Branch considered. "I wouldn't have thought of such a thing yesterday, but how are we going to get rid of her? That's the question. We can't just leave her with the first family we come to. These country people have more kids than they know what to do with."
"Thinking about taking her on the march with us?" O'Reilly looked up, much amused.
"I don't see why it couldn't be done. The men wouldn't mind and she'd make a dandy mascot."
O'Reilly shook his head. "This isn't a baseball team. What about the baby's mother?"
"Bullets! Fine mother SHE was, to desert her child. I'll bet she's glad to get rid of it. People like that don't have any more affection than—cattle. They don't deserve to have children. What's more, they don't know how to care for them. I'd like to raise this kid according to my own ideas." Branch's face lightened suddenly. "Say! I've just thought of a name for her!"
"What?"
"Bullets!"
"Are you swearing or naming her?"
"Wouldn't that be a good name? It's new, and it means something. Raid, battle, rain of bullets! See? Bullets Branch—that doesn't sound bad."
With deliberate malice O'Reilly said, gravely: "Of course, if you adopt her, you can name her what you choose—but she's a mighty brown baby! I have my suspicions that—she's a mulatto." Branch was shocked, indignant. "That child's as white as you are," he sputtered. Then noting the twinkle in O'Reilly's eyes he turned away, muttering angrily.