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Updated: June 4, 2025
Two or three times Shorty repressed them and sharply ordered them to lie down and go to sleep. Then he decided to let them wear themselves out, braced his back against a sapling near the fire, pulled out from his pocket the piece of Maria's dress, and became lost in a swarm of thoughts that traveled north of the Ohio River. He was recalled by Harry Joslyn and Gid Mackall appearing before him.
"That's just because you're a duck-legged snipe," answered Gid wrathfully. "Do you mean to?" "Don't make any slurs at me, you spindle-legged sand-hill crane," retorted Harry. This was enough. Blows came next. It was their way. Gid Mackall and Harry Joslyn had been inseparable companions since they had begun going to school, and they had scarcely ever let a day pass without a fight.
Thus he was left no alternative but to return to Cairo. While there, he learned that the Confederate force occupying Columbus had evacuated the town and fortified themselves on Island No. 10. They numbered about 8,000 and were under the command of General Mackall, from Beauregard's army.
Monty Scruggs and Alf Russell could not wait to dress, but rushed for their guns the first thing, and buckled on their cartridge-boxes. "Gid Mackall, you've got on my shoes," screamed Harry Josyln. "I can't find 'em nowhere, and I laid 'em right beside me. Take 'em off this minute." "Hain't got your shoes on; can't find but one o' my own," snorted Gid in reply.
The natives, however, made no such distinctions. To them she was just a white woman, only the second they had ever seen. They had no means of knowing whether they came more beautiful than this. Miss Mackall, booted, hatted, and corseted in town, was the headliner of the show. The experience to one all her life lost in a crowd of women was novel and a little intoxicating.
"That must be one o' the big Generals," said Harry Joslyn. "Looks like the pictures o' Grant. Git into line, boys, and salute." "No, it ain't Grant, neither," said Gid Mackall. "Too big. Must be Gen. Thomas." The awed boys made an effort to form a line and receive him properly. "Who are you, boys?" said the newcomer, after gravely returning the salute.
Miss Mackall sat at the other side of Coulson, ever making play with the ostrich feathers. The doctor and the Indian agent were next her. At the other end of the line sat Bishop Lajeunesse. He had sent the boy-priests back to the boat to repack the baggage. Whatever their feelings, they had obeyed with a cheerful air. Of all those present only the bishop showed any compassion.
Miss Mackall shuddered and ate no more. Late that afternoon she managed to drag herself down to the road. She waited for Sam at the entrance to a patch of woods a little way toward the French outfit. "What's the matter?" he exclaimed at the sight of her. "Ah, don't look at me!" she said unhappily. "I've had an awful night. Sick headache. I just wanted to tell you not to come to-night."
"Them woods right over there may be full o' rebels watching to jump us when we get far enough away." "I don't like the looks of that hill to the left," said Gid Mackall, nervously. "An awful lot o' them went behind it, and I didn't see any come out." "There, them bushes over there are shaking they're coming out again," said Harry Joslyn, turning to run back for his gun.
Miss Mackall's room was at the back of the house, her window facing the end of the back trail, where it issued from the woods. The nights were now mild and fragrant, and doors and windows stood wide. Locks are never used north of the landing. Or if they are, the key hangs hospitably within reach. Miss Mackall, however, insisted on locking the doors and securing her window.
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