"O, come off," shouted the rebel on the other side. "Don't be a fool, Bill. Fist-foutin' don't settle nothin'. Come back here and git your gun if ye want to fout. But don't le's fout no more to-day. Thar's plenty of it for ter-morrer. Le's keep quiet and peaceful now. I want powerfully to take a swim. Air you fellers agreed?" "Yes; yes," shouted Shorty. "You fellers keep to your side o' the river, and we will to ours." The agreement was carried into instantaneous effect, and soon both sides of the stream were filled with laughing, romping, splashing men. There was something very exhilarating in the cool, clear, mountain water of the stream. The boys149 got to wrestling, and Si came off victorious in two or three bouts with his comrades. "Cock-a-doodle-doo," he shouted, imitating the crow of a rooster. "I kin duck any man in the 200th Injianny." The challenge reached the ears of the rebel with whom Si had traded. He was not satisfied with the result of his conference. "You kin crow over your fellers, Yank," he shouted; "but you dassent come to the middle an' try me two falls outen three." Si immediately made toward him. They surveyed each other warily for a minute to get the advantages of the first clinch, when a yell came from the rebel side: "Scatter, Confeds! Hunt yer holes, Yanks! The Cunnel's a-comin'." Both sides ran up their respective banks, snatched up their guns, took their places behind their trees, and opened a noisy but harmless fire. 150 CHAPTER XI. SHORTY'S CORRESPONDENT GETS A LETTER FROM BAD AX, WIS., AND IS ALMOST OVERCOME WITH JOY. SHORTY had always been conspicuously lacking in the general interest which his comrades had shown in the mails. Probably at some time in his life he had had a home like the rest of them, but for some reason home now played no part in his thoughts. The enlistment and muster-rolls stated that he was born in Indiana, but he was a stranger in the neighborhood when he enrolled himself in Co. Q. His revelations as to his past were confined to memories of things which happened "when I was cuttin' wood down the Mississippi," or "when I was runnin' on an Ohio sternwheel." He wrote no letters and received none. And when the joyful cry, "Mail's come," would send everybody else in the regiment on a run to the Chaplain's tent, in eager anticipation, to jostle one another in impatience, until the contents of the mailpouch were distributed, Shorty would remain indifferent in his tent, without an instant's interruption in his gun cleaning, mending, or whatever task he might have in hand. A change came over him after he sent his letter to Bad Ax, Wis. The cry, "Mail's come," would make151 him start, in spite of himself, and before he could think to maintain his old indifference. He was ashamed, lest he betray his heart's most secret thoughts.