Trooper Tales — page 29: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Recruit in the Black Cavalry. 21 heard him. Ah knowed he wah a game chickum ’cos he dun crowed in de night time. You bring him heah to a-me. I wants dat lil’ game chickum. He dun make me lose de onliest chance in dis niggah’s life.” The little game one was tethered by one leg in front of the quarters of the disgraced Sadie. The two talked to each other, while the mutual friend was absent for a handful of grain. “Whah foh yoh dun call to me in de night time, when yoh knows Ah mustn’t leab a-camp?” The game one talked back spitefully. His beady black eyes sparkled with pure wickedness, and he squared off in splendid fighting form when the prisoner thrust-his heavy boot within the circle of the tether. The bird had thick, stocky legs, and gaffs hard as crystal. His body feathers were glossy black, and his muscular neck had copper-hued trimmings. Even for a Spanish chicken, the game one was a fancy article. “Ah mos’ cert’ny los’ mah nerve when Ah heard yoh callin’ to me up in de hills las’ ebenin’. Ah sure knowed you had some lil’ sisters up dar. You ought to be a mos’ broken-hearted lil’ chickum foh dis a-poh niggah. Ah hopes de whole Spanish army and barb wires comes aheah when de odah troops is dun gone. Yoh and me, an’ dose Bay Hoss niggahs will dun take de island bah ahselves. . . . What yoh dun scoldin’ about, mah lil’ game chickum ?”’ The hot, brown hills were darkening again. Over in the low southeast, the crescent shaving of a moon paled CONMIE HOOKS (EC)