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Aces and a "face against an ace" were also favorite bets of The Rebel's, but for a smaller sum. During the first hour of my playing to show the luck of cards the queen won five consecutive times, once against a favorite at the conclusion of a deal. My judgment was to take up this bet, but Priest ordered otherwise, for it was one of his principles never to doubt a card as long as it won for you.
I wuz conscripted into the army, or I wouldn't be foutin' yo'uns. I won't fout no more, if yo'uns'll not put a spell on me. 'Deed I won't! I swar to God I wont!" And he raised his right hand in testimony. "Put a spell on you? Conjure you? What dumbed nonsense!" ejaculated Si, and then his eyes caught the rebel's fastened on the bottle in his hand, and a gleam of the meaning entered his mind.
Dixie and I are proud of her." The Littlest Rebel's chin went up, and she bravely choked back her sobs. If this was what her General wanted, this her General would have, though childhood's sobs are hard to check when a little heart is aching for the pain of those she loves. "Go now, darling," her father pleaded. "Go."
You love to lean on the freestone slab which lies over the bones of the Mathers, to read the epitaph of stout William Clark, "Despiser of Sorry Persons and little Actions," to stand by the stone grave of sturdy Daniel Malcolm and look upon the splintered slab that tells the old rebel's story, to kneel by the triple stone that says how the three Worthylakes, father, mother, and young daughter, died on the same day and lie buried there; a mystery; the subject of a moving ballad, by the late BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, as may be seen in his autobiography, which will explain the secret of the triple gravestone; though the old philosopher has made a mistake, unless the stone is wrong.
Lincoln has sometimes seemed to us over-cautious; that, while it has not scrupled, and wisely has not scrupled, to go behind the letter of the law to its spirit, in dealing with open abettors of treason in the Free States, because they were perverting private right to public wrong, it has been as scrupulous of meddling with a rebel's legal right in man, though that man were being used for a weapon or a tool against itself, as if to touch it were anathema.
As soon as they were fairly out of sight of the rest, the strongest of them Tom Williams snatched the Rebel's gun away from him, and the other two springing upon him as swift as wild cats, throttled him, so that he could not give the alarm. Still keeping a hand on his throat, they led him off some distance, and tied him to a sapling with strings made by tearing up one of their blouses.
He halts on a little knoll, wheels his horse to face us, and waves his hat to draw his companions to him. A tall, lank fellow in the next four to me who goes by the nickname of "'Leven Yards" aims his carbine at him, and, without checking his horse's pace, fires. The heavy Sharpe's bullet tears a gaping hole through the Rebel's heart.
He caught the rebel's bayonet on his musket-barrel and warded it off so completely that the rebel shot by him in the impetus of his own rush. As he passed Si delivered a stunning blow on the back of his head with his gun-barrel. "That zouave drill was a mighty good thing, after all," thought Si, as he turned from his prostrate foe to the others.
That's our rights and what our fathers pay school taxes for, and we want 'em." He stopped, looking less towards the schoolmistress than to his companions, for whom perhaps, after the schoolboy fashion, this attitude was taken. Mrs. Martin sat, quite white and self-contained, with her eyes fixed on the frayed rim of the rebel's straw hat which he still kept on his head. Then she said quietly:
He slid to the table and sprang lightly to the floor, facing his troopers with a smile, half-humorous, half in seeming disappointment, as he glanced at Virgie. "I'm afraid the little rebel's right again. He isn't there!" "Oh!" cried Virgie, then clapped her hands across her mouth, while the troopers slowly looked from her into the level eyes of their commanding officer.
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