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Doggone it, can't yuh git that log outa there nohow? Uh-h! A big old grunt and a big old heave uh-h! I'll tell the world in words uh one syllable, he's some stayer." "Tell a worl'!" chuckled Lovin Child, and pulled harder at the thing he wanted. "Hey! The kid's got hold of a piece of gunny sack or something. You look out, Bud, or he'll have all that chinkin' out.
But Bouchard had wasted two words. "Your name and regiment?" he asked. "Hugo Mallin, of the 128th," replied Hugo. "Uh-h!" Bouchard's pigeonhole memory had retained the name. "Charge mutiny under fire; anarchism!" he went on, chopping out the words as if they were chips from a piece of granite. "Well, you have not escaped trial by hiding."
But bimeby you gwine see him climm on his hawss an' ride up yondeh to whah de big steamboats comes in an' fotch dat li'l gal-child home; an' den: uck uh-h! look out, niggahs! dar ain't gwine be nuttin' on de top side dishyer yearth good ernough for li'l Missy. You watch what I done tol' you erbout dat, now!"
"I did not flatter myself that with one leg against a whole army I had much chance, sir!" Hugo replied respectfully. "Uh-h!" The hawk eyes flashed their disapproval of such controversial freedom of language from a private. Had he had his way he would have hanged Hugo to the nearest tree; for Bouchard had truly a mediæval soul.
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