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      Si's authoritative tone, and the red stripes on his arm, were too much for the guilty consciences of the skulkers, and they went back inside the car. The tearing off the roof proceeded without further interruption, but with considerable mangling of their hands by the edges of the tin."I tell ye agin to mind yer own bizniss and keep yer mouth shet," said the white man savagely. "Who air ye, anyway? One o' them sblinkin' nigger-stealin' Abolitionists, comin' down here to rob us Southerners of our property?"

      At the sound of his voice the bushwhacker turned around upon him an ugly, brutal face, full of savage hatred."No, you sha'n't. You stay here in command; it's your duty. You can't help if you do go. I'll go alone. I'll tell you what you might do, though. You might go over there to the left and fire on 'em, as if246 we wuz feelin' around that way. That'll draw some o' their attention."

      "What's left o' me," answered Shorty.

      "Start those mules along. Stop fooling,' said the Adjutant impatiently.The Major looked them over sharply, and began a close cross-questioning as to where they were born, what regiment they belonged to, how long they had been in the service, what battles they had been engaged in and on what part of the field, where their regiment now was, its brigade, division and corps, commanders, etc., etc.216

      He pulled out a fat roll of crisp greenbacks. Si took them, thumbed them over admiringly, counted them, and handed them to Shorty, who did the same."Mind yer own bizniss," replied the white man, after a casual glance at the Deacon, and seeing that he did not wear a uniform. "Keep yer mouth shet if ye know when y're well off."

      James Bradshaw and Simeon Wheelwright, the two tall, stalwart men who had stood on the right and who had shown great coolness during the fight, gave one look at the dismembered limbs, turned pale as death, gasped, and fell in a faint.

      "We don't want to hear nothin' about your mules. We'll look in the wagon ourselves.""Take you with me!" repeated the Deacon in253 astonishment and some petulance. "Certainly not. I don't want you. And you mustn't call me master. You mustn't call any man master. You're no longer a slave. You're your own master. You're free; don't you understand?"


      The calamity that Si and Shorty had foreseen came about. The 200th Ind. lost the advance of the brigade and brought up the rear, which meant a long day of muscle-straining, temper-wrecking struggles with stalling wagons, discouraged mules and stupid teamsters. And as Co. Q was the left of the regiment, it caught the worst of all.


      The teamsters sprang up like jacks-in-the-box, and ran with all the power of their legs. By the time the explosion came they were hundreds of yards away.


      "Much paper you'll find in this regiment after that rain," said Shorty contemptuously, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and started to fall in for roll-call. "Every mite of paper anybody has was soaked to spitwads. But mebbe the Orderly might have a sheet." "Hooray for Miller's Brigade!"