you are." "O, I kin do that quick enough," said the
"Captain" eagerly, displaying on his vest the silver star, which was
the badge of his rank, and his floridly printed commission and a
badly-thumb-marked copy of the ritual of the Knights of the Golden
Circle.

"So far, so good," said Shorty. "Now give me the grip."

Shorty, by watching the motions of the other's hand, was skillful enough
to catch on to the grip this time, and get it exactly. He expressed
himself satisfied, and as the car lay on the siding waiting for another
train to arrive and pass he favored his two companions with one of his
finest fictions about his home in Tennessee, his service in the rebel
army, the number of Yankee Abolitionists he had slain with his own hand,
and his present mission with important communications to those "friends
of the South in Illinois" who were organizing a movement to stop the
bloody and brutal war upon his beloved Southland.

His volubility excited that of the "Captain," who related how he had
been doing a prosperous business running a bar on a Lower Mississippi
River boat, until Abolition fanaticism brought on the war; that he had
then started a "grocery" in Jeffersonville, which the Provost-Marshal
had wickedly suppressed, and now he was joining with others of his
oppressed and patriotic fellow-citizens to stop the cruel and unnatural
struggle against their brethren of the South.

"And we shall do it," he said warmly, bringing out the savage-looking
dirk, throwing it open with a deft movement of his wrist, and shaving
off a huge chew of tobacco. "We have a hundred thousand drilled and
armed men here in the State of Injianny, jest waitin' the word, to throw
off the shackles of tyranny and destroy the tyrants.

"There's another hundred thousand in Illinois and like numbers in other
States. And they'll fight, too. They'll fight to the death, and every
one of them is good for' at least three of the usurper Lincoln's
minions. I'd like nothing better than to get a good opportunity at three
or four o' 'em, armed with nothin' more'n this knife. I'd like nothin'
better than the chance to sock it into their black hearts. 'Twouldn't
be the first time, nuther. The catfish around Jeffersonville could tell
some stories if they could talk, about the Lincoln hounds I've fed to
'em. I only want a good chance at 'em agin. I may go, but I'll take
several of 'em with me. I'll die in my tracks afore I'll stand this any
longer. I hate e