“Good! I like that kind of talk. Meanwhile we’ll get the kinks out of our legs marching to Morristown.”
“So you are an Injun fighter,” remarked Zeb to Rodney, as they fell into line side by side.
“Scarcely that,” replied Rodney, flushing with pleasure as he thought of the introduction by his colonel. “I’ve been made prisoner by them, lived with them for a time and ran away from ’em, doing a little fighting by the way.”
“Anyhow, the colonel appears to like ye, an’ that’s a recommendation not to be sneezed at.”
“I hope I can keep his good will. I never saw a man whose men were more loyal.”
“He’s a lion in a fight, asks no man to go whar he won’t go himself. And he knows what the boys are thinkin’ about, an’ just how to manage ’em.”
“I was told that on the march to the Scioto one of his men disobeyed orders, in fact had been disgruntled for some time, and that Morgan walked up to him and said, ‘Come with me a minute.’ They went into the woods together and, when they came back, the man had a black eye and looked as though he’d stolen a sheep; but ever after he didn’t have to be told twice to do a thing.”
Zeb laughed, saying, “That sort of treatment was what that kind of man could understand. But Morgan never allowed one of his men to be flogged.”
“He was terribly flogged once himself.”