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"Of course, our rijimint's goin' too goin' to have the advance," Si said to Shorty, more than anything else to quiet a little disturbing fear that would creep in. "They wouldn't leave it behind to guard one o' these mud-piles they call forts, would they?" "They never have yit," answered Shorty, hopefully. "They say old Sherman is as smart as they make 'em.
At this retort the Virginian permitted himself to laugh in audible sympathy. "Sprung," continued Balaam, with a sigh. "Whirling round short when his bones were soft did that. Yes." "Sprung!" Shorty said, with a bark of indignation. "Come on, Pede; you and me'll spring for town." He caught the horn of the saddle, and as he swung into place the horse rushed away with him.
The desire for it was so overmastering that they could not drive their weighted legs forward. A man on horseback appeared and rode up to Dave and Shorty. The man was Bob Hart. The red eyes in his blackened face were sunken and his coat hung on him in crisped shreds. He looked down at the bodies lying side by side. His face worked, but he made no verbal comment. "We piled into a cave.
Bigelow came in at 10 o'clock he found Shorty at the head of 12 good men, all armed and equipped, and eager for the service. "In talking with the Secret Service men," explained the Lieutenant, "they suggested that it would be well to have one good man, a stranger, dressed in citizen's clothes butternut jeans, if possible to go ahead at times and reconnoiter.
He could see the green lantern of Von Schroeder, and, just below it, the red flare that marked his own team. Two men were guarding Schroeder's dogs, with short clubs interposed between them and the trail. "Come on, you Smoke! Come on, you Smoke!" he could hear Shorty calling anxiously. "Coming!" he gasped.
The brigade to which the 200th Ind. belonged was to march in the rear of the long procession that day. This was lucky for Si, as it gave him an hour or two more than he would otherwise have had to get hitched up. But all the same he thought he would begin early, so as to be on hand with his team in good time. "Want any help?" asked Shorty. "No," said Si; "I can hitch 'em up slick's a whistle.
The 200th Ind. was ordered to hold its place, and be ready for a charge upon the hill when it received orders. The brigade's battery was rushed up to a hill in the rear, and opened a fire on the rebel guns. The other regiments were deployed to the right and left to outflank the rebel position. Si and Shorty and the rest of Co.
I've stood for a heap from you. I've let yore ugly temper ride me. When you killed Tim Harrigan you got me in bad. Not the first time either. But I'm damned if I'll ride with a coyote low-down enough to burn the range." "No?" "No." From the desk came the sharp angry bark of a revolver. Shorty felt his hat lift as a bullet tore through the rim.
It's not the other hundred thousand who matter at the moment it's the pawn himself who wonders, and laughs, and sings, and prays. . . . Shorty, smoking his pipe imperturbably, was feeling the edge of his own particular weapon, with critical finger, and every now and then stealing a look at the boy beside him.
Nothing more was needed for the crowd that had followed up the squad, anticipating a raid. Bottles, demijohns and kegs were smashed, the cigars and tobacco snatched up, and the place thoroughly wrecked in a few minutes. Shorty contemplated the ruin from across the street, and strolled back to Headquarters, serenely conscious of having put in a part of the day to good advantage.
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