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Updated: June 29, 2025
Two feet below the surface we struck the edge of the lowest log, and then it was Poulsson who got into the hole with his hunting knife perspiring, muttering to himself, working as one possessed with a fury, while we scraped out the dirt from under him.
Is it America?" demanded Poulsson, while the others looked on, some laughing, some serious. "And vich citizen are you since you are ours? You vill please to give me one carrot of tobacco." And he thrust the scrip under the clerk's nose. The clerk stared at the uneven lettering on the scrip with disdain. "Money," he exclaimed scornfully, "she is not money.
Is it King David ye mane?" There was a roar of laughter, and this was my introduction to Terence McCann and Swein Poulsson. The fort being crowded, we were put into a cabin with Terence and Cowan and Cowan's wife a tall, gaunt woman with a sharp tongue and a kind heart and her four brats, "All hugemsmug together," as Cowan said.
Cowan gave me the one look, swore a mighty oath, and leaping to the port shouted to Ray in a thundering voice what we were doing. "Dig!" roared Cowan. "Dig, for the love of God, for he can't hear me." The three of us set to work with all our might, Poulsson making great holes in the ground at every stroke, Polly Ann scraping at the dirt with the gourd.
Cowan and Mrs. Harrod were standing alone. For there was little of fear in those three. "Shucks!" said Mrs. Cowan, "I reckon it's that Jim Ray shooting at a mark," and she began to pick nettles again. "Vimmen is a shy critter," remarked Swein Poulsson, coming up. I had a shrewd notion that he had run with the others. "Wimmen!" Mrs. Cowan fairly roared. "Wimmen!
A fortnight of more inactivity followed, and then we ventured out into the fields once more. But I went with the guard this time, not with the women, thanks to a whim the men had for humoring me. "Arrah, and beant he a man all but two feet," said Terence, "wid more brain than me an' Bill Cowan and Poulsson togither? 'Tis a fox's nose Davy has for the divils, Bill.
Two feet below the surface we struck the edge of the lowest log, and then it was Poulsson who got into the hole with his hunting knife perspiring, muttering to himself, working as one possessed with a fury, while we scraped out the dirt from under him.
Cowan gave me the one look, swore a mighty oath, and leaping to the port shouted to Ray in a thundering voice what we were doing. "Dig!" roared Cowan. "Dig, for the love of God, for he can't hear me." The three of us set to work with all our might, Poulsson making great holes in the ground at every stroke, Polly Ann scraping at the dirt with the gourd.
"Near the Crab Orchard, and the lad killed and sculped a six-foot brave." "The Saints save us! And what'll be his name?" "Davy," said my friend. "Is it Davy? Sure his namesake killed a giant, too." "And is he come along, also?" said another. His shy blue eyes and stiff blond hair gave him a strange appearance in a hunting shirt. "Hist to him! Who will ye be talkin' about, Poulsson?
I have seen brave men and cowards since, and I am as far as ever from distinguishing them. Before we knew it Poulsson was in the hole once more had wriggled out of it on the other side, and was squirming in a hail of bullets towards Ray. After it came James Ray himself, and lastly Poulsson, and a great shout went out from the loopholes and was taken up by the women in the common.
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