"They! What do yer mean? Wus thar anyone yere along with ther girl?"
Nichols' voice sounded as though he was being choked, his reply being gasped out.
"Don't do thet, Anse—my God! I ain't done nothing fer yer ter be mad at—I—I just couldn't help bein' whar I wus—let me 'lone a minute, an' I'll tell yer all 'bout it."
"Go on, then—who wus yere beside the girl when yer cum?"
"A Yankee leftenant, a cavalryman I reckon from ther yaller stripes on his legs."
"A Yank! Did yer hear the fellar's name?"
"Damn if I'm sure; he's a right good sized man, an' not bad lookin'. Pears to me, now I think of it, she called him Raymond."
There was a gasping sound as though Anse's hand had closed again heavily on the fellow's throat.
"Raymond! I reckon yer lyin' ter me, Parson. Yer heard tell o' thet feller over in camp, an' ther name stuck. 'Twont be healthy fer yer ter play no game yere."
"I ain't, Anse. Quit a chokin' me. I never heard tell o' no Yank named Raymond afore. Be thar one 'round yere?"
"Wall, thar was, but I don't reckon thar is now," doubtfully. "Last I heerd tell o' him he wus over
