Si and Shorty work A trap and land some prisoners.

The boys were sitting around having another smoke before crawling into their blankets, spread under the shade of the scraggly locusts and mangy cedars, when the dogs raised an alarm.

“Get back under the shadow of the trees, boys, and keep quiet,” said Si.

“Hello, the house!” came out of the darkness at the foot of the hill.

“Hello, thar’ yourself,” answered Shorty, imitating Mrs. Bolster’s voice.

“Hit’s me-Brad Tingle.  Don’t yo’ know my voice?  Call off yer dogs.  They’ll eat me up.”

“Hullo, Brad; is that yo’?  Whar’d yo’ come from?  Git out, thar, Watch!  Lay down, Tige!  Begone, Bones!  Come on up, Brad.”

Shorty’s imitations of Mrs. Bolster’s voice and manner were so good as to deceive even the dogs, who changed their attitude of shrill defiance to one of fawning welcome.

“Whar’d yo’ come from, Brad?” repeated Shorty as the newcomer made his way up the narrow, stony path.

“Jest from the Yankee camps,” answered the newcomer.  “Me an’ Jim Wyatt’s bin over thar by that Hoosier camp tryin’ to git the drop on their Kurnel as he was gwine t’ Brigade Headquarters.  We a’most had him when a company o’ Yankees that’d bin out in the country for something a’most run over us.  They’uns wuz a-nigh on top o’ we’uns afore we seed they’uns, an’ then we’uns had t’ scatter.  Jim run one way an’ me another.  I come back here t’ see ef yo’ had any o’ the boys here.  I hearn tell that a passel o’ Yankee ossifers is at a dance over at the Widder Brewster’s an’ I thought we’uns might done gether they’uns in ef we’uns went about it right.”

“So you kin-so you kin,” said Shorty, reaching out from behind the bushes and catching him by the collar.  “And to show you how, I’ll jest gether you in.”

A harsh, prolonged, sibilant, far-reaching hiss came from the door of the cabin, but came too late to warn Brad Tingle of the trap into which he was walking.

Shorty understood it at once.  He jerked Tingle forward into Si’s strong clutch, and then walked toward the cabin, singing out angrily: 

“Jeff Hackberry, I want you to make that wife o’ your’n mind her own bisness, and let other people’s alone.  You and her’ve got quite enough to do to tend to your honeymoon, without mixing into things that don’t concern you.  Take her back to bed and keep her there.”

He went back to where Si was disarming and searching Tingle.  The prisoner had a United States musket, cartridge-box, canteen, and a new haversack, all of which excited Shorty’s ire.

“You hound, you,” he said, taking him by the throat with a fierce grasp, “you’ve bin bushwhacking, and got these things off some soldier you sneaked onto and killed.  We ought to kill you right now, like we would a dog.”

“No, Mister, I haint killed nobody; I swar t’ God I haint,” gurgled the prisoner, trying to release his throat from Shorty’s grip.

“Where’d you git these things?” demanded Shorty.

“Mrs. Bolster gi’ me the gun an’ cartridge-box; I done found the canteen in the road, an’ the poke with the letters in hit the Yank had done laid down beside him when he stopped t’ git a drink, an’ me an’ Jim crep’ up on him an’ ordered him to surrender.  He jumped an’ run, an’ we wuz af eared to shoot least we bring the rest o’ the Yanks down onto us.”

At the mention of letters Si began eagerly examining the contents of the haversack.  He held some of them down to the light of the fire, and then exclaimed excitedly: 

“Why, boys, this is our mail.  It was Will Gobright they were after.”

A sudden change came over Shorty.  He took the prisoner by the back of the neck and ran him up to the door of the house and flung him inside.  Then he hastened back to the fire and said: 

“Le’s see them letters.”

A pine-knot had been thrown on the fire to make a bright blaze, by the light of which Si was laboriously fumbling over the letters.  Even by the flaring, uncertain glare it could be seen that a ruddy hue came into his face as he came across one with a gorgeous flag on one end of the envelope, and directed in a pinched, labored hand on straight lines scratched by a pin.  He tried to slip the letter unseen by the rest into his blouse pocket, but fumbled it so badly that he dropped the rest in a heap at the edge of the fire.

“Look out, Si,” said Shorty crossly, and hastily snatching the letters away from the fire.  “You’ll burn up somebody’s letters, and then there’ll be no end o’ trouble.  You’re clumsier’n a foundered horse.  Your fingers are all thumbs.”

