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Musha, thin, luk at the fat dhrummer laad! Has he apples in thim two cheeks, Jack? I dunnoa! Hey, there goes Wagner! Hello, Wagner! Wisha, laad, ye're cross-eyed an' shquint-lipped a-playin' yere fife hind-end furrst!" And the replies from the dusty, brown ranks, steadily passing: "Py Gott! dere's Jack Mount! Look alretty, Jacob! Hello, Elerson!
I had reloaded, and Murphy was coolly priming, when on our right the rifles began speaking faster and faster, and I heard the sound of men running hard over the dry leaves, and the thudding gallop of horses. "A charge!" said Murphy. "There do be horses comin', too. Have they dhragoons? I dunnoa. Ha! There they go! 'Tis McCraw's outlaws or I'm a Dootchman!"
"Nothing, sir; we only want to see them pelts, Tim and me." "Do you know the man?" I demanded. Murphy gazed musingly at Mount through narrowed eyes. Mount, in a brown study, stared back. "Phwere th' divil have I seen him, I dunnoa!" muttered Murphy. "Jack, 'tis wan mush-rat looks like th' next, an' all thrappers has the same cut to them! Yonder's no thrapper!"
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