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Updated: June 12, 2025
"He can make a mixture of wet clay and sandstone that you couldn't tell from mortar." "You jest wait till I git through these shoes an' I'll show you," remarked Pinetop, from the woodpile, where he was making moccasins of untanned beef hide laced with strips of willow. "I ain't goin' to set my bar' feet on this frozen groun' agin, if I can help it.
Dan, walking between Pinetop and Jack Powell, felt a sudden homesickness for the abandoned camp, which they were leaving with the gay little town and the red clay forts, naked to the enemy's guns.
The mill, after the decline of the first settlements, passed into the possession of W. J. Flake. In the summer of 1882, it was transferred to Pinedale and in 1890 to Pinetop. It now is at Lakeside, where, it is assumed, at least part of the original machinery still is being operated.
Hello! what's that?" In the road there was an abandoned battery, cut down and left to rot into the earth, and as they swept past it at "double quick," they heard the sound of rapid firing across the little stream. "It's a fight, thank God!" yelled Pinetop, and at the words a tumultuous joy urged Dan through the water and over the sharp stones.
From this time there were regular lessons in the little hut, Pinetop drawling over the soiled primer, or crouching, with his long legs twisted under him and his elbows awkwardly extended, while he filled a sheet of paper with sprawling letters. "I'll be able to write to the old woman soon," he chuckled jubilantly, "an' she'll have to walk all the way down the mounting to git it read."
"Fight to the end, boys," she cried defiantly, "and when the end comes, keep on fighting. If you go back on Lee there's not a woman in Virginia will touch your hand." "That's right, little gal!" shrieked a husky private. "Three cheers for Marse Robert! an' we'll whip the earth in our bar' feet befo' breakfast." "All the same I wish old Stonewall was along," muttered Pinetop.
Where, for that matter, is that march in Maryland when Big Abel and you carried me three miles in your arms after I had dropped delirious by the roadside? If you thought I'd joke you about this, Pinetop, all I can say is that you've turned into a confounded fool." Pinetop came back to the fire and seated himself upon the flour barrel in the corner.
"You'll be a scholar yet if this keeps up," replied Dan, slapping him upon the shoulder, as the mountaineer glanced up with a pleased and shining face. "Why, you mastered that first reader there in no time." "A powerful heap of larnin' has to pass through yo' head to git a leetle to stick thar," commented Pinetop, wrinkling his brows. "Air we goin' to have the big book agin to-night?"
"I must say it made me sick," admitted Dan, leaning his head in his hand. "I've always been a fool about the smell of blood; and it made me downright sick." "Wall, I ain't got much of a stomach for a fight myself," returned Pinetop, reflectively.
"Why, you've stood it like a Major, Pinetop," he remarked. Pinetop opened his eyes. "Stood what?" he drawled. "Why, this heat, this dust, this whole confounded march. I don't believe you've turned a hair, as Big Abel says." "Good Lord," said Pinetop. "I don't reckon you've ever ploughed up hill with a steer team." Without replying, Dan unstrapped his knapsack and threw it upon the roadside.
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