“Stop a minute, stranger,” said one; then lowering his voice to a
confidential, but strictly audible tone: “What are you offering for?”
continued he.
I assured him I was not a candidate for anything—that I had
accidentally fallen in with Billy Curlew, who begged me to come with him
to the shooting-match; and as it lay right on my road, I had stopped.
“Oh,” said he, with a conciliatory nod, “if you’re up for anything, you
needn’t be mealy-mouthed about it, ’fore us boys; for we’ll all go in
for you here, up to the handle.”
“Yes,” said Billy, “dang old Roper, if we don’t go our deaths for you,
no matter who offers. If ever you come out for anything, Lyman, just let
the boys of Upper Hogthief know it, and they’ll go for you, to the hilt,
against creation, tit or no tit, that’s _tatur_.”