He spoke reflectively and as if from long consideration of
the subject, entering at once into the intimacies of a relation with the
man of his own colour.
"That horse is the meanest I ever saw--I know him."
"He's near thoroughbred," said Josiah, "and been badly handled, I
reckon. It's no good cussin' horses or mules--a good horseman don't ever
do it--horses know."
"Well, the officer that rides that horse now is about the only man can
ride him. That horse pretty nearly killed one of my general's staff. He
sold him mighty sudden."
"Who's your General?" queries Josiah.
"Why, General Grant--I'm his headquarter man--they call me
Bill--everybody knows me."
He rose at once in Josiah's estimation. "Who owns that horse?" asked
Josiah. "I'd like well to handle his beast."
"He's an engineer-officer, name of Penhallow. He's down yonder somewhere
about that pontoon bridge. I'm left here to hunt up a headquarter wagon."
"Penhallow!" exclaimed Josiah, delighted. "Why, I'm down here to be his
servant."
"Well, let's go to the bridge. You'll get a chance to cross after the
wagons get over. I've just found mine." They moved to one side and sat
down. "That's Wilson's cavalry on guard. Worst dust I ever saw. Infantry
dust's bad, but cavalry dust don't ever settle.
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