human
Wastin' good cast-iron on the landscape, as usual, laughed Shorty, to encourage the boys.
gpt
I always wonder how the rebels pick out the fellers they make cannoneers of. When they git hold of a feller who can't shoot so's to hit anything less'n a Township set up edgewise, they put him in the artillery.
human
Mebbe they'll come closter next time,
gpt
Naah, they'll never come no closter, said Shorty, contemptuously.
human
They couldn't hit even the side o' the mountain if it wasn't in their way and no place else for the ball to go.
gpt
What makes you juke, if they can't hit nothing?
human
O, said Shorty composedly,