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Updated: May 9, 2025
He marched in front of them, and they followed him for very shame, now that he had broken their paralysis. "Halt! Port-arms! Charge bayonets!" He was peering at something in the dark, something that chuckled and smelled horrible, and sat unusually still for anything that lived. "Numbers One, Two, Three left wheel forward! Halt! Numbers Seven, Eight, Nine right wheel forward! Halt!"
I'll lave me carbine here awhile." He stepped clear of the brush and, revolver in hand, advanced softly upon the low, one-story, log-built dwelling. Yorke followed a few steps in his rear, with his carbine held in readiness at the "port-arms." Reaching the door, the sergeant rapped upon it sharply. There was no response from within, but the light vanished on the instant.
But I did, and lucky too. A while Case stood with the Winchester at the port-arms; then he gave a little laugh to himself, and stepped round the ferns. “Laugh!” thought I. “If you had the wit of a louse you would be praying!”
But I did, and lucky too. A while Case stood with the Winchester at the port-arms; then he gave a little laugh to himself and stepped round the ferns. "Laugh!" thought I. "If you had the wit of a louse you would be praying!"
Hoffman's brocade shawl, her Sunday hat tilted rakishly on one side, and with his tail at "port-arms" over his left shoulder. He blinked lazily at the foe and then his head tilted forward under Mrs. Hoffman's hat. "Saints presarve us!" gasped Mrs. Rafferty, crossing herself. "The baste is drunk!" Yes, Jocko was undeniably tipsy.
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