Si and Shorty have an attack of it, followed by Recovery.

It took many days for the boys’ lacerated feet to recover sufficiently to permit their going about and returning to duty.  They spent the period of enforced idleness in chewing the cud of bitter reflection.  The thorns had cut far more painfully into their pride than into their feet.  The time was mostly passed in moody silence, very foreign to the customary liveliness of the Hoosier’s Rest.  They only spoke to one another on the most necessary subjects, and then briefly.  In their sour shame at the whole thing they even became wroth with each other.  Shorty sneered at the way Si cleaned up the house, and Si condemned Shorty’s cooking.  Thenceforth Shorty slept on the floor, while Si occupied the bed, and they cooked their meals separately.  The newness of the clothes they drew from the Quartermaster angered them, and they tried to make them look as dirty and shabby as the old.

Once they were on the point of actually coming to blows.

Si had thoughtlessly flung some dishwater into the company street.  It was a misdemeanor that in ordinary times would have been impossible to him.  Now almost anything was.

Shorty instantly growled:

“You slouch, you ought to go to the guard-house for that.”

Si retorted hotly: 

“Slouch yourself!  Look where you throwed them coffee-grounds this morning,” and he pointed to the tell-tale evidence beside the house.

“Well, that ain’t near so bad,” said Shorty crustily.  “That at least intended to be tidy.”

“Humph,” said Si, with supreme disdainfulness.  “It’s the difference betwixt sneakin’ an’ straightout.  I throwed mine right out in the street.  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.”

“Shorty, if you double your fist up at me,” roared the irate Si, “I’ll knock your head off in a holy minute.”

The boys of Co.  Q were thunderstruck.  It seemed as if their world was toppling when two such partners should disagree.  They gathered around in voiceless sorrow and wonderment and watched, developments.

Shorty seemed in the act of springing forward, when the sharp roll of the drum at Headquarters beating the “assembly” arrested all attention.  Everyone looked eagerly toward the Colonel’s tent, and saw him come out buckling on his sword, while his Orderly sped away for his horse.  Apparently, all the officers had been in consultation with him, for they were hurrying away to their several companies.

“Fall in, Co.  Q,” shouted the Orderly-Sergeant.  “Fall in promptly.”

Everybody made a rush for his gun and equipments.

“Hurry up.  Orderly,” said Capt.  McGillicuddy, coming up with his sword and belt in hand.  “Let the boys take what rations they can lay their hands on, but not stop to cook any.  We’ve got to go on the jump.”

All was rush and hurry.  Si and Shorty bolted for their house, forgetful of their mangled feet.  Si got in first, took his gun and cartridge-box down, and buckled on his belt.  He looked around for his rations while Shorty was putting on his things.  His bread and meat and Shorty’s were separate, and there was no trouble about them.  But the coffee and sugar had not been divided, and were in common receptacles.  He opened the coffee-can and looked in.  There did not seem to be more than one ration there.  He hesitated a brief instant what to do.  It would serve Shorty just right to take all the coffee.  He liked his coffee even better than Shorty did, and was very strenuous about having it.  If he did not take it Shorty might think that he was either anxious to make up or afraid, and he wanted to demonstrate that he was neither.  Then there was a twinge that it would be mean to take the coffee, and leave his partner, senseless and provoking as he seemed, without any.  He set the can down, and, turning as if to look for something to empty it in, pretended to hear something outside the house to make him forget it, and hurried out.

Presently Shorty came out, and ostentatiously fell into line at a distance from Si.  It was the first time they had not stood shoulder to shoulder.

The Orderly-Sergeant looked down the line, and called out: 

“Here, Corp’l Klegg, you’re not fit to go.  Neither are you, Shorty.  Step out, both of you.”

“Yes, I’m all right,” said Shorty.  “Feet’s got well.  I kin outwalk a Wea Injun.”

