him they had not shot anything; that the squirrels had been
given to them; and then both boys inquired:

"You all hunting for deserters?"

"You seen any?" asked the leader, carelessly, while one or two men
pressed their horses forward eagerly.

"No, th' ain't any deserters in this direction at all," said the boys,
with conviction in their manner.

"How do you know?" asked the officer.

"'Cause a gentleman told us so."

"Who? When? What gentleman?"

"A gentleman who met us a little while ago."

"How long ago? Who was he?"

"Don't know who he was," said Frank.

"When we were eating our snack," put in Willy, not to be left out.

"How was he dressed? Where was it? What sort of man was he?" eagerly
inquired the leading trooper.

The boys proceeded to describe their friend, impressed by the intense
interest accorded them by the listeners.

"He was a sort of man with red hair, and wore a pair of gray breeches
and an old pair of shoes, and was in his shirt-sleeves." Frank was the
spokesman.

"And he had a gun--a long squirrel-gun," added Willy, "and he said he
belonged to Colonel Marshall's regiment."

"Why, that's Tim Mills. He's a deserter himself," exclaimed the
captain.

"No, he ain't--_he_ ain't any deserter," protested both at once. "He
is a mighty brave soldier, and he's been home on a furlough to get
well of a wound on his leg where he was shot."

"Yes, and it ain't well yet, but he's going back to his command
to-night or to-morrow morning; and he's got another wound in his side
where a Yankee ran him through with his sword. We know _he_ ain't any
deserter."

"How do you know all this?" asked the officer.

"He told us so himself, just now--a little while ago, that is," said
the boys.

The man laughed.

"Why, he's fooled you to death. That's Tim himself, that's been doing
all the devilment about here. He is the worst deserter in the whole
gang."

"We saw the wound on his shoulder," declared the boys, still doubting.

"I know it; he's got one there,--that's what I know him by. Which way
did he go,--and how long has it been?"

"He went that way, down in the woods; and it's been some time. He's
got away now."

The lads by this time were almost convinced of their mistake; but they
could not prevent their sympathy from being on the side of their late
agreeable companion.

"We'll catch the rascal," declared the leader, very fiercely. "Come
on, men,--he can't have gone far;" and he wheeled h