“Handle them yourself, if you think you kin do any better,” said Si, who, having got all that he wanted, lost interest in the rest.  If Si’s fingers were all thumbs.  Shorty’s seemed all fists.  Besides, his reading of handwriting was about as laborious as climbing a ladder.  He tackled the lot bravely, though, and laboriously spelled out and guessed one address after another, until suddenly his eye was glued on a postmark that differed from the others.  “Wis.” first caught his glance, and he turned the envelope around until he had spelled out “Bad Ax” as the rest of the imprint.  This was enough.  Nobody else in the regiment got letters from Bad Ax, Wis.  He fumbled the letter into his blouse pocket, and in turn dropped the rest at the edge of the fire, arousing protests from the other boys.

“Well, if any o’ you think you kin do better’n I kin, take ’em up.  There they are,” said he.  “You go over ’em, Tom Welch.  I must look around a little.”

Shorty secretly caressed the precious envelope in his pocket with his great, strong fingers, and pondered as to how he was going to get an opportunity to read the letter before daylight.  It was too sacred and too sweet to be opened and read before the eyes of his unsympathetic, teasing comrades, and yet it seemed an eternity to wait till morning.  He stole a glance out of the corner of his eye at Si, who was going through the same process, as he stood with abstracted air on the other side of the fire.  The sudden clamor of the dogs recalled them to present duties.

“Hullo, the house!” came out of the darkness.

“Hullo, yourself!” replied Shorty, in Mrs. Bolster’s tones.

“It’s me-Groundhog.  Call off yer dogs.”

Si and Shorty looked startled, and exchanged significant glances.  “Needn’t ’ve told it was him,” said Shorty.  “I could smell his breath even this far.  Hullo, Groundhog,” he continued in loud tones.  “Come on up.  Git out, Watch!  Lay down, Tige!  Begone, Bones!  Come on up, Groundhog.  What’s the news?”

A louder, longer, more penetrating hiss than ever sounded from the house.  Shorty looked around angrily.  Si made a break for the door.

“No, I can’t come up now,” said Groundhog; “I jest come by to see if things wuz all right.  A company went out o’ camp this mornin’ for some place that I couldn’t find out.  I couldn’t git word t’ you, an’ I’ve bin anxious ’bout whether it come this way.”

“Never tetched us,” answered Shorty, in perfect reproduction of Mrs. Bolster’s accents.  “We’uns is all right.”

The hissing from the cabin became so loud that it seemed impossible for Groundhog not to hear it.

“Blast it, Si, can’t you gag that old guinea-hen,” said Shorty, in a savage undertone.

Si was in the meanwhile muttering all sorts of savage threats at Mrs. Bolster, the least of which was to go in and choke the life out of her if she did not stop her signalling.

“Glad t’ hear it,” said Groundhog.  “I was a leetle skeery all day about it, an’ come out as soon’s I could.  Have yo’ seed Brad Tingle?”

“Yes; seen him to-day.”

“D’ yo’ know whar he is?  Kin yo’ git word to him quick?”

“Yes, indeed; right off.”

“Well, send word to him as soon as you kin, that I’ve got the mules ready for stampedin’ an’ runnin’ off at any time, an’ waitin’ for him.  The sooner he kin jump the corral the better.  To-night, if he kin, but suttinly not later’n to-morrer night.  Be sure and git word to him by early to-morrer mornin’ at the furthest.”

“I’ll be sure t’ git word t’ him this very night,” answered the fictitious Mrs. Bolster.

“Well, good-night.  I must hurry along, an’ git back afore the second relief goes off.  All my friends air on it.  See yo’ ter-morrer, if I kin.”

“You jest bet you’ll see me to-morrow,” said Shorty grimly, as he heard Groundhog’s mule clatter away.  “If you don’t see me the disappointment ’ll come nigh breaking my heart.  Now I’ll go in and learn Mr. and Mrs. Hackberry how to spend the first night o’ their wedded lives.”

“I don’t keer ef yo’ do shoot me.  I’d a heap ruther be shot than not,” she was saying to Si as Shorty came up.  “I’ve changed my mind sence I’ve bin put in here.  I’d a heap ruther die than live with Jeff Hackberry.”

“Never knowed married folks to git tired o’ one another so soon,” commented Shorty.  “But I should’ve thought that Jeff’ d got tired first.  But this it no time to fool around with fambly jars.  Look here, Jeff Hackberry, you must make that wife o’ yourn keep quiet.  If she tries to give another signal we’ll tie you up by the thumbs now, besides shoot you in the mornin’.”

