"Thar, or tharabouts."
"But, man, there were only thirty-five men I counted, and there are five hundred Yanks in the town."
His eyes shifted their gaze from the face of the girl to mine. They were narrow cat eyes, cruel and cunning.
"I reckon I ain't seen ol' Harwood's gal afore in maybe five year," he said slowly, "but she has sure growed up fine. Anse took after marryin' her furst jist ter spite Harwood, but since he seed her a while back he's sorter took a notion thet he wants her hisself. I reckon I don't blame him. Thet's why he wouldn't wait, but set out ternight. No, I don't reckon, young fellar, it's no particular risk. Yer a sojer an' don't jest understand how we fight out yere in the mountings. We jest strike quick, an' then git away. 'Tain't so much of a trick Anse is a playing at over at Lewisburg. Sure thar's five hundred Yanks thar; an' if thar wus five thousand it wouldn't make no great difference the way the guard is sot. The whol' blame caboodle is camped in the courthouse yard, an' the only picket is at the main ford o' the Green Briar. Yer never saw nobody, did yer, gittin' out yere?"
"No," I admitted, realizing his intimate knowledge. "The camp is poorly protected."
