wuz conscripted into the army,
or I wouldn't be foutin' yo'uns. I won't fout no more, if yo'uns'll not
put a spell on me. 'Deed I won't! I swar to God I wont!"

And he raised his right hand in testimony.

"Put a spell on you? Conjure you? What dumbed nonsense!" ejaculated Si,
and then his eyes caught the rebel's fastened on the bottle in his hand,
and a gleam of the meaning entered his mind. He had no conception of
the dread the mountaineers have of being "conjured," but he saw that
something about the bottle was operating terrifically on the rebel's
mind and took advantage of it. He was in too much of a hurry to inquire
critically what it was, but said: "Well, I won't do nothin' to you, so
long's you're good, but mind that you're mighty good, and do just as I
say, or I'll fix you. Git up, now, and take hold o' your pardner's feet,
and help me lift him on the litter. Then you take hold o' the front
handles. Monty, throw your gun-sling over your shoulder, and take hold
o' the rear handles. The two o' you carry this man back. Alf, throw your
gun-sling over your shoulder, put your arm under this man's, and help
him along. I'll help this man."

They slowly made their way back toward the mill. As they came on the
crest of the last rise, they saw Shorty and the rest eagerly watching
for them. Shorty and the others ran forward and helped them bring the
men in. Shorty was particularly helpful to the man he had shot. He
almost carried him in to the mill, handling him as tenderly as if a
child, fixed a comfortable place for him on the floor with his own
blankets, and took the last grains of his coffee to make him a cup. This
done, he said:

"I'm goin' out into the country to try and find some chickens to make
some broth for you men. Come along, Harry Joslyn, Gid Mackall and little
Pete."

The country roundabout was discouragingly poor, and had been thoroughly
foraged over. But Shorty had a scent for cabins that were hidden away
from the common roads, and so escaped the visitations of ordinary
foragers. These were always miserably poor, but generally had a
half-dozen chickens running about, and a small store of cornmeal and
sidemeat. Ordinarily he would have passed one of these in scorn, because
to take any of their little store would starve the brood of unkempt
children that always abounded. But now, they were his hope. He had been
playing poker recently with his usual success, and as the bets were in
Confederate money, he