“What kin I do with her?” whined Jeff.

“Do with her?  You kin make her mind.  That’s your duty.  You’re the head o’ the fambly.”

“Head o’ the fambly?” groaned Jeff, in mournful sarcasm.  “Mister, you don’t seem to be acquainted with ’Frony.

“Head o’ the fambly,” sneered his wife.  “He aint the head o’ nothin’.  Not the head o’ a pin.  He haint no more head’n a fishworm.”

“Look here, woman,” said Shorty, “didn’t you promise to love, honor and obey him?”

“No, I didn’t nuther.  I said I’d shove, hammer an’ belay him.  Hit’s none o’ yer bizniss, nohow, yo’ sneakin’ Yankee’ what I do to him.  You hain’t no call t’ mix betwixt him an’ me.  An’ my mouth’s my own.  I’ll use hit jest as I please, in spite o’ yo’ an’ him, an’ 40 others like yo’.  Hear that?”

“Well, you git back into that bed, an’ stay there, and don’t you dare give another signal, or I’ll buck-and-gag you on your wedding-night.”

“Don’t you dar tetch me,” she said menacingly.

“I aint goin’ to tech you.  I’m too careful what I touch.  But I’ll tie you to that bed and gag you, if you don’t do as I say.  Get back into bed at once.”

“I ain’t gwine t’, and yo’ can’t make me,” she said defiantly.

“Take hold of her, Jeff,” said Shorty, pulling out his bayonet and giving that worthy a little prod.

Jeff hesitated until Shorty gave him a more earnest prod, when he advanced toward his wife, but, as he attempted to lay his hands on her shoulders, she caught him, gave him a quick twist and a trip, and down he went; but he had clutched her to save himself from falling, and brought her down with him.  Shorty caught her elbows and called to Si to bring him a piece of cord, with which he tied her arms.  Another piece bound her ankles.  She lay on the floor and railed with all the vehemence of her vicious tongue.

“Pick her up and lay her on the bed there,” Shorty ordered Jeff.  Jeff found some difficulty in lifting the tall, bony frame, but Shorty gave him a little help with the ponderous but agile feet, and the woman was finally gotten on the bed.

“Now, we’ll gag you next, if you make any more trouble,” threatened Shorty.  “We don’t allow no woman to interfere with military operations.”

They had scarcely finished this when the dogs began barking again, and Si and Shorty hurried out.  The operations in the house had rather heated them, the evening was warm, and Shorty had taken off his blouse and drawn it up inside of his belt, in the rear.

The noise of the dogs betokened the approach of something more than usual visitors.  Through the clamor the boys’ quick ears could detect the clatter of an ominous number of hoofs.  The other boys heard it, too, and were standing around, gun in hand, waiting developments.

“Hullo, dere, de house!” came in a voice Si and Shorty dimly recognized having heard somewhere before.

“Hullo, yourself,” answered Shorty.  “Who air yo?"

“I’m Capt.  Littles,” came back above the noise of barking.  “Call off your togs.  I’m all righdt.  Is it all right up dere?”

“Yes.  Lay down.  Watch!  Git out, Tige!” Shorty started to answer, when he was interrupted by the apparition of Mrs. Bolster-Hackberry flying out of the door, and yelling at the top of her voice: 

“No, hit ain’t all right at all.  Captain.  The Yankees ’ve got us.  Thar’s a right smart passel o’ ’em here, with we’uns prisoners.  Jump ’em, if you’ kin.  If yo’ can’t, skeet out an’ git enough t’ down ’em an’ git us out.”

Si and Shorty recognized that the time for words was passed.  They snatched up their guns and fired in the direction of the hail.  The other boys did the same.  There was a patter of replying shots, aimed at the fire around which they had been standing, but had moved away from.

Apparently, Capt.  Littles thought the Yankees were in too great force for him to attack, for his horses could be heard moving away.  The boys followed them with shots aimed at the sound.  Si and Shorty ran down forward a little ways, hoping to get a better sight.  The rebels halted, apparently dis mounted, got behind a fence and began firing back at intervals.

Si and Shorty fired from the point they had gained, and drew upon themselves quite a storm of shots.

“Things look bad,” said Si to Shorty.  “They’ve halted there to hold us while they send for reinforcements.  We’d better go back to the boys and get things in shape.  Mebbe we’d better send back to camp for help.”

“We’ll wait till we find out more about ’em,” said Shorty, as they moved back.  They had to cross the road, upon the white surface of which they stood out in bold contrast and drew some shots which came uncomfortably close.

