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Updated: June 27, 2025
Q, 200th Ind., the next time Buell halted his army to draw a long breath. "Wish somebody would shoot that durned Orderly," muttered Si Klegg. "For two cents I'd do it myself." "Don't do it, Si," admonished Shorty, "They'd git another one that'd be just as bad. All orderlies are cusses."
The stranger looked a little disappointed, but he rallied, and presently gave the second grand hailing sign of the Knights of the Golden Circle, in the same low, impressive tone: "Did you see a star last night?" "Can't say that I did," responded Mr. Klegg rather indifferently. "There was lots of gas-lamps burning, and I was rather taken with them, so that I didn't notice the moon or stars.
You tried to hide yours, and made it all the nastier. But whatever you do's all right. Whatever I do's all wrong. You're a pill." "Look here, Mister Klegg," said Shorty, stepping forward with doubled fist, "I'll have you understand that I've took all the slack and impudence from you that I'm a-goin' to."
A, and Corp'l Josiah Klegg, of Co. Q, with six enlisted men of that company, to be selected by Capt. McGillicuddy, are here by detailed for that duty, and will prepare to leave to-morrow morning." Si clutched his partner in his excitement and said, "Shorty, did you hear that? I'm to be sent back to Injianny. Ain't that what he said?"
Shorty made a violent effort to rise up and join the company, but he was manifestly too weak. Si was in sore distress. He didn't want to leave him, but he was anxious to be with his company. "Corporal Klegg," said the Captain, coming down the line, and giving a frequent furtive scratch at himself, "Shorty can't possibly go with us to-day. I'm awfully sorry, but there is no use talking about it.
What's your name my boy?" "Josiah Klegg, sir!" said Si, blushing to the very roots of his hair. "What company do you belong to?" "Company Q, sir!" and Si saluted the officer as nicely as he knew how. "I'll see your Captain to-night, Mr. Klegg, and you shall be rewarded for your good conduct. You may now return to your company." It was the proudest moment of Si's life up to date.
He seemed to mourn this way for several minutes, and then broke out with: "Say, Mr. Klegg, I've an idee. That Quartermaster o' the Maumee Muskrats is a sport from way back. He'd give his vary eyes for a good hoss one that kin beat everybody else's. The way the horses are run down now this one kin carry a heavy handicap, and beat any one in camp.
Klegg, with a sigh of satisfaction, as he seated himself in the car for Murfreesboro' and deposited his valuables by his side. "I know that boys will be boys, and I like to see them have fun just as well as any other man, but I must say that they made things on that other train a little too lively for a middle-aged Deacon of the Baptist Church."
"What star was it?" "It was the Star of Bethlehem." The first speaker had seemed to start at the sound of Shorty's voice, but he recovered himself, and saying, "You're right, my brother," put out his hand for the grip. "'Taint right, neither," hissed Shorty. "Si Klegg, what are you doin' here?" "Shorty!" ejaculated Si, joyfully, but still in a whisper. "I thought I knowed your voice.
"But who is J. O. S.? Nobody o' them initials in this neighbor hood. Nor E. C. Bower. Deacon Klegg can't know any of 'em. Then, how's the hospital badly wounded Bower? What's that about his socks? I'll have to try it over again as soon as No. 7, freight, gets by." After No. 7 had gotten away, he tackled the message again: "No, that sixth letter's not an m, but an h.
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