oss there."

"You look like a man of sense," said the Herd-Boss, looking him over,
and handing him a hickory gad. "And I believe you're all right. I'm
goin' to put you at the head, just behind the guide. Keep your eye
peeled for rebel cavalry and bushwhackers, and stop and whistle for me
if you see anything suspicious."

It was slow, toilsome work urging the lumbering cattle along over the
steep, tortuous mountain paths. Naturally, the nimblest, friskiest
steers got in the front, and they were a sore trial to the Deacon, to
restrain them to the line of march, and keep them from straying off and
getting lost. Of course, a Deacon in the Baptist Church could not swear
under any provocation, but the way he remarked on the conduct of some of
the "critters" as "dumbed," "confounded," and "tormented," had almost as
vicious a ring as the profuse profanity of his fellow-herders.

Late in the afternoon the tired-out herd was halted in a creek bottom
near Chattanooga. The patient animals lay down, and the weary, footsore
Deacon, his clothes covered with burs, his hands and face seamed with
bloody scratches, leaned on his frayed gad and looked around over
the wilderness of tents, cabins, trains and interminable lines of
breastworks and forts.

"Mr. Klegg," said the Herd-Boss, coming toward him, "you've done your
duty, and you've done it well. I don't know how I could've ever got this
lot through but for your help. Here's your carpet-sack, and here's a
haversack o' rations I've put up for you. Take mighty good care of it,
for you'll need every cracker. That lot o' tents you see over there,
with a yaller flag flyin' over 'em, is a general hospital. Mebbe you'll
find your son in there."

The Deacon walked straight to the nearest tent, lifted the flap and
inquired:

"Does anybody here know where there is a boy named Si Klegg, of Co. Q,
200th Injianny Volunteers?"

[Illustration: "PAP, IS THAT YOU?" SAID A WEAK VOICE. 238]

"Pap, is that you?" said a weak voice in the far corner.

"Great, jumpin' Jehosephat, the Deacon!" ejaculated a tall skeleton of a
man, who was holding a cup of coffee to Si's lips.

"Great Goodness, Shorty," said the Deacon, "is that you?"

"What's left o' me," answered Shorty.

CHAPTER XIX. TEDIOUS CONVALESCENCE

THE DEACON COMMITS A CRIME AGAINST HIS CONSCIENCE.

"YOU are the father of that boy in the far end of the tent," said the
Surgeon coming up to the Deacon, who had stepped outside of th