“’When we goes into this skrimmage we jumps the Lincoln people somewhat onexpected.  They has their blankets an’ knapsacks on, an’ as they frames themse’fs up for the struggle they casts off this yere baggage, an’ thar it lays, a windrow of knapsacks, blankets an’ haversacks, mighty near a half mile in length across the plain.  As we-all rebs has been pushin’ the Yankees back a lot, this windrow is now to our r’ar, an’ I goes canterin’ along it on my mission to the far right.

“‘Without a word of warnin’ a Yank leaps up from where he’s been burrowin’ down among this plunder an’ snaps a Enfield rifle in my face.  I pulls my boss back so he’s almost settin’ on his hocks; an’ between us, gents, that onexpected sortie comes mighty near surprisin’ me plumb out of the saddle.  But the Enfield don’t go off none; an’ with that the Yank throws her down an’ starts to’ run.  He shorely does vamos with the velocity of jackrabbits!

“‘As soon as me an’ my hoss recovers our composure we gives chase.  Bein’ the pore Yank is afoot, I runs onto him in the first two hundred yards.  As I comes up, I’ve got my six-shooter in my hand.  I puts the muzzle on him, sort o’ p’intin’ between the shoulders for gen’ral results; but when it comes to onhookin’ my weepon I jest can’t turn the trick.  It’s too much like murder.  Meanwhile, the flyin’ Yank is stampedin’ along like he ain’t got a thing on his mind an’ never turnin’ his head.

“’I calls on him to surrender.  He makes a roode remark over his shoulder at this military manoover an’ pelts ahead all onabated.  Then I evolves a scheme to whack him on the head with my gun.  I pushes my hoss up ontil his nose is right by that No’thern party’s y’ear.  Steadyin’ myse’f, I makes a wallop at him an’ misses.  I invests so much soul in the blow that missin’ that a-way, I comes within’ a ace of clubs of goin’ off my hoss an’ onto my head.  An’ still that exasperatin’ Yank goes rackin’ along, an’ if anything some faster than before.  At that I begins to lose my temper ag’in.

“’I reorganises,—­for at the time I nearly makes the dive outen the stirrups, I pulls the hoss to a stop,—­an’ once more takes up the pursoot of my locoed prey.  He’s a pris’ner fair enough, only he’s too obstinate to admit it.  As I closes on him ag’in, I starts for the second time to drill him, but I can’t make the landin’.  I’m too young; my heart ain’t hard enough; I rides along by him for a bit an’ for the second time su’gests that he surrender.  The Yank ignores me; he keeps on runnin’.

“’Which sech conduct baffles me!  It’s absolootely ag’in military law.  By every roole of the game that Yank’s my captive; but defyin’ restraint he goes caperin’ on like he’s free.

“’As I gallops along about four foot to his r’ar I confess I begins to feel a heap he’pless about him.  I’m too tender to shoot, an’ he won’t stop, an’ thar we be.