some sleep," said Shorty, filling his pipe. "I'll
take a smoke and set up for an hour or two. If it looks worth while
then, I'll wake you up and let you take a trick o' keepin' awake. But
if everything looks all right I'll jest crawl in beside you and start a
snorin'-match."

But neither orders nor example could calm down the nerves of boys who
had just had their first experience under fire. There was as little rest
for them as for a nest of hornets which had been rudely shaken. They lay
down at Si's order, but the next minute they were buzzing together in
groups about the fires, or out with their guns to vantage points on
the bank, looking for more enemies. Their excited imaginations made the
opposite bank of the creek alive with men, moving in masses, squads and
singly, with the sounds of footsteps, harsh commands, and of portentous
movements.

Two or three times Shorty repressed them and sharply ordered them to lie
down and go to sleep. Then he decided to let them wear themselves out,
braced his back against a sapling near the fire, pulled out from
his pocket the piece of Maria's dress, and became lost in a swarm of
thoughts that traveled north of the Ohio River.

He was recalled by Harry Joslyn and Gid Mackall appearing before him.

"Say, Corpril," inquired Harry, "what's to be done with them rebels over
there at the end o' the bridge?"

"Them that we shot?" said Shorty carelessly, feeling around for his
tobacco to refill his pipe. "Nothin'. I guess we've done enough for 'em
already."

"Don't we do nothin' more?" repeated Harry.

"No," answered Shorty, as he rubbed the whittlings from his plug to
powder in the hollow of his hand.

"Just plug at 'em as you would at a crow, and then go on your way
whistlin'?" persisted Harry.

"Certainly," answered Shorty, filling his pipe and looking around for a
sliver with which to light it. "What're you thinkin' about?"

"I don't hardly know," hesitated Harry. "It seems awful strange just to
blaze away at men and then pay no more attention to 'em. They mayn't be
knocked out at all--only 'possumin'."

"No 'possumin' about them fellers," said Shorty sententiously, as he
lighted his pipe. "Feller that gits an ounce o' lead from a Springfield
rifle anywhere in his carkiss don't play off nor purtend. He's got
something real to occupy his attention, if he's got any attention left
to occupy. You needn't bother any more about them fellers over there.
Their names's mud. They