dge was crossed and a number of camps appeared along
the slope.

"Wonder which one o' them is the 200th Injianny's?" said Si to Shorty.

"I thought the 200th Injianny was so much finer rijimint than any
other that you'd know it at sight," said Harry Joslyn, with a shade of
disappointment in his voice.

"I would know it if I was sure I was lookin' at it," answered Shorty.
"But they seem to have picked out all the best rijimints in the army to
go into camp here this side o' Mission Ridge. Mebbe they want to make
the best show to the enemy."

"That looks like the camp o' the 200th Injianny over there," said Si,
pointing to the right, after scanning the mountain-side. "See all them
red shirts hangin' out to dry? That's Co. A; they run to red flannel
shirts like a nigger barber to striped pants."

"No," answered Shorty; "that's that Ohio rijimint, made up o' rollin'
mill men and molders. They all wear red flannel shirts. There's the
200th Injianny just down there to the left, with all them men on extra
duty on the parade ground. I know just the gang. Same old crowd; I kin
almost tell their faces. They've bin runnin' guard, as usual, and comin'
back full o' apple-jack and bad language and desire to give the camp a
heavy coat o' red paint. Old McBiddle has tried to convince 'em that he
was still runnin' the rijimint, and his idees wuz better 'n theirs, and
there they are. There's Jim Monaghan handlin' that pick as if he was
in the last stages o' consumption. There's Barney' Maguire, pickin' up
three twigs 'bout as big as lead pencils, and solemnly carryin' 'em off
the parade ground as if they wuz fence-rails. I'll just bet a month's
pay that's Denny Murphy marchin' up and down there with his knapsack
filled with Tennessee dornicks. Denny's done that feather-weight
knapsack trick so often that his shoulders have corns and windgalls on
'em, and they always keep a knapsack packed for him at the guard-house
ready for one of his Donnybrook fair songs and dances. Mighty good boy,
Denny, but he kin git up a red-hotter riot on his share of a canteen
of apple-jack than any three men in the rijimint. That feller tied to a
tree is Tony Wilson. He's refused to dig trenches agin. O, I tell you,
they're a daisy lot."

"Shorty," admonished Si. "You mustn't talk that way before the boys.
What'll they think o' the rijimint?"

"Think of it?" said Shorty, recovering himself. "They've got to think
of it as the very best rijimint that ever