and flour and bacon from the captain’s camp.  Humiliation followed.  It had never occurred to Captain Wells that being a captain made it incongruous for him to have a “general” under him, until Lieutenant Skaggs, who had picked up a manual of tactics somewhere, cautiously communicated his discovery.  Captain Wells saw the point at once.  There was but one thing to do—­to reduce General Richmond to the ranks—­and it was done.  Technically, thereafter, the general was purveyor for the Army of the Callahan, but to the captain himself he was—­gallingly to the purveyor—­simple Flitter Bill.

The strange thing was that, contrary to his usual shrewdness, it should have taken Flitter Bill so long to see that the difference between having his store robbed by the Kentucky jay-hawkers and looted by Captain Wells was the difference between tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee, but, when he did see, he forged a plan of relief at once.  When the captain sent down Lieutenant Boggs for a supply of rations, Bill sent the saltiest, rankest bacon he could find, with a message that he wanted to see the great man.  As before, when Captain Wells rode down to the store, Bill handed out a piece of paper, and, as before, the captain had left his “specs” at home.  The paper was an order that, whereas the distinguished services of Captain Wells to the Confederacy were appreciated by Jefferson Davis, the said Captain Wells was, and is, hereby empowered to duly, and in accordance with the tactics of war, impress what live-stock he shall see fit and determine fit for the good of his command.  The news was joy to the Army of the Callahan.  Before it had gone the rounds of the camp Lieutenant Boggs had spied a fat heifer browsing on the edge of the woods and ordered her surrounded and driven down.  Without another word, when she was close enough, he raised his gun and would have shot her dead in her tracks had he not been arrested by a yell of command and horror from his superior.

“Air you a-goin’ to have me cashiered and shot, Lieutenant Boggs, fer violatin’ the ticktacks of war?” roared the captain, indignantly.  “Don’t you know that I’ve got to impress that heifer accordin’ to the rules an’ regulations?  Git roun’ that heifer.”  The men surrounded her.  “Take her by the horns.  Now!  In the name of Jefferson Davis and the Confederate States of Ameriky, I hereby and hereon do duly impress this heifer for the purposes and use of the Army of the Callahan, so help me God!  Shoot her down, Bill Boggs, shoot her down!”

Now, naturally, the soldiers preferred fresh meat, and they got it—­impressing cattle, sheep, and hogs, geese, chickens, and ducks, vegetables—­nothing escaped the capacious maw of the Army of the Callahan.  It was a beautiful idea, and the success of it pleased Flitter Bill mightily, but the relief did not last long.  An indignant murmur rose up and down valley and creek bottom against the outrages, and one angry old farmer took a pot-shot at Captain Wells with a