The other boys, after a severe struggle, had caught Mrs. Bolster-Hackberry and put her back in the cabin.  After a brief consultation, it was decided to hold their ground until daylight.  They could get into the cabin, and by using it as a fortification, stand off a big crowd of enemies.  The rest of the boys were sent inside to punch out loop-holes between the logs, and make the place as defensible as possible.  Si and Shorty were to stay outside and observe.

“I’ve got an idée how to fix that old woman,” said Shorty suddenly.

“Buck-and-gag her?” inquired Si.

“No; we’ll go in there and chuck her down that hole where she kept her whisky, and fasten the hasp in the staple.”

“Good idée, if the hole will hold her.”

“It’s got to hold her.  We can’t have her rampaging round during the fight.  I’d rather have a whole company o’ rebels on my back.”

They did not waste any words with the old woman, but despite her yells and protests Si took hold of one shoulder Shorty the other, and forced her down in the pit and closed the puncheon above her.

They went out again to reconnoiter.  The enemy was quiet, apparently waiting.  Only one shot, fired in the direction of the fire, showed that they were still there.

Shorty suddenly bethought him of his blouse, in the pocket of which was the precious letter.  He felt for it.  It was gone.  He was stunned.

“I remember, now,” he said to himself, “it was working out as I ran, and it slipped down as I climbed the fence.”

He said aloud: 

“Si, I’ve lost my blouse.  I dropped it down there jest before we crossed the road.  I’m goin’ to get it.”

“Blast the blouse,” said Si; “let it be till mornin’.  You need something worse’n a blouse to-night.  You’ll ketch a bullet sure’s you’re alive if you try to go acrost that road agin.  They rake it.”

“I don’t care if they do,” said Shorty desperately.  “I’d go down there if a battery raked it.  There’s a letter in the pocket that I must have.”

Si instinctively felt for the letter in his own pocket.  “Very well,” he said, “if you feel as if you must go I’ll go along.”

“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 if we wuz feelin’ around that way.  That’ll draw some o’ their attention.”

Si did as suggested.

Shorty crept back to the point they had before occupied.  The rebels saw him coming over a httle knoll, and fired at him.  He ran for the fence.  He looked over at the road, and thought he saw the blouse lying in the ditch on the opposite side.  He sprang over the fence and ran across the road.  The rebels had anticipated this and sent a volley into the road.  One bullet struck a small stone, which flew up and smote Shorty’s cheek so sharply that he reeled.  But he went on across, picked up the blouse, found the dear letter, and deliberately stopped in the road until he transferred it to the breast of his shirt.  Then he sprang back over the fence, and stopped there a moment to rest.  He could hear the rebel Captain talking to his men, and every moment the accents of the voice became more familiar.

“Don’t vaste your shods,” he was saying.  “Don’d vire undil you sees somedings to shood ad, unt den vire to hid.  See how many shods you haf alretty vired mitout doing no goot.  You must dink dat ammunition’s as blenty as vater in de Southern Confederacy.  If you hat as much druble as I haf to ket cartridges you vould pe more garcful of dem.”

Capt.  Littles was Rosenbaum, the Jew spy, masquerading in a new rôle.  Shorty’s heart leaped.  Instantly he thought of a way to let Rosenbaum know whom he had run up against.

“Corporal Si Klogg!” he called out in his loudest tones.

“What is it, Shorty?” answered the wondering Si.

“Don’t let any more o’ the boys shoot over there to the left.  That’s the way Capt.  McGillicuddy’s a-comin’ in with Co.  Q. I think I kin see him now jest raisin’ the hill.  Yes, I’m sure it’s him.”

The next instant he heard the rebel Captain saying to his men: 

“Boys, dey’re goming up in our rear.  Dey’re de men ve saw a liddle vhile ago.  De only vay is to mount unt make a rush past de house.  All mount unt vollow me as vast as dey gan.”

There was a gallop of horsemen up the road, and they passed by like the wind, while Si and Shorty fired as fast as they could load-Shorty over their heads.  Si at the noise.  Just opposite the house the Captain’s horse stumbled, and his rider went over his head into a bank of weeds.  The rest swept on, not heeding the mishap.

“Surrender, Levi,” said Shorty, running up.

“Certainly, my tear poy,” said Rosenbaum.  “Anyding dat you vant.  How are you, any vay?  Say, dat vas a nead drick, vasn’t it?  Haf your horse sdumble unt trow you jest ad de righd dime unt place?  It dook me a long dime to deach my horse dot.  I’m mighty glat to see you.”