“Must’ve bin using some Lightning Elixir Liniment,” said the Orderly-Sergeant incredulously..  “I saw you both limping around like string-halted horses not 15 minutes ago.  Step out, I tell you.”

“Captain, lé’ me go along,” pleaded Si.  “You never knowed me to fall out, did you?”

“Captain, I never felt activer in my life,” asserted Shorty; “and you know I always kept up.  I never played sore-foot any day.”

“I don’t believe either of you’re fit to go,” said Capt.  McGillicuddy, “but I won’t deny you.  You may start, anyway.  By the time we get to the pickets you can fall out if you find you can’t keep up.”

“The rebel calvary’s jumped a herd of beef cattle out at pasture, run off the guard, and are trying to get away with them,” the Orderly-Sergeant hurriedly explained as he lined up Co.  Q.  “We’re to make a short cut across the country and try to cut them off.  Sir, the company’s formed.”

“Attention, Co.  Q!” shouted Capt.  McGillicuddy.  “Right face!-Forward, file left!-March!”

The company went off at a terrific pace to get its place with the regiment, which had already started without it.

Though every step was a pang.  Si and Shorty kept up unflinchingly.  Each was anxious to outdo the other, and to bear off bravery before the company.  The Captain and Orderly-Sergeant took an occasional look at them until they passed the picket-line, when other more pressing matters engaged the officers’ attention.

The stampeded guards, mounted on mules or condemned horses, or running on foot, came tearing back, each with a prodigious tale of the numbers and ferocity of the rebels.

The regiment was pushed forward with all the speed there was in it, going down-hill and over the level stretch at a double-quick.  Si felt his feet bleeding, and it seemed at times that he could not go another step, but then he would look back down the line and catch a glimpse of Shorty keeping abreast of his set of fours, and he would spur himself to renewed effort.  Shorty would long to throw himself in a fence-corner and rest for a week, until, as they went over some rise, he would catch sight of Si’s sandy hair, well in the lead, when he would drink in fresh determination to keep up, if he died in the attempt.

Presently they arrived at the top of the hill from which they could see the rebel cavalry rounding up and driving off the cattle, while a portion of the enemy’s horsemen were engaged in a fight with a small squad of infantry ensconced behind a high rail fence.

Si and Shorty absolutely forgot their lameness as Co.  Q separated from the column and rushed to the assistance of the squad, while the rest of the regiment turned off to the right to cut off the herd.  But they were lame all the same, and tripped and fell over a low fence which the rest of the company easily leaped.  They gathered themselves up, sat on the ground for an instant, and glared at one another.

“Blamed old tangle-foot,” said Shorty derisively.

“You’ve got hoofs like a foundered hoss,” retorted Si.

After this interchange of compliments they staggered painfully to their feet and picked up their guns, which were thrown some distance from their hands as they fell.

By this time Co.  Q was a quarter of a mile away, and already beginning to fire on the rebels, who showed signs of relinquishing the attack.

“Gol darn the luck!” said Si with Wabash emphasis, beginning to limp forward.

“Wish the whole outfit was a mile deep in burnin’ brimstone,” wrathfully observed Shorty.

A couple of lucky shots had emptied two of the rebel saddles.  The frightened horses turned away from the fighting line, and galloped down the road to the right of the boys.  The leading one suddenly halted in a fence-corner about 30 yards away from Si, threw up his head and began surveying the scene, as if undecided what to do next.  The other, seeing his mate stop, began circling around.

Hope leaped up in Si’s breast.  He began creeping toward the first horse, under the covert of the sumach.  Shorty saw his design and the advantage it would give Si, and, standing still, began swearing worse than ever.

Si crept up as cautiously as he had used to in the old days when he was rabbit-hunting.  The horse thrust his head over the fence, and began nibbling at a clump of tall rye growing there.  Si thrust his hand out and caught his bridle.  The horse made one frightened plunge, but the hand on his bridle held with the grip of iron, and he settled down to mute obedience.

