s tent.'

"I was dumfounded. I looked at Jim Jones. His eyes was like fire. Then
it suddenly occurred to me that Jim Jones was a spy, too.

"As I mounted I looked back across the camp. I saw the rope still
hanging from a limb of the tree,{37} and the disappointed man sitting
down beside it patiently waiting.

"That night the paper was in General Lyon's hands, unt the next night
the army moved out to fight the battle of Wilson's Creek.

"The Adjutant-General is still waiting for that uniform."

"Halt, who comes there?" called out Shorty, whose quick ears caught the
sound of approaching footsteps.

"The Officer of the Guard," responded from the bank of darkness in the
rear.

"Advance, Officer of the Guard, and give the countersign," commanded
Shorty, lowering his musket to a charge bayonets.

The officer advanced, leaned over the bayonet's point, and whispered the
countersign.

"Countersign's correct," announced Shorty, bringing his gun to a
present. "Good evening. Lieutenant. We have got a man here who claims to
belong to the Secret Service."

"Yes," answered the officer. "We've been expecting him all afternoon,
but thought he was coming in on the other road. I'd have been around
here long ago only for that. This is he, is it? Well, let's hurry in.
They want you at Headquarters as soon as possible."

"Good night, boys," called out Mr. Rosenbaum as he disappeared; "see you
again soon."

{38}

CHAPTER III. THE DEACON GOES HOME

SHORTY FALLS A VICTIM TO HIS GAMBLING PROPENSITIES.

THE BOYS did not finish their tour of picket duty till the forenoon of
the next day, and it was getting toward evening when they reached their
own camp.

"What in the world's going on at the house?" Si asked anxiously, as they
were standing on the regimental parade ground waiting to be dismissed.
Strange sounds came floating from that direction. The scraping of a
fiddle was mingled with yells, the rush of feet, and laughter.

"I'll go over there and see," said the Deacon, who had sat down behind
the line on a pile of the things they had brought back with them. He
picked up the coffee-pot, the frying-pan, and one of the haversacks,
and walked in the direction of the house. As he turned into the company
street and came in sight of the cabin he looked for an instant, and then
broke out:

"I'm blamed if they don't seem to be havin' a nigger political rally
there, with the house as campaign headquarters. Where in time could