had got through the twenty-three miles that brought us to New
Creek, I hated him intensely, as one hates the man--friend or foe--that
bores you to death's door. That he should be puffed up with vainglory,
was neither unlikely nor unreasonable. His own shots were the only ones
he had ever seen fired in anger. It was natural, too, that he should
over-estimate the importance of his capture; he had suffered from the
war, in purse, if not in person, and had lost two sons in the Northern
army from disease, one of whom had been imprisoned for six months by the
Confederates. After his first excitement had passed away, he bore
himself not unkindly towards me; though, at Greenland, he did greatly
bewail the darkness that had caused him to take a costly life instead of
a worthless one; Falcon would have fetched five hundred dollars in those
parts; even at my own valuation, _I_ could not have been appraised so
highly. So I listened to him twice or thrice with great patience, while
he told how well he had deserved of his country; but, when he persisted
in repeating the same tale, not only to me, but to every creature he
encountered, the iteration became simply "damnable." He spoke of his
dead sons in the same pompous tones of self-exultation with which he
reckoned all other items standing to the credit side of his patriotism.
Fortunately for my equanimity, I was not present when he told his own
tale at New Creek; it must have been a grand romance of history.

Yet my poor Dolley made a bad night's work of it after all. His three
days' fame in local papers cost him dear. Immediately on getting out of
prison, I heard--not without a savage satisfaction--that Imboden's
horsemen had harried his homestead thoroughly in their last raid; Dolley
only saving his life by "running like a hare." The Southerners know
everything that goes on near their lines, and are wonderfully regular in
settling scores with any registered debtor.

At New Creek I was confronted with Colonel Mulligan. His attire was
anything but military; black overalls crammed into high butcher boots, a
Garibaldi shirt of the brightest emerald green; but his bearing was
unmistakably that of a soldier and gentleman. He treated me with the
utmost courtesy. I also met with no small kindness from the adjutant of
the artillery corps, an old Crimean. Unluckily, Colonel Mulligan could
not deal with my case, so, after a brief examination, and liberal
refreshment, Shipley and myself were