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Updated: June 23, 2025
Jim wouldn't let me go, but drew me with him, our arms interlaced, to the tower end of the room where the hobby-horse he had once rescued from fire endlessly pranced. "This used to be my bank, when I was a little chap," he said. "Like a magpie, I always hid the things I valued most in a hole I made under the third smudge to the left, on Spot Cash's breast.
Had Bud walked down drunk to Cash's camp, that evening when they first met, he might have received a little food doled out to him grudgingly, but he assuredly would not have slept in Cash's bed that night. That he tolerated drunkenness in Bud now would have been rather surprising to any one who knew Cash well.
"I was just starting out to see what had become of you," he added, his voice carrying the full weight of reproach that the words only hinted at. "Well, get an eyeful, if that's what you come for. I'm here and lookin's cheap." Bud's anger flared at the disapproval he read in Cash's eyes, his voice, the set of his lips. But Cash did not take the challenge.
He was out of doors, and he was hedged about by no rules or petty restrictions. He liked Cash Markham and he liked Pete, his saddle horse, and he was fond of Daddy who was still paying the penalty of seeking too carelessly for shade and, according to Cash's record, "getting it in his mouth, tongue, feet & all over body."
As if that were not sufficiently exasperating, he gave absolutely no sign of being conscious of the frying pan any more than he was conscious of Bud. He did not overdo it by whistling, or even humming a tune which would have given Bud an excuse to say something almost as mean as his mood. Abstractedness rode upon Cash's lined brow. Placid meditation shone forth from his keen old blue-gray eyes.
Satisfied of the safe arrival of Kirby Smith, and ordering him up, with Elzey's Brigade, Johnston directs Kershaw's 2nd and Cash's 8th South Carolina Regiments, which have just come up, with Kemper's Battery, from Bonham's Brigade, to strengthen the Rebel left, against the attempt which we are still making to reach around it, about the Sudley road, to take it in reverse.
He did it, faithfully enough but in a fashion of his own. First he read back a few pages to get the hang of the thing. Then he shook down Cash's fountain pen, that dried quickly in that heat. Then he read another page as a model, and wrote: June 19. Mosquitoes last night was worse than the heat and that was worse than Gila Bend's great white way. Hunted up the burros.
The first regiments so formed were: First, Gregg's; Second, Kershaw's; Third, Williams'; Fourth, Sloan's; Fifth, Jenkins'; Sixth, Rion's; Seventh, Bacon's: Eighth, Cash's; Ninth, Blanding's; besides a regiment of regulars and some artillery and cavalry companies. There existed a nominal militia in the State, and numbered by battalions and regiments.
He was investigating them as he had investigated the line, with fingers and with pink tongue, like a puppy. From the lowest buckle he went on to the top one, where Cash's khaki trousers were tucked inside with a deep fold on top. Lovin Child's small forefinger went sliding up in the mysterious recesses of the fold until they reached the flat surface of the knee.
Cash rushed in and snatched the child from her. "Here! What you doing to that kid? You're scaring him to death and you've got no right!" "I have got a right! I have too got a right!" Marie was clawing like a wildcat at Cash's grimy hands. "He's my baby! He's mine! You ought to be hung for stealing him away from me. Let go he's mine, I tell you. Lovin! Lovin Child! Don't you know Marie?
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