's the matter?"

"Advance, squad," said Bob in a low tone. "You haven't seen anything
suspicious going on about your post, have you?" he added, wishing to
occupy the sentry's attention until his men could come within supporting
distance of him. "No? Well, I am sorry to say that there is something
suspicious about _you_, and I am ordered to put you in arrest."

He laid hold of the carbine as he said this, and at the same moment two
of his men placed their hands upon the sentinel's shoulders. The latter,
seeing that resistance was useless, promptly gave up his piece and
dropped his hands by his sides. "It's all that Bristow's work," said he
in angry tones. "I knew he wouldn't do to tie to."

"Don't say too much," interposed Bob. "You don't want to condemn
yourself.--Carey, take this post until relieved."

As Bob marched his squad and his prisoner to the place where he was to
meet his commanding officer, he found the intervening posts in the
charge of trusty men. Four of the discontented ones had been secured,
and it only remained for the lieutenant to perfect arrangements for
seizing the others as fast as they came out of the fort. He had already
decided upon his plan of operations, and Bob Owens was called upon to
take the first step toward carrying it out. After he had listened to
some very explicit instructions from his commander, he stole off into
the darkness, and, creeping along the outside of the stockade until he
reached a point opposite the place where the sentry was posted behind
the stables, he stopped and waited to see what was going to happen.
About ten feet from him on his left was another soldier, standing
upright and motionless in the shadow of the stockade. Ten feet beyond
this soldier was another. These were all that Bob could see, but he knew
that there were good men and true stationed at regular intervals all
along the stockade, waiting to act the several parts that had been
assigned to them.

Bob waited and listened for a quarter of an hour or more, and then he
heard a conversation carried on in a low tone on the other side of the
stockade. He could not catch the words, but he knew that the deserters
were beginning to bestir themselves, and that one of their number was
talking with the sentry. Presently a scratching, scrambling sound,
accompanied by heavy, labored breathing and those incoherent
exclamations that men sometimes use when they are exerting themselves to
the utmost, told Bob that some