fellers has to thust fur meat and hunger fur liquor. The old man, I cal’late, is a fust cousin of some gin’ral, or some of them fellers in Richmond, fur he’s got some sort o’ paper. I’m gwine to git a drink when we git thar—bet yer life.”
“But if they have a safe-conduct, you can’t compel them to give you anything. They will show you the paper,” replied Somers.
“Let ’em show it, Somers; I can’t read it,” chuckled the Texan.
“Why not?”