Cheered for the Corps Commander; Cheered for the Division Commander; Cheered for the Brigadier-General; Cheered for the Colonel of the 200th Ind.; Cheered for their Royal Selves. "Whew, how hungry that makes me," said Shorty as the cheering and the firing ended, and he studied the western horizon anxiously. "And not a sign yit of any mule-team comin' up from the rear. They must have religious scruples agin travelin' on the Fourth o' July. Well, I s'pose there's nothin' to do but hunt up some more blackberries. But blackberries is like mush. They don't seem to stay with you much longer'n you're eatin' 'em." But they had to go much farther now to find blackberries. The whole hungry regiment had been hunt ing blackberries all day, and for more than a mile around camp the briers were bare. Si and Shorty succeeded at last in finding another plentiful patch, upon which they filled up, and returned to camp for another smoke and an impatient look for the Commissary teams. "I like blackberries as well as any other man," mused Shorty, "but it don't seem to me that last lot was nearly so good as the first we had this morning. Mebbe the birds kin eat 'em four times a day and seven days in the week without gittin' tired, but I ain't much of a bird, myself. I'd like to change off just now to about six big crackers, a pound o' fat pork and a quart o' coffee. Wonder if the rebel cavalry could've got around in our rear and jumped our trains? No; 'Joe Wheeler's critter company,' as that rebel called 'em, hain't quit runnin' yit from the lickin' Minty give 'em at Shelbyville. Mebbe the mules have struck. I'd 'a' struck years ago if I'd bin a mule." The sun began to sink toward the western hills, and still no welcome sign of coming wagons. Si remarked despairingly: "Well, after all the berry-eatin' I've done to-day I feel as holler as a bee-gum. I don't believe any wagons'll git up to-night, and if we're goin' to have any supper at all we'd better go out and pick it before it gits too dark to see." They had to go a long distance out this time to find a good berry patch. It was getting dark be fore they fairly began picking their supper. Presently they heard voices approaching from the other side. They crouched down a little behind the brier-clumps and listened. "Be keerful. The Yankee pickets must be nigh. Thar's their campfires." "Pshaw. Them fires is two miles away. Thar's no pickets fur a mile yit. Go ahead." "No sich thing. Them fires ain't a mile off. "Their pickets are likely right along that 'ere ridge thar." "Bushwhackers," whispered Si, rising a little to reconnoiter. "One, two, three, four, five, six on 'em. Sneakin' up to pick off our pickets. What'd we better do?"