they'll

Even though everybody in this devils hole claims the wenches will die first, before theyll be a white mans darlin.

Theyll hang our heads up, and theyll burn the Silver Fleece and bootcher all hands, drifted in the far, slow cry of Mr. Scurlock.

Dont fill dishes so full as to spill them on your parents dress, or theyll be angry.

Theyll only follow up and bomb us out traverse by traverse till theres none of us left to bomb out.

Peace, Jane, dry up thy tears, theyll make his powder dankish.