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"Freedom is that important," he says. "Freedom is the most important thing." Bragg on Mission Ridge, and I am going to do my best to go

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THREE:The news was generally very encouraging. Every attack of the rebels had been repulsed, though our own loss had been heavy. But every man was needed. The rebel lines extended far beyond those of the union army in each direction, and still they had enough for heavy assaulting columns. Everybody in the neighborhood of Chattanooga had been ordered up, leaving only the meagerest possible guards for the trains and communications.
THREE:"You've bin among rough men so long that you don't know how to talk to real ladies."

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THREE:"Better let me try my hand," said the Deacon. "You've bin away from the farm for so long you've probably lost the knack. I'm a famous milker."The Deacon rubbed his eyes and hastened a moment to the clamor outside. It seemed as if there were a thousand curs surrounding them, barking, howling, snarling, fighting, and scratching. He snatched up a club and sprang out, while Shorty tottered after. He ran into the midst of the pack, and began laying about with his strong arms. He broke the backs of some, brained others, and sent the others yelping with pain and fright, except two particularly vicious ones, who were so frenzied with hunger that they attacked him, and bit him pretty severely before he succeeded in killing them. Then he went around to the end of the crib nearest his precious hoard, and found that the hungry brutes had torn away his clay and even the larger of the stones, and nothing but their fighting among themselves had prevented the loss of his chickens. "What in tarnation set the beasts onto us," inquired Shorty wonderingly. "They were wuss'n cats around catnip, rats after aniseed, or cattle about a spot o' blood. I've felt that me and Si wuz in shape to bring the crows and buzzards around, but didn't expect to start the dogs up this way."

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THREE:Rogier took a deep breath. The words came like marshmallow out of his overstuffed body. "I would hardly call a request for information 'tampering'," he said.

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THREE:"Put on your things. Don't be in a hurry. Put on everything just right, so's it won't fret or chafe you during the march. You'll save time by takin' time now.""Yes," said Lieut. Bowersox, only too glad of the opportunity. "I saw it all. Gallant a thing as was ever done. Simply magnificent. Thrills me to think about it. I tell you that fellow's a soldier all the way through.
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FORE:"Attention, company! Forward March!" shout ed Lieut. Bowersox.Her answer was swift. "And you?"

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FORE:"Open it and see who it's from," said Si.

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THREE:
FORE:But the masters say what we have is freedom. I say it is not so. The masters tell us what to do: they tell us to do arithmetic, to do all other school things, and we do not do for ourselves what we want. We do not do anything for ourselves, but always the masters tell us.

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FORE:"And didn't I watch the crossing down there at the burnt bridge?" pleaded Jim Humphreys.

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FORE:"If you say a word, or try to, you're a dead man," Si whispered, as he dropped the gun, and substituted his left hand at the man's throat for his right arm. Taking silence for acquiescence, Si picked up his own gun and started with his prisoner for the Colonel. He walked upright boldly now, for the watchers on the rebel works could not see that there was more than one man in the path.

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FORE:"Whose sister is she, anyway?" snapped Si, who was as irritable as a hungry and tired man gets. "You 'tend to your sisters and I'll 'tend to mine. I'm helpin' you. You don't know Maria. She's one o' the best girls in the world, but she's got a doublegeared, self-actin' tongue that's sharper'n a briar. She winds it up Sundays and lets it run all week. I've got to comb her down every little while. She's a filly you can't manage with a snaffle. Let her git the start and you'd better be dead. The boys in our neighborhood's afeared to say their soul's their own when she gits a-goin'. You 'tend to the other girls and leave me to 'tend to her. She's my sisternobody else's."Si nodded affirmatively.

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From away beyond the green and yellow waves of hills came the crash of the reopened battle. The ripping noise of regiments firing by volley was hoarsely punctuated by the deep boom of the field-pieces."All right," assented Si, who had as little taste as his partner for seeming to weaken. "Here goes for a fight or a foot-race."The sight of the dreadful bottle pointed at him completely unnerved the rebel. He fell on his knees.He hitched forward cautiously a little farther, to where he could peer through the bushes, being exceedingly wary not to repeat his opponent's mistake, and set their tops in motion. A rock protruding through the ground in front of him made an opening through which he could see, and also afforded a rest for his musket. He looked sharply, and at length was rewarded by seeing the gun-barrel come out by the side of the barked willow, rested on a bare limb, and apparently aimed at the hill beyond. He took a long breath to steady his nerves, stretched out his legs to make himself more at ease, pushed his musket forward until he got exactly the right poise, aimed about nine inches below the level of his opponent's gun-barrel, and a little to the left, drew his bead down to a hair's nicety in the hind sight, and pulled the trigger just as the rebel sharpshooter did the same. Both muskets seemed to flash at the same moment. The rebel sprang up through the willows and fell forward on his face.The reception of the message had thrown the household into a flurry of joyful expectancy. It was far better news than the Deacon's last letter had led them to anticipate. After a few moments of tearful ejaculation and mutual kissing over it, mother and daughters began to get everything in readiness to give the returning ones the warmest, most cheerful welcome. Abraham Lincoln was summoned in from his rail-splitting, which he had been pursuing quite leisurely during the Deacon's absence, and stirred to spasmodic energy under Maria's driving to cut an additional supply of dry wood, and carry it into every room in the house, where little Sammy Woggles, the orphan whom the Deacon and Mrs. Klegg were bringing up, built cheer-shedding fires. Mrs. Klegg had her choicest young chickens killed, and after she and Amanda had robbed every other room of whatever they thought would add to the comfort of Si's, she set herself to work preparing a supper which would outdo all her previous efforts."He's a traitor! He's a spy! Kill the infernal, egg-suckin' hound!"
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