g to some one else,--as he insisted they did. The boys
went with him. It was quite dark when he returned, but as he came in
the proof of the boys' success was written on his face. He was in a
broad grin. To his mistress's inquiry he replied, "Yes'm, they's got
'em, sho' 'nough. They's the beatenes' boys!"

For some time afterward he would every now and then break into a
chuckle of amused content and exclaim, "Them's right smart chillern."
And at Christmas, when the hogs were killed, this was the opinion of
the whole plantation.

CHAPTER XII.

The gibes of Lucy Ann, and the occasional little thrusts of Hugh about
the "deserter business," continued and kept the boys stirred up. At
length they could stand it no longer. It was decided between them that
they must retrieve their reputations by capturing a real deserter and
turning him over to the conscript-officer whose office was at the
depot.

Accordingly, one Saturday they started out on an expedition, the
object of which was to capture a deserter though they should die in
the attempt.

The conscript-guard had been unusually active lately, and it was said
that several deserters had been caught.

The boys turned in at their old road, and made their way into
Holetown. Their guns were loaded with large slugs, and they felt the
ardor of battle thrill them as they marched along down the narrow
roadway. They were trudging on when they were hailed by name from
behind. Turning, they saw their friend Tim Mills, coming along at the
same slouching gait in which he always walked. His old single-barrel
gun was thrown across his arm, and he looked a little rustier than on
the day he had shared their lunch. The boys held a little whispered
conversation, and decided on a treaty of friendship.

"Good-mornin'," he said, on coming up to them. "How's your ma?"

"Good-morning. She's right well."

"What y' all doin'? Huntin' d'serters agin?" he asked.

"Yes. Come on and help us catch them."

"No; I can't do that--exactly;--but I tell you what I _can_ do. I can
tell you whar one is!"

The boys' faces glowed. "All right!"

"Let me see," he began, reflectively, chewing a stick. "Does y' all
know Billy Johnson?"

The boys did not know him.

"You _sure_ you don't know him? He's a tall, long fellow, 'bout forty
years old, and breshes his hair mighty slick; got a big nose, and a
gap-tooth, and a mustache. He lives down in the lower neighborhood."

Even after this descript