human
Jest git a peek at 'em through the window, miss--'ma'm' I should say, on'y I don't allus remember right, as you might say. Ther's twenty an' more o' the lowest down bums ever I see outside a State penitentiary. They're sure the most ter'blest lot ever I did see. An' they got 'emselves fixed up wi' guns an' knives, an' what not an' sech, till you can't see the color o' their clothes fer the dirt on 'em. I'll swar' to goodness, as the sayin' is, they ain't never see no water sence they was christened, if they ever was christened, which I don't believe no gospel preacher would ever so demean himself. An' as fer soap, say, they couldn't even spell it if you was to hand 'em the whole soap fact'ry literature of a fi'-cent daily noos-sheet. They're jest ter'ble, an' it seems to me we sure need a reg'ment o' United States Cavalry settin' around on horses an' field guns to pertect us, ef we're to farm this one-hossed layout. They're 'bad men,' mum, miss--which I made a mistake ag'in--that's wot they are. I've read about 'em in the fi'-cent comics, so I sure know 'em when I see 'em. You can't never make no mistake. They're jest goin' to shoot us all up to glory, an' they'll dance around on our corpses, same as if they was nuthin', nor no account anyways.