But they hunt the leather-caps as we hunt quail--scare up a company, fire, and then track down the scattered." "Oh; irregulars." "No, sir, not skinners.

They farm it until the British plague them beyond endurance.

Then," he added significantly, "they go a-hunting with their dogs." I had already turned to retrace my steps when it occurred to me that perhaps an inquiry of this lad might not be misunderstood.
So I walked up to his horse and stood caressing the sorry animal while I described to him the wench I was seeking.
"Yes, sir," he said seriously, "that's the one the boys are ever plaguing to make her rage." "Do you know her ?" "By sight, yes, sir." "She is one of the camp followers, I take it," said I carelessly.
"I don't know.

The boys are ever plaguing her.

She came from the North they say.