"Yep. But he ain't tryin' of it now."
"I am also sorry he's dead," said Foster. "We were going to take him down to town with us."
"No use to take him now," Laz replied; and a silence fell, broken only when they turned back into the highway, when the lout of a driver, impressed in the neighborhood, remarked to Laz:
"I reckon you air as about as big a liar as they kin set up. Here comes Mose Blake now."
"Hah!" exclaimed Foster. "A good backwoods trick. Round him up, boys."
The stutterer was dressed in his best, on his way to pay stammering court to a girl. He strove to explain that he couldn't go with them, but the officers laughed at his attempts to talk, compelled him to get in, and drove on.
At night they camped near a spring, beneath a walnut tree, the officers standing turn about while the prisoners slept; and early the next morning they resumed their rumbling journey.
As they were now out of the neighborhood range of the two boys, everything began to possess a keen interest for them, the houses, cattle and even the dogs that ran along the yard fences to bark at the wagon. Just before sunset they saw from afar the capitol dome, the mausoleum of Stricklin, who built many state houses, constructing in each one a tomb for himself. Years had passed since Jasper, a battle-smoked and bleeding soldier, had trod up to that lofty pile of rock to receive his discharge from the ranks; and desolate, with no drum and no fife to march back to his wretched home. To him the scene was heart-heavy with memories, but to the boys it was the first glimpse of that great and mysterious life lying far beyond their native hills.
"I reckon the man that lives in thar could go to a sale up whar we live an' buy every wagin an' team on the place," said Laz, pointing toward the fading state-house, and Mose replied:
"Reckon h—h—h—he could t—t—t—talk all day without a h—h—hitch."