Si and Shorty gave a yell, and galloped toward them, in full sight of Co. Q. who raised a cheer. The rebels spurred their horses, but Si and Shorty gained on them.
"Come on. Shorty." Si yelled. "I don't believe they've got a shot left. They hain't fired once since they started."
He was right. Their cartridge-boxes had been emptied.
At the bottom of the hill a creek crossing the road made a deep, wide quagmire. The rebels were in too much hurry to pick out whatever road there might have been through it. Their leaders plunged in, their horses sank nearly to the knees, and the whole party bunched up.
"Surrender, you rebel galoots." yelled Si reining up at a little distance, and bringing his gun to bear.
"Surrender, you off-scourings of secession," added Shorty.
The rebels looked back, held up their hands, and said imploringly:
"Don't shoot, Mister. We'uns give up. We'uns air taylored."