But here, in the war, you could only shoot at the Yanks, If you shot other folks, they found out about it and shot you, Just like you was a spyer or something mean Instead of a soldier. There wasn’t no sense to it, “Teach him to steal my girl⁠—if I had him home, Back in the mountains⁠—I told her straight the last time, You be a good girl, Soph, and I’ll buy you a dress⁠— We can fix the cabin up fine⁠—and if we have kids We’ll get ourselves married. Couldn’t talk fairer than that, And she’s a good girl⁠—but women’s easy to change⁠— God-damn peddler, givin’ her Richmond trash, And we-uns movin’ away to scrimmage the Yanks Before I git a chance to see her agin And find out if she’s been good⁠—He’ll come back this way, Drivin’ his mules⁠—plumb easy to lay for him, But they’d catch me, shore.” His mouth had a bitter twist, His slow mind grubbed for a plan to settle his doubts. At last he dropped his stone with a joyous whoop.