The Taney County republican. (Forsyth, Mo.) 1895-1992, 1909-02-04

| cooler, you bet. At San Wan he was
a wonder.
We was lyin' in the long grass,
eatin' of our hearts, waitin' for the
word to pay our respecks to the Lit
| tie Kings sogers, an the bullets wa
| singin', singin'. whistlin' an whistlin,
like hundred fiddles playin' top notes
in wicked spasms. McNutt was crawl
| in in front of Pluribus so S to be
bullet-pro for him, doin it gradual
so the kid wouldn't git on. Curiou5
how Billy cottoned to the lad Plur.
bus was on his back, starin' up into
the sky-'twas hotter an bluer than
coolin steel-an he laughed.
Billy" says he, them bullets sound
like fly under sheet of paper-mad
an sassy
Yep" says Billy, fingerin' his cut
off, an they stings wusser'n hor-
net; the fellers are dyin too; potted
like woodchucks''
Shut up" says the kid, thinkin'
'The band or them buzzards'll take
care of EN-. You tend to your knitting.
He was keener for fair, Pluribus,
rookie under fire, too.
Mebbe it's funny, but don't remem
Der much about the fightin' after we
got to work. 'Tain't right to keep
! men under a nasty fire, an sharp
shooters a-baggin' everything blue in
sight, without showin' what the range
practice has done for them Men
what lose their mess waitin' on their
stummicks are wasted, sort of wasted
anyhow; they don't get chanst tC
die with their blood up, when they
don't care if they does die-kind OF
locoed; only they never fergits where
the flag is. Bein' killed while you're
reservin' fire for half a day is bad
for the nerves.
But finally they give us go. Twas
a tidy sprint while it lasted, Billy
an Pluribus clost together, pumpin
lead at sunburnt mud wall. There
want much yellin' till We were at
the top, an the yaller rag was yanked
down an Glory was fioatin' over free
Cuby. We yelled then. Yes, an blame If
the burnin' tears could help COMM
just for joy at seem it there, an be-
in alive to see it. That's what.
There was some as got their ever
lastfn' discharge-honorable some got
a big go at servin' their country in
hospitals gittin' we'll: some made
crutcheS out O. crooked sticks, an
stayed away from the Sawbonns to
fight for grub; an there want n
sorrer when the bloody Hidagoes hung
out a shirt on their back porch. an
quit the game.
Now, in course of knockin' round
barracks for 20 year, in one regiment
an another, I've seen some curious
things. Chasin' Indian devils over al
kali plains an in the Bad Lands, an
maxim little maps of Alasky, puts
man on sentry-go over more'n ten
acre lot, an interjuces curious folks;
but Pluribus beat the hull outfit to
a stahdstill.
After Pecos Bill Shafter took a
pasear down to the village, an raised
our flag over the palace, there want
nothin' to do but swap baccy, an git
the fever, which last me an Billy cid;
not bad but We didn't notice things
for a day or two. Then we saw Pi,iri-
bus was goin The hustle an ruSh
he sort of forgot he had home an
mother, but it took him sudden. an
that kid was dyin because he couldn't
git up an dust for his ma. Home
sick! Dyin for his mother jes+ as GER
tain as if he was mortal wo'' aided
IF Pluribus would only cry, says
Billy, bein' a great lad for the vim
min, ltd bring him right, wimmin
does; but he sets there with his eyes
big an shiny-like Micky Hogan 5
woman when they told her he had
cashed in. Gawd, it's wicked"
BILLY" says /, 1.-The kid'li never see
his home again. if he don't git there
quick
"Wot yer givin' me?" says he.
"Struth," says l.
"Dyin'?" says McNutt, scared an
whisp'rin' like folks do in a room with
corpse.
yep; sure thing. He's just a-fad-
in out like snow before a Montana
chinook"
The O. M. department started us
back to the states on through packet
from hell. an the Old Boy hisself was
| at the hellum.
Down in the stif1in' hold they put
us; with a few lights, dim an faint
in the fog of fever breath. Bunks in
| tiers. with the GRIMM ghost of what
| had been a soger in every one. 1t
was a whole graveyard, stirrin' at the
| last reveille. On deck it was as bad,
| or worse. How could fellers sleep
, with empty bellies an their blood on
| fire, an listenin' to men In the hos
| pital shriekin an dyin'-every one in
his own terrible way? No two men
| ever die alike. Some just quit breath
in; some prayed; some cursed; some
| Just babbled with their folks, laughin'
an talkin', pattin' hands an sayin' ba-
| by talk. Crazy! We was all kind OF