he temptation to take a
shot at him,--an exercise of virtue which brought them a distinct
feeling of pleasure. They were, however, beginning to be embarrassed
as to their next course. They could hear the dogs barking farther on
in the pines, and knew they were approaching the vicinity of the
settlement; for they had crossed the little creek which ran through a
thicket of elder bushes and "gums," and which marked the boundary of
Holetown. Little paths, too, every now and then turned off from the
main track and went into the pines, each leading to a cabin or bit of
creek-bottom deeper in. They therefore were in a real dilemma
concerning what to do; and Willy's suggestion, to eat lunch, was a
welcome one. They determined to go a little way into the woods, where
they could not be seen, and had just taken the lunch out of the
game-bag and were turning into a by-path, when they met a man who was
coming along at a slow, lounging walk, and carrying a long
single-barrelled shot-gun across his arm.

When first they heard him, they thought he might be a deserter; but
when he came nearer they saw that he was simply a countryman out
hunting; for his old game-bag (from which peeped a squirrel's tail)
was over his shoulder, and he had no weapon at all, excepting that old
squirrel-gun.

"Good morning, sir," said both boys, politely.

"Mornin'! What luck y' all had?" he asked good-naturedly, stopping and
putting the butt of his gun on the ground, and resting lazily on it,
preparatory to a chat.

"We're not hunting; we're hunting deserters."

"Huntin' deserters!" echoed the man with a smile which broke into a
chuckle of amusement as the thought worked its way into his brain.
"Ain't you see' none?"

"No," said both boys in a breath, greatly pleased at his friendliness.
"Do you know where any are?"

The man scratched his head, seeming to reflect.

"Well, 'pears to me I hearn tell o' some, 'roun' to'des that-a-ways,"
making a comprehensive sweep of his arm in the direction just opposite
to that which the boys were taking. "I seen the conscrip'-guard a
little while ago pokin' 'roun' this-a-way; but Lor', that ain' the way
to ketch deserters. I knows every foot o' groun' this-a-way, an' ef
they was any deserters roun' here I'd be mighty apt to know it."

This announcement was an extinguisher to the boys' hopes. Clearly,
they were going in the wrong direction.

"We are just going to eat our lunch," said Frank; "won't you join us?"