Then we tied the horse, and took our prisoner on foot up to the camp.
“Now, colonel,” I says to him, “we’re after the ransom, me and my partner; and no harm will come to you if the King of Mor—if your friends send up the dust. In the mean time we are gentlemen the same as you. And if you give us your word not to try to escape, the freedom of the camp is yours.”
“I give you my word,” says the colonel.
“All right,” says I; ‘‘and now it’s eleven o’clock, and me and Mr. Polk will proceed to inoculate the occasion with a few well-timed trivialities in the line of grub.”
“Thank you,” says the colonel; “‘I believe I could relish a slice of bacon and a plate of hominy.”
“But you won’t,” says I emphatic. ‘‘Not in this camp. We soar in higher regions than them occupied by your celebrated but repulsive dish.”
While the colonel read his paper, me and Caligula took off our coats and went in for a little luncheon de luxe just to show him. Caligula was a fine cook of the Western brand. He could toast a buffalo or fricassee a couple of steers as easy as a woman could make a cup of tea. He was gifted in the way of knocking together edibles when haste and muscle and quantity was to be considered. He held the record west
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