n. Then it would be late at night, when he could evade the
lynx-eyed Confederate officer.

Having settled his plans comfortably in his mind George was about to put
his hand in his coat pocket to give a reassuring pat to Waggie (who had
been sadly shaken up by his master's scramble) when the door of the car
opened. A man put out his head, and stared at the boy.

"What are you doing here, youngster?" asked the man. George recognized him
as the conductor of the train.

"Only trying to get a breath of fresh air," replied the lad, at the same
time producing his railroad ticket and showing it in the dusk. The
conductor flashed the lantern he was holding in George's face, and then
glanced at the ticket.

"Well, don't fall off," he observed, evidently satisfied by the scrutiny.
"You were in one of the forward cars, weren't you? Where's your dog? In
your pocket, eh?" He turned around, shut the door, and went back into the
car without waiting for an answer.

"One danger is over," whispered George to himself. Then he began to pat
Waggie. "You and I are having an exciting time of it, aren't we?" he
laughed. "Well, there's one consolation; they can't hang you for a spy,
anyway, even if they should hang me!"

So the night passed on, as George clung to the railing of the platform,
while the train rumbled along in the darkness to the Southward. The
conductor did not appear again; he had evidently forgotten all about the
boy. At last, when Waggie and his master were both feeling cold, and
hungry, and forlorn, there came a welcome cry from the brakeman:
"Marietta! All out for Marietta!"

In a short time the passengers for Marietta had left the train. Watson,
Jenks and Macgreggor were soon in a little hotel near the station, which
was to be the rendezvous for Andrews and his party. As they entered the
office of the hostelry all their enthusiasm for the coming escapade seemed
to have vanished. The mysterious disappearance of George had dampened
their ardor; they feared to think where he could be, or what might have
become of him.

The office was brilliantly lighted in spite of the lateness of the hour.
In it were lounging eight or nine men. The pulses of the three newcomers
beat the quicker as they recognized in them members of the proposed
bridge-burning expedition. Among them was Andrews.

"Yes," he was saying, in a perfectly natural manner, to the hotel clerk,
who stood behind a desk; "we Kentuckians must push on early tomorro