“Trouble!” he repeated, sarcastically.  And then he told how a charging horde of daredevils had driven him from camp with overwhelming numbers and one piece of artillery; how he had rallied the army and fought them back, foot by foot, and put them to fearful rout; how the army had fallen back again just when the Kentuckians were running like sheep, and how he himself had stayed in the rear with Lieutenant Boggs and Lieutenant Skaggs, “to cover their retreat, suh,” and how the purveyor, if he would just go up through the Gap, would doubtless find the cannon that the enemy had left behind in their flight.  It was just while he was thus telling the tale for the twentieth time that two figures appeared over the brow of the hill and drew near—­Hence Sturgill on horseback and Tallow Dick on foot.

“I ketched this nigger in my corn-fiel’ this mornin’,” said Hence, simply, and Flitter Bill glared, and without a word went for the blacksnake ox-whip that hung by the barn door.

For the twenty-first time Captain Wells started his tale again, and with every pause that he made for breath Hence cackled scorn.

“An’, Hence Sturgill, ef you will jus’ go up in the Gap you’ll find a cannon, captured, suh, by me an’ the Army of the Callahan, an’—­”

“Cannon!” Hence broke in.  “Speak up, nigger!” And Tallow Dick spoke up—­grinning: 

“I done it!”

“What!” shouted Flitter Bill.

“I kicked a rock loose climbin’ over Callahan’s Nose.”

Bill dropped his whip with a chuckle of pure ecstasy.  Mayhall paled and stared.  The crowd roared, the Army of the Callahan grinned, and Hence climbed back on his horse.

“Mayhall Wells,” he said, “plain ole Mayhall Wells, I’ll see you on Couht Day.  I ain’t got time now.”

And he rode away.

[Illustration:  “Speak up, nigger.”]

IV

That day Captain Mayhall Wells and the Army of the Callahan were in disrepute.  Next day the awful news of Lee’s surrender came.  Captain Wells refused to believe it, and still made heroic effort to keep his shattered command together.  Looking for recruits on Court Day, he was twitted about the rout of the army by Hence Sturgill, whose long-coveted chance to redeem himself had come.  Again, as several times before, the captain declined to fight—­his health was essential to the general well-being—­but Hence laughed in his face, and the captain had to face the music, though the heart of him was gone.

He fought well, for he was fighting for his all, and he knew it.  He could have whipped with ease, and he did whip, but the spirit of the thoroughbred was not in Captain Mayhall Wells.  He had Sturgill down, but Hence sank his teeth into Mayhall’s thigh while Mayhall’s hands grasped his opponent’s throat.  The captain had only to squeeze, as every rough-and-tumble fighter knew, and endure his pain until Hence would have to give in.  But Mayhall was not built to endure.  He roared like a bull as soon as the teeth met in his flesh, his fingers relaxed, and to the disgusted surprise of everybody he began to roar with great distinctness and agony: