- Software name: appdown
- Software type: Microsoft Framwork
- size: 274MB
"Now give us some catridges," clamored the boys, "and let us do some real shooting.""I find about 10 or 15 birds in the flock," said the Deputy Provost, who was also Deputy Sheriff, when they looked over the prisoners in the morning, "that we have warrants and complaints for, for everything from plain assault and battery to horse-stealing. It would save the military much trouble and serve the ends of justice better if we could send them over to the County seat and put them in jail, where the civil authorities could get a whack at them. I'd go there myself if I could walk, but this bullet in my shin disables me."
"Jest what I've been suspicionin'," said Si. "I've heard that that's the way lots o' whisky is brung into camp. Shorty, as Corporal o' the Guard, it's your duty to search her.""Well, that ain't near so bad," said Shorty crustily. "That at least intended to be tidy."
"Same here," ejaculated Si, who had made a similar discovery. "Just look at 'em, hoppin' out every where. The rebels have not only set their grayback infantry on to us, but are jumping us with their flea cavalry."
THE Surgeon, who had conceived quite a good opinion of the Deacon's ability, readily certified that the boys could be safely taken home, since they would have the benefit of his care and attention, and the necessary papers came down from Headquarters that day. The Deacon had the good luck to find his old friend, the Herd-Boss, who took a deep interest in the matter. He offered to have as good a team as he had at the crib the next morning, with the wagon-bed filled with cedar-boughs, to make as easy a couch as possible for the rough ride over the mountains.
The English foreman was a recent arrival in the country. This was his first employment here. Naturally surly and domineering, these qualities were enhanced by potations at Nashville and since leaving.
Si set his gun down and clambered up the side of the car."If you don't stop calling me your 'good man' I'll chuck you into the drink again, you wasp-waisted, stiff-backed, half-baked West Point brevet Second Lieutenant," said Shorty wrathfully. "If you'd had the sense of a six-months'-old goslin' you'd 'a' set still, as I told you, and let me manage that canoe. But you never kin learn a West Pointer nothin'. He'd try to give God Almighty points if he got a chance. Now we've lost our canoe, and we're in a devil of a fix. I feel like throwin' you back in the crick."