"General? Who are you callin' General, you fool? Don't try to be funny with me. You know I'm no General."
"I meant Colonel," the Deacon started to explain.
"The blazes you did. You expect Colonels to run hoss-corrals, and manage mule boarding-houses, do you? stop your blimmed nonsense and answer my questions."
"Major, I was tryin' to say"
"I'll Major you when I git my boots on and git out there. Don't think to shut my eye up callin' me big titles."
"But, Captain."
"I'm no Captain, neither. I'm plain Jim Crimmins, Quartermaster-Sergeant, in charge o' this corral, that you're stealin' around. I'm comin' out there to break every bone in your body. You infernal sneaks 've pestered the life out o' me stealin' my corn and my mules, even. I've bin watchin' you piroutin' around in the dark for a long time. I'm goin' to stop this business if I've got to kill every thievin' varmint in the Army o' the Cumberland. Don't you dare move till I come out, or I'll put a bullet through you. Do you hear?"
"I don't believe I've got any more time to waste on that bellerin' bull-calf," said the Deacon to himself. He gathered up the lines, turned the horse's head toward the road, and gave him a lick with a switch, and he dashed off, followed by a couple of shots from Mr. Crimmins, to give color and confirmation to the story that worthy related later in the day of a particularly audacious attempt on the part of sneak thieves to get away with his mules and corn, and which was frustrated by his vigilance and daring.
As the horse slowed down to a walk again a Sergeant of the Guard at the head of a squad stepped out and took him by the reins.
"Here, who are you, and where are you going so early in the morning?" he inquired.