“There is something familiar in your looks and voice, but I am unable to place you.”
“Did you ever hear of Corporal Bob Parker of the ––– Missouri?”
“Yes; you are he! I recognize you now! I am glad to greet you.”
And shoving his Winchester under the stump of his arm, Captain Dawson extended his hand to his old comrade 250 and shook it warmly, the two seeming to forget the presence of every one else.
“Something in your face struck me,” said the corporal, “but I wasn’t sure. The last time I saw you, you had both arms.”
“Yes; I got rid of this one at the very close of the war.”
“Things were pretty well mixed up around Petersburg; I tried to get on your track, but failed; I knew you meant to come to California, and when we drifted here, I was hopeful of finding you, but I didn’t think it would be in this style.”
While speaking the corporal had retained the hand of the captain, shaking it occasionally as he spoke. He now gave it a final pressure and dropped it.
“Captain, you and I went through some pretty tough scrimmages and you were always dead true and game; when we lost our colonel and major, you took command and led the charge that day at Cold Harbor; Grant or Sheridan couldn’t have done better.”
“It was rather warm,” smiled the captain, blushing at the compliment; “but, corporal, it looks as if we are going to have something of the kind here.”