sharpshooter did the same. Both muskets seemed to flash at the
same moment. The rebel sprang up through the willows and fell forward on
his face.

The Deacon picked up his gun and walked back up the bank. The Union
skirmishers had seen the man fall and raised a yell, which they changed
to cheers as they saw the Deacon coming up the bank.

The Captain in command came up and said:

"Sir, I congratulate you. That was splendidly done. I was just getting
on to that fellow when you went down. I watched you through my glass,
and saw you fetch him. You are entitled to all our thanks."

"No thanks to me, sir. I only done the dooty Providence marked out for
me. I hope the man ain't killed. If he is, it's because Providence had
fixed the number of his days. I only wanted to stop his killin' mules,
and destroyin' Gover'ment property, and let us go on our journey in
peace."

"Well, I wish you'd stay here and help us with some more of those
fellows over there. I'm sure their time has come, but my men don't seem
to be quite as good in carrying out the decrees of Providence as you
are."

"Thankee, sir," said the Deacon. "But I must go back and 'tend to my
boys. We've got a long ways to go yet to-day."

He went back to the road and reported to the Wagonmaster:

"Now you kin clear away them dead mules and go ahead. You won't scarcely
be bothered any more for awhile at least."

CHAPTER V. TROUBLE ENCOUNTERED

THE BOYS MEET AN OLD FRIEND AND ARE TAKEN HOME IN A HURRY.

IT WAS not until late the next afternoon that the wagon-train finally
reached Bridgeport, and the weak, wornout mules had at last a respite
from straining through the mud, under the incessant nagging of the
teamsters' whips and their volleyed blasphemy.

The Deacon's merciful heart had been moved by the sufferings of the
poor beasts. He had done all that he could on the journey to lighten the
labor of those attached to his own wagon. He had restrained as much
as possible the St. Vitus Dance of the teamster's keen whip, uselessly
remonstrated with him against his profanity, carried a rail to help pry
the wheels out of the mudholes, and got behind and pushed going up
the steep hills. At the journey's end when the exhausted brutes stood
motionless, with their ears drooping and their eyes looking unutterable
disgust at everything connected with the army and war, the Deacon helped
the teamster take their harness off, and carry them as much corn and hay
as the