MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
knowledge that I must control by personality, rather than military rank, brought with it a new sense of responsibility, and a desire to test my authority.
"Daniels," I said, drawing back my horse till I rode beside him, "this looks an odd command given me. What are they—enlisted men?"
"Some of 'em are," he answered slowly, shifting his eyes over the rabble behind, "but ther mountain men mostly are jus' volunteer scouts, picked up yere in ther deestrict 'cause they know ther way 'round. I reckon maybe it's a tough-lookin' outfit from a sojerin' pint o' view, but thar's some damn good scouts a-ridin' thar behin' yer."
"Some of them appear mere boys."
"Sure they do, an' they're ther sort what takes chances whar a grown mar would Have a nerve fit. That yaller-headed feller thar has been mostly my partner lately; he's Irish, name Con O'Brien; deserted twice from ther Ninth Illinois Cavalry, but since they put him scoutin' thar ain't no job too blame hard fer him ter tackle. I tell ye, Leftenant, scouts is born, not made."
"Yes," I said, my blood tingling as I recalled to mind those stories of adventures between the lines frequently related around the camp-fire, "and from all I learn, you are one thus born. I've heard of you often enough. You have had some thrilling experiences."
"Oh, tol'ble, tol'ble."
"How long have you been at it?"
"Oh, mostly since the war begun; I started in with Buell in Kentucky."
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