lip, both on yo', an' we'll try t' manage him. Don't
weaken. Hit'll do no good. He'll be wuss'n ever then."{213}

Si and Shorty instinctively felt for the revolvers in their pockets.

The newcomer tied his horse to a sapling and strode into the house. The
guerrillas seemed rather more fearful than otherwise to see him, but met
him with manners that were ranged from respectful by Jeff Hackberry to
absolute servility by the others. He was a burly, black-bearded man,
wearing a fairly-good uniform of a rebel Captain. His face showed that
he was a bully, and a cruel one.

He acknowledged in an overbearing way the greetings of the others, and
called out imperiously:

"'Frony, gi' me a stiff dram o' yer best at wunst. My throat's drier'n a
lime-kiln. Bin ridin' all mornin'."

"Folks wantin' likker don't say must t' me, but will yo', an' please,"
she answered sulkily.

"'Must,' 'please,' yo' hag," he said savagely. "Talk that a-way to me.
I'll 'please' yo'. I've killed two Yankees this mornin', an' I'm not in
the humor to fool around with an old pennyroyal huzzy like yo'. Gi' me
some whisky at wunst, or I'll baste yo'."

If ever Mrs. Bolster had been favorably disposed to him, she could not
endure to have him treat her this way before Shorty. She would assert
herself before him if ever.

She put her arms akimbo and retorted vigorously:

"Nary drap o' likker yo'll git from me, Sol. Simmons. Go and git yer
likker whar y're welcome. Y're not welcome here. I don't keer if yo'
have killed two Yankees or 20 Yankees. Y're allers talkin' about killin'
Yankees, but nobody never sees none that y've killed. I'm a better
Confederit than yo'{214} ever dared be. I'm doin' more for the Southern
Confedrisy. Y're allers a-blowin' while I'm allers adoin.' Everybody
knows that. Talk about the two Yankees y've killed, an' which nobody's
seed, here I've brung two Yankees right outen their camps, an' have 'em
to show. More'n that, they're gwine to jine we'uns."

She indicated the two boys with a wave of her hand. Simmons seemed to
see them for the first time.

"Yankees here, an' yo' haint killed 'em," he yelled. He put his hand to
his revolver and stepped forward. The two boys jumped up and snatched
their guns, but before another move could be made Mrs. Bolster's
unfailing trip brought Simmons heavily to the floor, with his revolver
half out the holster. In an instant she sat down heavily upon him, and
laid her brawny hand upon his pis