Deck Lyon was reasonable enough to abandon the idea of "bagging the game;" for the Rangers could now hardly be regarded as an organized military company. The meadow proved to be nothing but a quagmire, though the farmer appeared to get the hay from it, as there were two stacks of it on the field; but he had to take the occasion when the ground was frozen to obtain his crop. By this time the Texans were scattered all over the meadow, wandering about in search of more solid ground.
It would have been easy enough to shoot down the whole of them; but Captain Gordon was too chivalrous a man to murder the defenceless fellows. A few of them had crossed the brook, and were ascending the hill on the other side. A number of them were making a road of the bottom of the little stream, which seemed to be composed of sand washed in from the hills.
The first company were at ease all along the by-road, watching the movements and the struggles of the enemy; and no doubt Captain Dingfield wished he had fought it out, or surrendered on the hard ground. The night was coming on; and even if the Texans extricated themselves from their pitiable condition, they must be so demoralized that they could do no further mischief till they had rested and recruited from the effects of their battle with the mud.
"What are them men doin' in there?" asked the farmer, who wandered as far as the causeway, when it was safe to do so, and there encountered Deck, whom he had met before.
"They are trying to get out," replied Private Lyon.
"They can't do it!" exclaimed the native, who indulged in much profane speech. "They'll make a cemetry of the whole medder. It's nothin' but muck in there till you git to the bottom on't, and that's where them fellers will go. I had a colt git in there, and all on us couldn't git him out; and I reckon his carcass is lyin' on the bottom now. They've sp'ilt my medder," continued the farmer; and he heaped curses on the unfortunate troopers, who were tearing up the soft sod at a fearful rate.
The native had picked up the three horses of the troopers who had been killed in the affray, and they were some compensation for the damage done him in the meadow, which looked as though it had been ploughed up.
"Isn't there any way for those men to get out of that quagmire?" asked Captain Gordon, as he encountered the farmer.
"I don't know o' none," replied the man in a surly tone, "If they was only Yankees, I'd like it better."
"I like it better as it is," replied the captain.