Lincoln sighed heavily as he strode up to the lighted tent where a group of men hunkered down around Tad and his goat.
The corporal dropped his awl and leather and jumped up, eyes bulging.
“Attention!” he barked.
Every man sprang up to stand stiffly. Tad threw his arms around the goat, yelling desperately. “Help me hold him! He’ll get away.”
“At ease, boys,” Lincoln said “Grab that goat, some of you.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President, sir,” gulped the corporal. “Get him, Bullitt. You, Joe—you’re on post!”
“Joe,” Lincoln said, “has been escorting me and protecting me from assassins, my orders. Very capably too. Tad, you’d better come along to bed. Tomorrow is Christmas and your brother will be here on an early train.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President.” The corporal flicked a salute importantly. “Lieutenant detailed me and three of the boys to meet that train. We was just helping the boy here to pretty up his goat, sir, asking your pardon and meaning no offense.”
“No offense taken, Corporal. I appreciate your taking care of my boys.”
“Look, Papa,” shrilled Tad, “lookit Billy’s horns.” The animal’s rough pointed horns had been painted a bright scarlet and tipped with circles of brass. He shook them impatiently while Tad clung to his neck.