top-knots wouldn't have been worth a brass farthing.
They would have been scalped before they could say Jack
Robinson."

"It was a hell of a risk," resumed another of the litter
men, "to give four men a chance of having their skull
pieces cracked open like so many egg-shells, and all to
get possession of a dead officer."

"And sure, you beast," remarked a different voice in a
tone of anger, "the dead body of the brave captain was
worth a dozen such rotten carcasses with all the life in
them. What matter would it be if ye had all been scalped?"
Then with a significant half glance to the rear, which
was brought up by their commander, on whose arm leaned
the slightly wounded Johnstone, "Take care the captain
doesn't hear ye prating after that fashion, Will Burford."

"By Jasus," said a good-humoured, quaint looking Irishman,
who had been fixing his eyes on the litter during this
pithy and characteristic colloquy; "it sames to me, my
boys, that ye have caught the wrong cow by the horns,
and that all your pains has been for nothing at all, at
all. By the holy pope, ye are all wrong; it's like bringing
salt butter to Cork, or coals to your Newcastle, as ye
call it. Who the divil ever heard of the officer wearing
ammunition shoes?"

The men all turned their gaze on that part of the vestment
of the corpse to which their attention had been directed