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.{114}

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{115} 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