“I reckon they’ll jest fit me.”
“Come, Turkin, quit now. I’ll be dog-on’d ef we don’t git captered ourselves, ef you keep on parlatin’ with the carri’n any longer. Fotch him along, and we’ll measure the boots bime-by.”
As this was eminently prudent advice under the circumstances, Turkin decided to follow it. One of the party took the saddle and bridle from the dead animal, while another caught De Banyan’s horse. The unfortunate event took place within fifty rods of the line of the twentieth corps, and near the spot where the recent battle had raged fiercest. The ground was directly in front of the army, and it was an unparalleled piece of impudence for the rebels to come so near on such an expedition. With the exception of the piece of woods, the ground was open, though Somers was captured behind a ridge, which hid the marauders from the view of the sentinels.
“Now, Yank, we’ll march,” said Turkin, who, though he wore no badge of his rank, appeared to be the sergeant or corporal commanding the squad. “Be you ready?”
“Well, no, I’m not ready; but as you fellows have such an insinuating way with you, I suppose I shall have to go,” replied Somers, glancing in the direction of the Union line.
“You guessed about right that time, Yank. ’Tain’t no use to look over yender. If yer don’t walk right along, jest like a Christian, I’d jest as lief shoot yer as not.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Reb; I’m with you. But I’m not much used to walking without boots, of late years, and if you take my boots I may make hard work of it.”
“No, yer won’t; if yer do, I’ll save yer the trouble of walking any further.”
“No trouble at all,” added Somers, who, in spite of his apparently easy bearing, was in momentary fear of being shot by the ruffians in charge of him.
“What’s yer name?” demanded Turkin, abruptly, as they moved towards the wood, beyond which flowed Peach-tree Creek.