12th June: The noose for the long-eared

"That warn't quite what I said," Cotton said, wrapping his hands around his mug of tea. "You don't have to be scared of me. I ain't goin' to do anythin' to you, honest I ain't. Ain't goin' to thump you, neither."

At least the lad was smiling, which was much better than the alternative - whatever the alternative was.

"Ain't afraid of a thumpin'." The boy looked askance at the other rifleman. He had not noticed that his mug had been brought forth with the intention to drink from it and now rested, quite empty in his palms. His cheeks coloured a little at the embarrassment though he did not know whether Cotton had noticed or not.

"..Wot's..um...wot's the best time you think, fer catchin' a rabbit?" He looked shy asking that.

"Early mornin' or late evenin' - you want to find a rabbit run an' set that up about four inches off the ground, so a rabbit'll run through it an' get caught. Use a couple of sticks so's it won't spin, an' you'll catch yourself a good rabbit supper."

He pulled his tea-leaves out again. "Give your mug here, then."

"a'right. So tomorrow's if we's staying.. or today late in t' evening." He would try it. He knew he did not need to return the favour just yet to the former marine offering his services. But he might try and see how many rabbits he could catch so that he was ready for when he did.

He looked startled again as Cotton took his tea-leaves out. "Ah.. you don' need ter. " He spoke hastly. He would have loved tea, but he didn't want to dip in Cotton's stash and have him have less of it!

"It's best done when you know we'm goin to be in one place for a couple of nights," Cotton answered, and rolled his eyes. "C'mon, stop argufyin', do, an' give it over."

"Couse it's a greater chance a rabbit will choose me noose ter get caught in?" He asked and just caught the roll with the corner of his eyes. He looked flustered but grateful when he held his hand out. He still murmured a timid. "S' really dun' have to, bu'...thanks." He was quite looking forward to some tea.

"No, 'cause that's when the rabbits are out. You need to find yourself a rabbit run to set it up - they'm easier to see in high grass - just look for a sort of path that looks like it's used by rabbits or summat that size, an' set it up there."

He added some tea-leaves to Pye's mug. "There. An' if you don't stop all-on acting scared o' me, I will thump you. Might put some sense in your head."

"I'll look. An'..me firs' one I bring to ye." His second was for the former marine, his third finally for himself, or his partner. Well, if he got as successful they could have a few more rabbits in camp to eat only..

"Cotton, will you accompany me ter set t' trap?.. I don't want anybody to think I was strayin' from camp on a bad thought." The small threat brought a smile to his face. Cotton was silly. Threatening someone to thump him for looking scared. It made no sense! "I'll try." He answered. "You'm got a strong fist."

Pye seemed as eager to please as ever. He wasn't a bad lad, really - he'd just done some very ill-advised things.

"Aye, I'll do that." He grinned and held up his hand, palm towards Pye, fingers spread. "You try pushin' against me hand, see how strong you are."

Pye raised the hand with which he would fire first then contemplated the wisdom of pushing against Cotton's with that. Well, it was not exactly pushing with the fingers but his palm. He could try it.

He looked at Cotton and his smile looked much more genuine. "I'll try." His hand pressed against Cotton's, his lower lip bit on in concentration. He was somewhat shy to begin with. Not because of Cotton this time, but more because his fingers could choose to.. hurt too. He shifted his efforts all towards his palm, and then got ready to push.

Cotton's eyes widened a little as he realised which hand Pye was going to use. If he wanted to, he could hurt the lad rather a lot - his fingers were still mending.

He didn't want, and just held his arm steady. "Go on, then, push against me hand," he said. "I ain't goin' to hurt you. I swear."

Pye paused, nodded in the affirmative and then pushed. The angle at which he pushed was such that the pressure centered mostly on his palm, and very little - almost none - on his fingers.

He steadily increased the pressure rather than giving Cotton a sudden shove, his brows furrowed in the concentration. Cotton could have squeezed his fingers just then. He would not have needed much force to render him a whimpering ball of rifleman. He could have snapped them easily, and Pye would not be quick enough to pull away.

Cotton was content just to let Pye push against his hand, a show of strength.

"Bin workin' since I was a kid," he said. "Farmwork, see. Ploughin', an' mowin' an' reapin' - all sorts of work." Which would explain his tough, work-hardened hands - and the strength in his arms. "Need to be pretty strong to hoist hay all day durin' the haymakin' time, see."

