game would be kept up till the bunks were screaming with laughter,
and poor Gillsey bathed in perspiration and anxiety. Then the boss would
interfere, and Gillsey would be set free.

These are only instances of what the butt was made to endure, though he
was probably able to thrash almost any one of his tormentors, and had he
mustered spirit to attempt this, all the camp would have seen that he
got fair play.

At last, however, it began to be suspected that Gillsey was stealing
from the pork barrels and other stores. This was serious, and the men
would not play any more jokes upon the culprit. Pending proof, he was
left severely to himself, and enjoyed comparative peace for nearly a
week.

This peace, strange to say, did not seem to please him. The strange
creature hated to be ignored, and even courted further indignities. No
one would notice him, however, till one night when he came in late, and
undertook to sleep on the "deacon-seat."

A word of explanation is needed here. The "deacon-seat"--why so called I
cannot say--is a raised platform running alongside of the stove, between
the chimney and the tier of bunks. It is, of course, a splendid place to
sleep on a bitter night, but no one is allowed so to occupy it, because
in that position he shuts off the warmth from the rest.

The hands were all apparently asleep when Gillsey, after a long solitary
smoke, reached for his blanket, and rolled himself up on the coveted
"deacon-seat," with his back to the glowing fire. After a deprecating
grin directed toward the silent bunks, he sank to sleep.

Soon in the bunks arose a whispered consultation, as a result of which
stalwart woodsmen climbed down, braced their backs against the lower
tier, doubled up their knees, and laid their sock feet softly against
the sleeper's form. At a given signal the legs all straightened out with
tremendous force, and poor Gillsey shot right across the "deacon-seat"
and brought up with a thud upon the stove.

With a yell, he bounced away from his scorching quarters and plunged
into his bunk, not burnt, but very badly scared. After that he eschewed
the "deacon-seat."

At last the unfortunate wretch was caught purloining the pork. It became
known in the camp, somehow, that he was a married man, and father of a
family as miserable and shiftless as himself. Here was an explanation of
his raids upon the provisions, for nobody in the camp would for a moment
imagine that Gillsey could, unaided