I'll make me one here.

Don't move the curtain." They put their eyes to the holes and were still.

The quick, rhythmic, scuffling tread of feet drew nearer, and a company of armed men marched by with bayonets fixed.

The captain, a handsome, soldierly young fellow, glanced keenly from right to left at the houses along the line of march.
"We're all right," said the Bishop, in low tones.

"The cusses have been here once--unless they happened to see us.