WAR
"Come, then," says Jon, hurrying me, as if he had decided it and a load was off his mind.
"All right," says I. "If we can't enlist ourselves, we can whoop it up so's maybe the other fellows'll go. But you can't raise no whole Union company round here for a million dollars."
"Yes, that's necessary, too," says Jon. "Our presence there will do good. Come!"
"But I'll be on hand to discourage you—yes, and lam you, if it goes too far."
"Daddy," smiles Jon, "it will go as far as the front! You don't know the news about here. There's been a change."
"Shall we take the guns?" says I.
"No," says Jon, "we'll only make trouble with 'em and be tempted to shoot. The time is not yet—to shoot."
But we hadn't gone far before a man with a gun steps out in the road and says:
"Halt, Lucas Mallory!"
"There," says I to Jon, "it's war already; that's what comes of not taking our guns along. I could get him easy while he's bothering you."
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