That blast rang down the valley into Flitter Bill’s ears and startled him into action.  It brought Tallow Dick’s head out of the barn door and made him grin.

“Dick!” Flitter Bill’s call was sharp and angry.

“Yes, suh!”

“Go tell ole Mayhall Wells that I ain’t goin’ to send him nary another pound o’ bacon an’ nary another tin cup o’ meal—­no, by ——­, I ain’t.”

Half an hour later the negro stood before the ragged tent of the commander of the Army of the Callahan.

“Marse Bill say he ain’t gwine to sen’ you no mo’ rations—­no mo’.”

“What!”

Tallow Dick repeated his message and the captain scowled—­mutiny!

“Fetch my hoss!” he thundered.

Very naturally and very swiftly had the trouble come, for straight after the captain’s fight with Hence Sturgill there had been a mighty rally to the standard of Mayhall Wells.  From Pigeon’s Creek the loafers came—­from Roaring Fork, Cracker’s Neck, from the Pocket down the valley, and from Turkey Cove.  Recruits came so fast, and to such proportions grew the Army of the Callahan, that Flitter Bill shrewdly suggested at once that Captain Wells divide it into three companies and put one up Pigeon’s Creek under Lieutenant Jim Skaggs and one on Callahan under Lieutenant Tom Boggs, while the captain, with a third, should guard the mouth of the Gap.  Bill’s idea was to share with those districts the honor of his commissary-generalship; but Captain Wells crushed the plan like a dried puffball.

“Yes,” he said, with fine sarcasm.  “What will them Kanetuckians do then?  Don’t you know, Gineral Richmond?  Why, I’ll tell you what they’ll do.  They’ll jest swoop down on Lieutenant Boggs and gobble him up.  Then they’ll swoop down on Lieutenant Skaggs on Pigeon and gobble him up.  Then they’ll swoop down on me and gobble me up.  No, they won’t gobble me up, but they’ll come damn nigh it.  An’ what kind of a report will I make to Jeff Davis, Gineral Richmond? Captured In detail, suh?  No, suh.  I’ll jest keep Lieutenant Boggs and Lieutenant Skaggs close by me, and we’ll pitch our camp right here in the Gap whar we can pertect the property of Confederate citizens and be close to our base o’ supplies, suh.  That’s what I’ll do!”

“Gineral Richmond” groaned, and when in the next breath the mighty captain casually inquired if that uniform of his had come yet, Flitter Bill’s fat body nearly rolled off his chair.

“You will please have it here next Monday,” said the captain, with great firmness.  “It is necessary to the proper discipline of my troops.”  And it was there the following Monday—­a regimental coat, gray jeans trousers, and a forage cap that Bill purchased from a passing Morgan raider.  Daily orders would come from Captain Wells to General Flitter Bill Richmond to send up more rations, and Bill groaned afresh when a man from Callahan told how the captain’s family was sprucing up on meal