h shops, and they work stiddier."

Si looked down the road and saw returning a wagon which had been sent
out in the morning for forage. It was well loaded, and the guards who
were marching behind had a few chickens and other supplies that they had
gathered up.

"Boys seem to be purty fresh, after their tramp," said he, with the
first thought of a soldier looking at marching men. "They've all got
their guns at carry arms. I noticed that as they came over the hill."

"Yes," answered Shorty, after a glance, "and they're holdin' 'em up very
stiff an' straight. That gives mo an idee. Lo's go over there an' take a
look at 'em."{173}

Shorty had sniffed at a trick that he had more than once played in
getting the forbidden beverage past the lynx-eyed sentry.

"Don't you find it hard work to march at routstep with your guns at a
carry?" he said insinuatingly. "No need o' doin' that except on parade
or drill. Right-shoulder-shift or arms-at-will is the thing when you're
on the road."

"H-s-sh," said the leading file, with a profound wink and a sidelong
glance at Si. "Keep quiet, Shorty," he added in a stage whisper. "We'll
give you some. It's all right. We'll whack up fair."

"No, it ain't all right," said Shorty, with properly offended official
dignity. "Don't you dare offer to bribe me, Buck Harper, when I'm on
duty. Hand me that gun this minute."

Harper shamefacedly handed over the musket, still holding it carefully
upright. Shorty at once reversed it and a stream of whisky ran out upon
the thirsty soil.

Si grasped the situation, and disarmed the others with like result.

"I ought to put every one o' you in' the guardhouse for this. It's lucky
that the Officer of the Guard wasn't here. He'd have done it. There he
comes now. Skip out after the wagon, quick, before he gits on to you."

"What next?" sighed Si. "Is the whole world bent on bringin' whisky into
this camp? Haint they got none for the others?"

"Sergeant of the Guard, Post No. 1," rang out upon the hot air. Si
walked over again to the entrance, and saw seeking admission a tall,
bony{174} woman, wearing a dirty and limp sunbonnet and smoking a
corn-cob pipe. She was mounted on a slab-sided horse, with ribs like a
washboard, and carried a basket on her arm covered with a coarse cloth
none too clean.

"Looks as if she'd bin picked before she was ripe and got awfully warped
in the dryin'. All the same she's loaded with whisky," commented Shorty
as the wo