“Grip him with me knase, is it?” he replied. “Then, be jimminy, I’ll git down and wade, for it’s myself that’s as bow-legged as a barrel hoop, and it’s me grub, not me back, I’m afther kaping thry.” Several months had passed since Mike had joined us and he had improved in his horsemanship to such an extent that he would even venture sometimes, when very much aggravated, to punish the “brute of a baste” he was riding with the spur, instead of dismounting and larruping the horse with a sprout, as he did at first. But notwithstanding his poor skill as a rider, Mike’s love of anything that might lead up to a brush with “our friends, the enemy,” was so strong he was always ready and anxious to go on our scouting expeditions. Anderson, the captain of our company, was a superb rider. Having spent many years of his life on the Texas frontier, he could perform all the tricks in the saddle so common to the cowboys of the present day, but rarely ever seen then, such as scooping down and picking up his glove, hat, or pistol from the ground, with his horse at full speed. The frequent encounters his company had with the cavalry of the enemy made him pretty well known and much sought after by them, and through the citizens they had obtained, not only a good description of him, but also a thorough knowledge of his dexterity as a rider. On one occasion our scouts reported a foraging train of the enemy coming out from Helena escorted by a squadron of cavalry. Weatherly, our first lieutenant, was in command of our troop that day, Anderson being absent, and as the old man was of a naturally quarrelsome disposition and never lost an opportunity to pick a fuss or make a fight, either in or out of the army, we were soon in the saddle and on our way to strike the escort of the foragers. We were considerably outnumbered, but Weatherly thought that if he would dismount part of his men, place them in ambush, and when they opened fire on the blue-coats, charge with his mounted men on their rear, the advantage of the surprise would about even the thing up. So part of us were dismounted, Mike and I of the number, and placed in a dense thicket not more than twenty paces from the road. The Federal column soon rode in, and at the word “Fire” the thicket blazed, and at the same time Weatherly charged, as he thought, on their rear with his mounted men. A number of men and horses went down under our fire and the head of the Federal column was thrown into confusion, but only for a moment, for we had struck the Fifth Kansas, commanded by Maj. Sam Walker, as good a body of cavalry and as brave an officer as there was in either army. At command they wheeled and formed, fronting the thicket, and charged in the face of our second volley. At the same time a yell, distinctly “Yankee,” and a heavy discharge of carbines farther down the road to our right, told us as plainly as if we had seen it, that Weatherly had wedged himself in between the advance guard and main column