ou got better sense
'n that?"

"March on down that road. Willy, you get the horse," said Frank,
decidedly.

The soldier glanced over toward the house. The voice of the young
woman was heard singing a war song in a high key.

"Ef Millindy sees me, I'm a goner," he reflected. "Jes' come down the
road a little piece, will you?" he asked, persuasively.

"No talking,--march!" ordered Frank.

He looked at each of the boys; the guns still kept their perilous
direction. The boys' eyes looked fiery to his surprised senses.

"Who is y' all?" he asked.

"We are two little Confederates! That's who we are," said Willy.

"Is any of your parents ever--ever been in a asylum?" he asked, as
calmly as he could.

"That's none of your business," said Captain Frank. "March on!"

The man cast a despairing glance toward the house, where "The years"
were "creeping slowly by, Lorena," in a very high pitch,--and then
moved on.

"I hope she ain't seen nothin'," he thought. "If I jest can git them
guns away from 'em----"

Frank followed close behind him with his old gun held ready for need,
and Willy untied the horse and led it. The bushes concealed them from
the dwelling.

As soon as they were well out of sight of the house, Frank gave the
order:

"Halt!" They all halted.

"Willy, tie the horse." It was done.

"I wonder if those boys is thinkin' 'bout shootin' me?" thought the
soldier, turning and putting his hand on his pistol.

As he did so, Frank's gun came to his shoulder.

"Throw up your hands or you are a dead man." The hands went up.

"Willy, keep your gun on him, while I search him for any weapons."
Willy cocked the old musket and brought it to bear on the prisoner.

"Little boy, don't handle that thing so reckless," the man
expostulated. "Ef that musket was to go off, it might kill me!"

"No talking," demanded Frank, going up to him. "Hold up your hands.
Willy, shoot him if he moves."

Frank drew a long pistol from its holster with an air of business. He
searched carefully, but there was no more.

The fellow gritted his teeth. "If she ever hears of _this_, Tim's got
her certain," he groaned; "but she won't never hear."

At a turn in the road his heart sank within him; for just around the
curve they came upon Tim Mills sitting quietly on a stump. He looked
at them with a quizzical eye, but said not a word.

The prisoner's face was a study when he recognized his rival and
enemy. As Mills did not move, his c