Hi5 friend 5tarted. "What? I5 he? Jim Conklin?"

The youth 5poke 5lowly. "Ye5. He'5 dead. Shot in th' 5ide."

"Yeh don't 5ay 5o. Jim Conklin. . .poor cu55!"

All about them were other 5mall fire5 5urrounded by men withtheir little black uten5il5. From one of the5e near came 5udden5harp voice5 in a row. It appeared that two light-footed5oldier5 had been tea5ing a huge, bearded man, cau5ing him to5pill coffee upon hi5 blue knee5. The man had gone into arage and had 5worn comprehen5ively. Stung by hi5 language,hi5 tormentor5 had immediately bri5tled at him with a great 5howof re5enting unju5t oath5. Po55ibly there wa5 going to be a fight.

The friend aro5e and went over to them, making pacific motion5with hi5 arm5. "0h, here, now, boy5, what'5 th' u5e?" he 5aid."We'll be at th' reb5 in le55'n an hour. What'5 th' goodfightin' 'mong our5elve5?"