Si set his gun down in the fence-corner and climbed into the saddle.

Shorty made the Spring air yellow with profanity until he saw Si ride away from his gun toward the other horse.  When the latter saw his mate, with a rider, coming toward him he gave a whinney and dashed forward.  In an instant Si had hold of his bridle and was turning back.  His face was bright with triumph.  Shorty stopped in the middle of a soul-curdling oath and yelled delightedly: 

“Bully for old Wabash!  You’re my pardner after all Si.”

He hastened forward to the fence, grabbed up Si’s gun and handed it to him and then climbed into the other saddle.

The rebels were now falling back rapidly before Co.  Q’s fire.  A small part detached itself and started down a side road.

Si and Shorty gave a yell, and galloped toward them, in full sight of Co.  Q. who raised a cheer.  The rebels spurred their horses, but Si and Shorty gained on them.

“Come on.  Shorty.”  Si yelled.  “I don’t believe they’ve got a shot left.  They hain’t fired once since they started.”

He was right.  Their cartridge-boxes had been emptied.

At the bottom of the hill a creek crossing the road made a deep, wide quagmire.  The rebels were in too much hurry to pick out whatever road there might have been through it.  Their leaders plunged in, their horses sank nearly to the knees, and the whole party bunched up.

“Surrender, you rebel galoots.” yelled Si reining up at a little distance, and bringing his gun to bear.

“Surrender, you off-scourings of secession,” added Shorty.

The rebels looked back, held up their hands, and said imploringly: 

“Don’t shoot, Mister.  We’uns give up.  We’uns air taylored.”

“Come back up here, one by one,” commanded Si, “and go to our rear.  Hold on to your guns.  Don’t throw ’em away.  We ain’t afraid of ’em.”

One by one the rebels extricated their horses from the mire with more or less difficulty and filed back.  Si kept his gun on those in the quagmire, while Shorty attended to the others as they came back.  Co.  Q was coming to his assistance as fast as the boys could march.

What was the delight of the boys to recognize in their captives the squad which had captured them.  The sanguinary Bushrod was the first to come back, and Si had to restrain a violent impulse to knock him off his horse with his gun-barrel.  But he decided to settle with him when through with the present business.

By the time the rebels were all up, Co.  Q had arrived on the scene.  As the prisoners were being disarmed and put under guard, Si called out to Capt.  McGillicuddy: 

“Captain, one o’ these men is my partickler meat.  I want to ’tend to him.”

“All right.  Corporal,” responded the Captain, “attend to him, but don’t be too rough on him.  Remember that he is an unarmed prisoner.”

Si and Shorty got down off their horses, and approached Bushrod, who turned white as death, trembled violently, and began to beg.

“Gentlemen, don’t kill me,” he whined.  “I’m a poor man, an’ have a fambly to support.  I didn’t mean nothin’ by what I said.  I sw’ar’t’ Lord A’mighty I didn’t.”

“Jest wanted to hear yourself talk-jest practicin’ your voice,” said Shorty sarcastically, as he took the man by the shoulder and pulled him off into the bush by the roadside.  “Jest wanted to skeer us, and see how fast we could run.  Pleasant little pastime, eh?” “And them things you said about a young lady up in Injianny,” said Si, clutching him by the throat.

“I want to wring your neck jest like a chicken’s.  What’d you do with her picture and letters?”

Si thrust his hand unceremoniously into Bushrod’s pocket and found the ambrotype of Annabel.  A brief glance showed him that it was all right, and he gave a sigh of satisfaction, which showed some amelioration of temper toward the captive.

“What’d you do with them letters?” Si demanded fiercely.

“Ike has ’em,” said Bushrod.

“You’ve got my shoes on, you brindle whelp,” said Shorty, giving him a cuff in bitter remembrance of his own smarting feet.

“If we’re goin’ to shoot him, let’s do it right off,” said Si, looking at the cap on his gun.  “The company’s gittin’ ready to start back.”

