The next morning when the General arose, Solomon had fed and rubbed down Ajax, the thoroughbred. He stood talking to himself—he had forgotten the war: “Whut a hoss—whut legs—whut muscles, like bees a swarming! I’ve allers dreamed o’ keerin’ fur sech!” He turned to the General: “I’ll take keer o’ him from now on.” The General was touched and when he shook Solomon’s hand the bond was sealed. “How long have you been up, Solomon?” “Two hours b’ day—Gen’l.” It was the first time he had used the word and the old fighter inwardly scored one more point for the horse—that could prune the pride of the mountaineer—he who knew no titles, no superior. “Ye see, Gen’l, forgot yistiddy to kiss Dinah Mariah good-bye. She’s the little deef-mute mammy lef’ befo’ she tuck an’ went an’ died. I raised her—gi’n her urver rappin she had ’cep the milk she drunk, an’ wish’t I c’ud er gi’n her that. Dad’s been so tarnel mean to her. D’ye know I had an idee that he wanted ter put her out o’ the way? So I steps back over the mount’in an into the cabin whur they all sleeps—all ’leven on ’em. But ye know I couldn’t kiss ’er good-bye, seein’ ’er sleepin’ thar so sweet?” He struck savagely at his eyes with his big-knuckled fist. “But I fetched this—I’ve jined fur the war an’ I wants my own gun—don’t like ther blunderbusses you-uns shoots. This un’s a Deckerd—been thro’ ther Revolushun, an’ with Ole Hickory at New ’leans. It’s fittin’ fur it to fit ag’in fur the Union. Thar—see!” and he pointed the gun high up at the limb of a big oak. The General saw nothing until the great flint and steel snapped together like the jaws of an alligator, and he had a tender but headless fox squirrel for his breakfast, cooked, later, by Solomon’s own hand. “An’ I don’t shoot ther innards out, nurther,” he growled. “You needn’t lose him, Major,” chuckled the general, as he pulled off a succulent hind limb, roasted on a green stick-spittle over a pit of coals. The Major having the mate of it in his own mouth, could not speak, but nodded vigorously. A hard winter and deadly fighting between Missionary Ridge and Atlanta: but Solomon enlivened it for the Tenth. For he was their brother and his quaint sayings became their intellectual stock in trade. For instance: “The —— Iowa flickered at Dug’s Creek. Then they sulked.” They had done it before. “What shall I do with them?” snarled the General that night in camp. Solomon drawled in: “’Pint ’em ter bury ther dead—they’re nat’ul born pallbearers. I’ve seed lots o’ folks that was.” When old Tecumseh Sherman heard of this he offered to promote Solomon to a corporalcy: “Nun—no,” said Solomon, “then I’d hafter wear boots an’ a unerform. An’ say, them thar unerforms you-uns wear meks you-uns look jes lak them little flyin’ stink-ants that swarms out in the spring. God didn’t inten’ no two fol’ks ter be alike. Es fur boots, they fus’ jes make yer feet tender an’ then wears out. I’ve got on a pa’r thet nurver wears out.”