"Said you was strong." He said smiling. "I needed ter be more agile n' strong. Wos' climbin' chimneys like. You need to be strong but.. not bulk strong like fer farmwork. Jus' enough ter hoist yeself or such." He looked flustered at revealing that. "Mus'a been a hard life out in t' field." He murmured, and kept on with the pressure. Cotton was stronger, there was no doubt about that. But then he had expected that.

"No harder'n bein' in the army, I don't think," Cotton said and shrugged. "I'm used to bein' outside all day - though I never slept outside till I had to leave home. That's not so much fun, doin' it for the first time, on your own."

He chuckled. "You should've joined the Sweeps - the 95th. You'd've fit right in with them, if you used to be a sweep's lad." And being a chimney sweep was no sort of a life, that wasn't, in Cotton's opinion.

"You didn' sleep outside 'fore t' army? How did you feel, when yer tried it firs' time , like?" He blinked and arched a brow when the 95th were suggested. He honestly did not know much about Sharpe except that their sergeant had loathed him and did actually make that very well known. He liked his own captain very much better, and if what he heard was correct, unlike Vickery, Sharpe had not been noble born.

"Why, is their whole regimen' made out o' former chimney sweeps?" He asked bemused. He could not imagine Burke being one as a child.

"It was cold an' stony, which it has bin ever since." He had felt horribly homesick, but knowing that he couldn't go home, he'd had to learn to deal with that.

He laughed. "No, it's their facin's, see." He indicated his own red cuff and collar with his free hand. "Black as soot, their facin's are, an' their equipment's the same. Like ourn." He indicated his rifle, with its browned barrel and black leather sling.

"We gets called Jaggers by folks as can't say Jäger. Your old lot's the Havercakes." He shrugged. "I think most every regiment in the Army has its own nickname."

"Oh. They've got black facings and us our called Jaggers couse.. we've got so many Germans?" That made more sense than thinking that the 95th tried to get all former sweeps to join their ranks. He was quite glad that that line of work was no longer a part of his life.

He grinned, seeing Cotton laugh again. Much better than him frowning! "Jägers.. that means,...it means.." He looked thoughtful, and his distraction showed as he eased up on the pressure. ".. hunters?"

"Somethin' like that." He shrugged. "I s'pose it does, though folks gen'rally say 'Jägers' when they mean Riflemen. Reckon the two are close enough that it could be either one."

He wrapped his hands around his tin mug. "What else can you 'member from what I told you yesterday, then?" he asked.

"We're hunters....we hunt rabbits and Frogs." Pye answered. "I think it ..fits us well." He tried to sound serious and look the part, but failed. He averted his gaze to his mug waiting to be filled with water as it was with leaf. He cursed himself, excused himself quickly to fill it up and then to place it to his left. All the while he was thinking, wanting to impress Cotton with what he would say.

"Ein Gewehr." He said first and pointed towards Cotton's rifle. "Du hast ein." He thought that since he had said it first he might not need to repeat it a second time. "An'..though him's not here...Vickery ist der Hauptmann." He looked at Cotton awaiting his verdict. He did his best to try sound like how Cotton had said it.

Cotton chuckled. "Aye, sounds about right. Sehr gut, even. Du hast einen Küken." He thought for a moment and grinned. "Here's another one for you. Wo ist das Küken?"

"Wo?.." He hesitated for a few moments trying to guess what the question was, as he recognised it as such. He knew what a Kűken was and grinned proudly at that, and at the compliment he felt Cotton had just given him.

"....Kűken ist.....ist.. here?" And that here could well have been taken for hier although Pye did not know that. Did he guess correctly though? He pointed to his haversack where the little thing chirped as if in answer to their call.

"Told you you'd pick it up easy enough," Cotton said. "You ought to let her run around a bit, though. It's not good for birds to be cooped up all the time like that."

"A'right." Truth be told, Pye had been rather weary of letting his chick out all that much recently. He was afraid that some of the riflemen might decide to hurt it. True, especially the Palmers seemed like a pair dangerous enough to the innocent creature. But with Cotton there and permitting he felt that the chick would not come in harm's way.

So, reaching in he gently picked her up and then placed her on the ground. The chick looked about, spotted Cotton and ran right up to him. She did not appear to be hostile however and rather greeted him with a happy salvo of chirps and clucks.

"I'm trying ter learn now, so that I can understand and I can mebbe speak more n' me English. I think it might come to be useful fer us..and the German certainly fer me too. ..Cotton, do yer have some time ter leave this here?"

"Hello, you," Cotton said to the chick. It certainly seemed happy enough to see him. He glanced up at the sky. "Reckon we can go an' set your snare, aye. You'll have to wait while I give the Captain his sword back, though."

He offered the chick a finger to investigate.