keep the catridges ourselves, and issue them to
you when the enemy comes in sight."

"Nice time to give out catridges then," grumbled Harry Joslyn. "When we
see the rebels we want to begin shootin' instid o' botherin' you with
questions. You wouldn't kill many coons if you had to run back to the
house for your powder and lead after you saw the coon before you could
shoot him."

"Well, you can't have no catridges now," said Si decisively. "We're not
likely to see any coons before we git to Murfreesboro. Then we'll see
how things look further down the road. Take off your bayonets, all o'
you, and pile into them rear cars there. Stow yourselves around and be
as comfortable as you kin."

The boys preferred the tops of the cars to the inside, and scattered
themselves along the length of the train to view the war-worn country
of which they had heard so much from their relatives who had campaigned
there. Si settled himself down in the car to read the morning papers
which he had gotten in Nashville, and Shorty, producing a pack of new
cards, began a studious practice, with reference to future operations in
Chattanooga.

The train was slowing down for the bridge near Lavergne, when there came
a single shot, followed by a splutter of them and loud yells.

[Illustration: THERE WAS A CHORUS OF YELLS, AND THEN ANOTHER VOLLEY.
247]

Exceedingly startled, Si and Shorty sprang up, seized their guns,
bounded to the door and looked out. They could see nothing to justify
the alarm. There was not a rebel, mounted or unmounted, in sight. In the
road below were two or three army teams dragging their slow way along,
with their drivers yelling and laughing at a negro, whose mule was
careering wildly across the fenceless field. The negro had been
apparently jogging along, with a collection of plunder he had picked up
in an abandoned camp strung upon his mule, when the latter had become
alarmed at the firing and scattered his burden in every direction. The
rider was succeeding in holding on by clinging desperately to the mule's
neck.

Si set his gun down and clambered up the side of the car.

"What's all that shootin' about?" he demanded of Harry Joslyn.

"I didn't mean it, sir," Harry explained. "I was just aiming my gun
at things I see along the road--just trying the sights like. A
turkey-buzzard lighted on a stump out there, and I guess I must have
forgot myself and cocked my gun, for it went off. Then Gid, seeing me
miss, tried t