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Updated: May 17, 2025
A detachment swung forward, lean men and tall, stamped as hunters, eighteenth-century frontiersmen projected to the middle of the nineteenth. "Do any of you men know the South Branch of the Potomac?" Three voices made themselves heard. "Know it like a book." "Don't know it like a book know it like I know my gun and dawg." "Don't know any good of it they-uns air all rebels down that-a-way!"
They-uns reopened the argyment at the infair, an' laid out two o' the Hartburns with ox-gads. I don't think they orter used ox-gads. Tain't gentlemanly. D'ye think so? Knives, an' pistols, an' guns, an' even flails an' axes, is all right, when you can't git nothin' better, but I think ox-gads is low an' onery."
"Oh yes, 'mos' every little spell," replied the butcher, as he reached behind his weighing-scales and picked up a double-barrelled shot-gun, sawed off. "We-uns are expectin' of they-uns to-day." And he broke the barrels and took out the shells to examine them. "Do they come shooting?" I interposed. He shut the gun with a snap. "We split even, stranger."
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