"Now, tell me the truth. Where did you get that cow?"
"I have bin tellin' you the truth," protested Shorty with an injured air. "Why should I tell you a lie about a little thing like a cow?"
"You are not within a mile of the truth. I know it. Look here: I believe that is Gen. Rosecrans's own cow. She's gone, and I got an order to look around for her. I've never seen her, but from the description given me I believe that's she. Who brought her here?"
"Great Jehosephat, he's after the Deacon," thought Shorty with a shudder. "I mustn't let him git him." Then he spoke out boldly:
"I brung her here."
"Shorty," said the officer with a smile, "I admire your talents for prevarication more than I can express. As a good, off-hand, free-going, single-gaited liar you have few equals and no superiors. Your lies usually have so much probability in them that they seem better than the truth—for your purposes. But this has no probability whatever in it. I doubt if you are able to walk to Headquarters. If you were well and strong, I should believe you quite capable not only of stealing the cow from Army Headquarters, but President Lincoln's cow from his back-door of the White House. But you are good now because you haven't strength enough to be up to any devilment. Now, tell me, who brought that cow here?"
"I brung her here myself, I tell you. I felt unusually peart last night. Felt that I had to snatch something jest to keep my hand in, like. Couldn't find nothin' else on four legs worth takin', and couldn't take nothin' that couldn't walk. So I took her. You kin send me to the guard-house if you want to. I expect I deserve it."
And Shorty tried to look contrite and penitent.