thing. That's only a sycamore stump, you superstitious
bog-trotter," said Shorty, with angry contempt, as he bent his eyes on
the white object. Then he added in the next breath:

"But blamed if that stump ain't walkin' off. Funny stump."

He gave a leap forward for closer investigation. At the crash of his
footsteps the stump actually turned around and gave a sepulchral groan.
Then, seeing that it was not a soldier pursuing, a very natural human
voice proceeded from it.

"Is that you, Brother Welch? I thought at first it was a soldier. I
motioned you when the trouble first begun to follow me through the
underground passage. There was enough others there to make the fight,
and it'd never do for us to be taken by the Lincolnites. We're too
valuable to the cause just now, and, then, if the Lincolnites get hold
of me they'll certainly make me a martyr. Come right over this way. We
kin strike a path near here that'll take us right out."

"Great Jehosephat," said Shorty, "if it ain't old Billings, masqueradin'
in his Sons o' Malty rig."

He made another leap or two, clapped his hand on Billings's shoulder,
and shoved the muzzle of his revolver against the mask and demanded:

"Halt and surrender, you barrel-headed, splayfooted son of a sardine.
Come along with me, or I'll blow that whole earthquake rig offen you."

Shorty marched his prisoner back to the house, and as he neared it saw
by the light of a fire O'Brien, who had apparently recovered from his
fright, for he was having a lively bout with a large young fellow who
was trying to make his escape. It seemed an even thing for a minute or
two, but the Irishman finally downed his antagonist by a heavy blow with
his massive fist.

"Here, O'Brien," said Shorty, "I've ketched your devil and brung him
back to you. When a boss shies at anything the best way's to lead him
square up to it and let him smell it. So I want you to take charge o'
this prisoner and hold him safe till the scrimmage is over."

O'Brien looked at the figure with rage and disgust. He gave Billings a
savage clout with his open hand, saying:

"Ye imp o' the divil--ye unblest scab of an odmahoun. Oi'll brake ivery
bone av yer body for goin' around by noights in thim wake-duds, scaring
daysint folks out av their siven sinses."

The fighting had been quite a severe tussle for the soldiers. There had
not been much shooting, but a great deal of clubbing with gun-barrels
and sticks, which left a good many