"Mr. Kipps," said he on an impulse which suddenly seized him.
"Well, my little dandy, what now?" asked the foreman, as he turned his head as far as his crowded seat would permit.
"Don't you think you have carried me about far enough?" demanded Deck.
"I reckon not jest yet. You are a Yankee soldier, and you may be wuth sunthin' to us afore we get through with you," answered Kipps very good-naturedly. "I reckon you uns down below there got some prisoners out o' we uns."
"No doubt of that," added Deck.
"We know'd there had been a fight down there; but we don't know nothin' more about it."
Deck told him something more about it, including the fact that Lieutenant Makepeace was a prisoner in the hospital.
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Kipps, deeply interested in the statement. "Makepeace brought us over here part of the way; and he's a right down good feller, and I liked him better'n Dingfield. I'm sorry for him. Is he in a bad way?"
"I can't say how bad; but he has a bullet in his chest, and a sabre-cut on the head," replied Deck. "Our surgeon is taking good care of him."
"I'm glad you uns took care on him; and if you get hurt, we uns will do as much for you," said the foreman.