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Updated: May 11, 2025
"I'm anxious to see if we can't make another Mission Ridge over there at Buzzard Roost, and run them fellers clean back to the Gulf of Mexico. But, great Jehosephat, won't there be a Spring freshet when all them men and horses and cattle break camp and start out over the country."
"Great Jehosephat," said Shorty, "if it ain't old Billings, masqueradin' in his Sons o' Malty rig." He made another leap or two, clapped his hand on Billings's shoulder, and shoved the muzzle of his revolver against the mask and demanded: "Halt and surrender, you barrel-headed, splayfooted son of a sardine. Come along with me, or I'll blow that whole earthquake rig offen you."
"Great Jehosephat! Maria!" said Shorty to himself. But he dared not take his eyes a moment from the squad to look toward her.
"Great Jehosephat," exploded Shorty; "you kin certainly be the stubbornest mule over nothin', Si Klegg, that I ever seen. We've done fightin' enough to excuse sich a report, or any that we've a mind to make." "Nothin' kin justify a lie," persisted the obdurate Si. "Holy smoke! bigger men than you lots bigger have squared up their accounts that way.
"Don't know but I'd ruther go to the front and dig rifle-pits than to wear paper collars and white gloves every day in the week," soliloquized Shorty, as he walked out on the street. "Don't mind 'em on Sunday, when you kin take 'em off agin when the company's dismissed from parade; but to put 'em on in the mornin' when you git up, and wear 'em till you go to bed at night O, Jehosephat!
"Hain't got none. Lost mine weeks ago, while we was on the Tullahomy march." "Great Jehosephat! what am I goin' to do?" groaned Shorty, the sweat starting out on his fore head. "Now's the time for Providence to help out, if He's goin' to. I'm at the end o' my string." "Supper's ready, boys; come on in," announced the sweet, motherly voice of Mrs. Klegg.
Shorty sprang up electrified, and tore across the intervening space at the double-quick. He found Pete and Sandy Baker standing soberly on guard over the line of the company's blankets and belongings. "Great Jehosephat, you little brats, how did you git here?" he exclaimed, snatching little Pete up and hugging him. "Why shouldn't we be here?" asked Pete, as soon as he could get breath.
The Deacon walked straight to the nearest tent, lifted the flap and inquired: "Does anybody here know where there is a boy named Si Klegg, of Co. Q, 200th Injianny Volunteers?" "Pap, is that you?" said a weak voice in the far corner. "Great, jumpin' Jehosephat, the Deacon!" ejaculated a tall skeleton of a man, who was holding a cup of coffee to Si's lips.
It was full. He raised it to his lips and took a long swig. "Great Jehosephat," he gasped, his eyes starting out with astonishment. "That ain't water. It's prime old applejack, smoother'n butter, and smellin' sweeter'n a rose. Best I ever tasted."
As they stood their guns over against the side of the car, Si suddenly asked: "Shorty, did you draw your charge before you rammed that money in?" Shorty jumped to his feet in a shudder of alarm, and exclaimed: "Great Jehosephat, no. I forgot all about it." "What's that you're saying about guns?" inquired the Lieutenant, turning around. "You want to load them, and keep them handy.
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