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There was a man ridin' with him dressed diff'ent he wuz the batteredest-lookin', gayest, grandest he might 'a' been a gen'al! when in fact he was only a majo', an' it was him we heard say that Brodnax was some'uz on the south side o' the railroad and couldn't come up befo' night ... What, us? no, we on the nawth side. You didn't notice when you recrossed the track back yondeh?
Them colts so much alike they had me guessin'. I done picked the one whut was widest between the eyes an' that's the one whut been awinnin' all them races. That ain't Sergeant Smith at all that's my Gen'al Duval. Pitkin, he gives me my pick an' then he switches on me. Question is, how kin I git him back?" Old Man Curry combed his whiskers for some time in silence.
It was one of the black stable hands who recalled Pitkin to a sense of his responsibilities. The roustabout approached, leading a bay colt. "Boss, is Gabe done quit us?" "Huh?" grunted Pitkin, emerging from a deep-brown study. "Yes, he's gone, confound him!" "Well, he lef thisyer Gen'al Duval hoss behin' him. The Gen'al's cooled out now; whut you want me to do with him?"
Why, honey, you might as well go huntin' a needle in a haystack as to go lookin' fo' Brodnax's brigade to-night. Gen'al Pemberton himself why, he'd jest send you to his rear, and that's Vicksburg, where they a-bein' shelled by the boats day and night, and the women and child'en a-livin' in caves. You don't want to go there?" "We don't know," drolly replied Anna. "Well, you stay hyuh.
"Boy, you done brought me the wrong colt," said he. "This ain't Gen'al Duval." "I got him outen yo' stall," said the stable hand. "Don't care where yo' got him," persisted Gabe. "This ain't the colt I picked out. He ain't wide enough between the eyes." "What's the argument about?" asked Pitkin, coming from the tackle-room. "Gabe say thisyer ain't his colt," answered the stable hand.
But the negro instantly brought it without the coffee and placed it on the table with a delicate flourish, shuffled a step back and bowed low: "Coffee black, Gen'al, o' co'se?" "Black as your grandmother." The servant tittered: "Yas, suh, so whah it flop up-siden de cup it leave a lemon-yalleh sta-ain."
"Well, suh, they's a maiden race nex' Satu'day, an' I was thinkin' mebbe the Gen'al could win it if he gits a good ride. Jockey Jones didn't have no otheh engagement, suh, so I done hired him fo' the 'casion." "Oh, you did, did you? Now listen to me, Gabe: I don't want anybody from the Curry stable hanging around this place.
His claithes look pretty nice. As a gen'al thing them people fra' the States hae plenty o' plack in their pockets. What do you think, sir?" "He is undoubtedly a gentleman from New England", said Mr. Norton. Mrs. McNab was a native of Dumfries, Scotland, and had made her advent in the Miramichi country about five years previous to the occurrences just mentioned.
There's a deep gorge cut right inter that hill, back 'o the pint. The gorge has a pooty smooth rocky bed. In the spring o' the year, there's a brook runs through there and pours inter the river jest below. But it's all dry neow, and the deer, as a gen'al thing scramble eout of their feedin' place into this gorge and foller it deown to the river to git their drink.
"I'll send you down to help Gabby Smith at Red Butte camp. That's 'way to hell and gone down at the south end of the outfit, where nobody goes from here more'n about once in six months. Gabby's one of these here solitary guys that's sorta soured on the world in gen'al, an' don't hardly open his face except to take in grub, but yuh can trust him.