After skirmishin' a little the Yanks draws away an' leaves us alone on the field.

They earns the encomiums of my serjeant, though, before ever they decides to _vamos_.
"'Edson's been shot hard and frequent; thar's no chance for him.

He looks up at me, when we're bringin' him off, an' says: "'"Joe," an' he smiles an' squeezes my hand, while his tones is plenty feeble, "Joe, you notes don't you that while I ain't goin' back to Texas, I don't have to desert." "'That night we beds down our boy Captain in a sol'tary Mexican 'doby.
He's layin' on a pile of blankets clost by the door while the moon shines down an' makes things light as noonday.

He's been talkin' to me an' givin' me messages for his mother an' the rest of his outfit at Waco, an' I promises to carry 'em safe an' deliver 'em when I rides in ag'in on good old Texas.

Then he wants his mare brought up where he can pet her muzzle an' say _Adios_ to her.
"'"For, Joe," he says, "I'm doo to go at once now, an' my days is down to minutes." "'"The medicine man, Ed," I says, "tells me that you-all has hours to live." "'"But, Joe," he replies, "I knows.