clump of pawpaw bushes, which would
hide him from the observation of everyone. There he sat down, pulled out
the letter again, and read it over carefully, word by word.

"Wants me to write whether I got the socks," he{130} mused. "You jest bet
I will. I've a great mind to ask for a furlough to go up to Wisconsin,
and find out Bad Ax. I wonder how fur it is. I'll go over to the
Suiter's and git some paper and envelopes, and write to her this very
afternoon."

He carried his camp-kettle back to the house, set it down, and making
some excuse, set off for the Sutler's shop.

"Le'me see your best paper and envelopes," he said to the pirate who had
license to fleece the volunteers.

"Awfully common trash," said Shorty, looking over the assortment
disdainfully, for he wanted something superlatively fine for his letter.
"Why don't you git something fit for a gentleman to write to a lady on?
Something with gold edges on the paper and envelopes, and perfumed? I
never write to a lady except on gilt-edged paper, smellin' o' bergamot,
and musk, and citronella, and them things. I don't think it's good
taste."

"Well, think what you please," said the Sutler. "That's all the kind I
have, and that's all the kind you'll git. Take it or leave it."

Shorty finally selected a quire of heavy letter paper and a bunch
of envelopes, both emblazoned with patriotic and warlike designs in
brilliant red and blue.

"Better take enough," he said to himself. "I've been handlin' a pick
and shovel and gun so much that I'm afeared my hand isn't as light as it
used to be, and I'll have to spile several sheets before I git it just
right."

On his way back he decided to go by the camp of{131} one of the
Wisconsin regiments and learn what he could of Bad Ax and its people.

"Is there a town in your State called Bad Ax?" he asked of the first man
he met with "Wis." on his cap.

"Cert'," was the answer. "And another one called Milwaukee, one
called Madison, and another called Green Bay. Are you studying primary
geography, or just getting up a postoffice directory?"

"Don't be funny, Skeezics," said Shorty severely. "Know anything about
it? Mighty nice place, ain't it?"

"Know anything about it? I should say so. My folks live in Bad Ax
County. It's the toughest, ornerist little hole in the State. Run by
lead-miners. More whisky-shanties than dwellings. It's tough, I tell
you."

"I believe you're an infernal liar," said Shorty, turning away in w