eny time, an' never know who did it. Yer ain't been thar lately, I reckon? "
"No; not for over a year."
"Things has changed sum since then. Nobody lives ter hum eny more. It's sure hell in Green Briar these days—somebody is gettin' kilt every day er two. The cusses travel in gangs, murderin' an' burnin' from one end o' the county to the other." He spoke in an even drawling voice, with not the slightest show of emotion, as though telling an ordinary bit of news: "Damned if I know which outfit is the wus—the Yanks, or the Rebs."
"Which are you with?"
"Who, me!" He paused in his bolting of food, and gave vent to an unpleasant laugh. "I rather reckon it would puzzle the Lord Almighty ter find that out. I don't give a whoop fer neither of 'em. I'm fer ol' Jem Taylor, an' it keeps me tolor'ble busy tending ter his affairs, without botherin' 'bout no government."
"Then your name is Taylor?"
"I reckon it has been fer 'bout sixty years. Thars a slew o' Taylors over along Buffalo Crick, an' som' of 'em are Yanks, an' a parcel of 'em are Rebs, but they don't git ol' Jem ter take nary side. At that, I'm gittin' all the fightin' I hanker arter. Naturally, I'm a peaceful critter, if th' cusses let me alone."
