C. S. A.
naps. And if I trod on a twig and it broke, I flew around with my carbine cocked, ready to murder the twig. I began to wish the watching was done with. But these very things showed us the necessity for it.
But the worst of it was that I discovered—and Jon, too, for that matter—that we weren't the only ones out at night with guns, watching. There was a regular ring about the place we couldn't break through. Every now and then some one would challenge us and turn us back. I don't know whether or not they knew us, but we never knew them, and they didn't seem like neighbors. Jon says they know us and are keeping us under watch. He says that one night some one pulled his hat up to see who he was, and seemed disappointed.
"Of course, they all know you, daddy," he laughs.
"Why so?" asks I.
"Because of your language," laughs he again.
"But I never talk."
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