“All right,” said Shorty, with cheerful alacrity.  “Johnny, your ticket for a brimstone supper’s made out.  How’d you rather be shot-standin’ or kneelin’?”

“O, gentlemen, don’t kill be.  Ye hadn’t orter.  Why do ye pick me out to kill?  I wuzzent no wuss’n the others.  I wuzzent rayly half ez bad.  I didn’t rayly mean t’ harm ye.  I only talked.  I had t’ talk that-a-way, for I alluz was a Union man, and had t’ make a show for the others.  I don’t want t’ be shot at all.”

“You ain’t answerin’ my question,” said Shorty coolly and inexorably.  “I asked you how you preferred to be shot.  These other things you mention hain’t nothin’ to do with my question.”

He leveled his gun at the unhappy man and took a deliberate sight.

“O, for the Lord A’mighty’s sake, don’t shoot me down like a dog,” screamed Bushrod.  “Le’me have a chance to pray, an’ make my peace with my Maker.”

“All right,” conceded Shorty, “go and kneel down there by that cottonwood, and do the fastest prayin you ever did in all your born days, for you have need of it.  We’ll shoot when I count three.  You’d better make a clean breast of all your sins and transgressions before you go.  You’ll git a cooler place in the camp down below.”

Unseen, the rest of Co.  Q were peeping through the bushes and enjoying the scene.

Bushrod knelt down with his face toward the Cottonwood, and began an agonized prayer, mingled with confessions of crimes and malefactions, some flagrant, some which brought a grin of amusement to the faces of Co.  Q.

“One!” called out Shorty in stentorian tones.

“O, for the love o’ God, Mister, don’t shoot me,” yelled Bushrod, whirling around, with uplifted arms.  “I’m too wicked to die, an’ I’ve got a fambly dependin’ on me.”

“Turn around there, and finish your prayin’,” sternly commanded Shorty, with his and Si’s faces down to the stocks of their muskets, in the act of taking deliberate aim.

Bushrod flopped around, threw increased vehemence into his prayer, and resumed his recital of his misdeeds.

“Two!” counted Shorty.

Again Bushrod whirled around with uplifted hands and begged for mercy.

“Nary mercy,” said Shorty.  “You wouldn’t give it to us, and you hain’t given it to many others, according to your own account.  Your light’s flickerin’, and we’ll blow it out at the next count.  Turn around, there.”

Bushrod made the woods ring this time with his fervent, tearful appeals to the Throne of Grace.  He was so wrought up by his impending death that he did not hear Co.  Q quietly move away, at a sign from the Captain, with Si and Shorty mounting their horses and riding off noiselessly over the sod.

For long minutes Bushrod continued his impassioned appeals at the top of his voice, expecting every instant to have the Yankee bullets crash through his brain.  At length he had to stop from lack of breath.  Everything was very quiet-deathly so, it seemed to him.  He stole a furtive glance around.  No Yankees could be seen out of the tail of his eye on either side.  Then he looked squarely around.  None was visible anywhere.  He jumped up, began cursing savagely, ran into the road, and started for home.  He had gone but a few steps when he came squarely in front of the musket of the Orderly-Sergeant of Co.  Q, who had placed himself in concealment to see the end of the play and bring him along.

“Halt, there,” commanded the Orderly-Sergeant; “face the other way and trot.  We must catch up with the company.”

Si and Shorty felt that they had redeemed themselves, and returned to camp in such good humor with each other, and everybody else, that they forgot that their feet were almost as bad as ever.

They went into the house and began cooking their supper together again.  Shorty picked up the coffeecan and said: 

“Si Klegg, you’re a gentleman all through, if you was born on the Wabash.  A genuine gentleman is knowed by his never bein’ no hog under no circumstances.  I watched you when you looked into this coffee-can, and mad as I was at you, I said you was a thorobred when you left it all to me.”