"Lou, Mr. Bryan has just gotten an appointment as a colonel in the Nebraska regiment. He's the latest one who changed his mind and Mark Twain now says we gotta help the Cubans and do something about the Spanish evil. He sees it different now after the Maine. Lou, there haven't been many revolutions lead by poets - this Marti is a poet, writer. His ideals about the rights of humans and the acceptance of all sorts of people are something. Something new - all people in spite of color, station . . . it's what I've been trying to get folks to understand and make happen. Don't you see Lou, he and his are trying to become, become, well free. . . and together? Together." He let that word stand alone for a moment or two. He looked at Lou's dark hard eyes and knew his efforts at turning Lou's offense had stalled. His eyes turned to the front and took in the darkening blue sky. Lou made no spoken response, but she saw his retreat. Solon's arguments had been repulsed.
Dread and fear weighed heavy on her spirit but that only strengthened her position. She then turned to the front too, as if seeking to find help in the horizon for her thoughts and actions or to figure out his next move, and be ready for it.
"Lou," Solon began again with a new tactic, "You and Alex had to come to find us and avenge your father and brother in '63. Remember? I understand that." He paused, organized his thoughts and said, "I'd like you to understand something about me. When I was six, a bully twice my size, maybe twelve, took it on himself to trouble me - bully me, jabbed my stomach and . . . well, I spent half a Saturday morning in Fayetteville trying to avoid the hellion. I ducked into alley's, crossed the square, but he always showed back up. He pulled his mean stuff three times while I hung around the square waiting for my daddy who was somewhere doing his business. Fourth time he started jabbing, I flew into him. I fought him like my life depended on it. It was the first time I unleashed the 'Wolf'. He hurt me mighty bad, tore my shirt and I had a busted lip, but after our fight he ran off. I can't abide unseemly arrogant bullies, just can't. Might be why I was a fool and fought my heart out for the slavers with the general." He paused, thinking about how that was a big part of the truth about that hell of four years. "I can't do no 'rassling or shooting anymore. Heck, sometimes it takes a second try to get my legs to go. I know I'm not a strapping eighteen-year-old, but I'm a preacher and those boys, well, I might be able to do some good for them while they take care of a real bad bully who is hurting people bad."