I stood up an'
marked the place on my chest. Nothin' will save you but them days on the
plain in the blizzards when you was more useful with a shovel than you
are with a rifle, 'cause to-morrow at sunrise we're goin' to cross this
little river and tie all you fellows hand an' foot an' take you away as
prisoners to Washington.'

"That made him mighty mad, but the part 'bout the blizzards on the
plains set him to thinkin', too. 'Who in thunderation are you?' sez he.
'You're Bill Brayton, of Tennessee, fightin' in the rebel army, when
you ought to know better,' says I. 'Now, who in thunderation am I?'
'Sufferin' Moses!' says he, 'that voice grows more like his every time
he speaks. It can't be that empty-headed galoot, Dan Whitley, who never
knew nothin' 'bout the rights an' wrongs of the war, an' had to go off
with the Yanks!'

"'It's him an' nobody else,' says I, as I rose right up an' stood there
on the bank, 'an' mighty glad am I to see you Bill, an' to know that
your fool head ain't knocked off by a cannon ball.' He shorely jumped
up an' down with pleasure an' he called back: 'The good Lord certainly
watches over them that ain't got any sense. Dan, you flat-headed,
hump-backed, round-shouldered, thin-chested, knock-kneed, club-footed
son of a gun, I was never so glad to see anybody before in my life.'

"His eyes were shinin' with delight an' I know mine was, too. Reunions
of old friends who for all each know have been dead a year or two, clean
blowed to pieces by shells, or shot through by a hundred rifle bullets
are powerful affectin'. He come down to the edge of the river an' he
shot questions across to me, an' I shot questions at him, an' I felt
as if a brother had riz from the dead. An' as we can't shake hands we
reaches out the muzzles of our guns and shakes them towards each other
in the most friendly way. Then another picket comes up, fellow by name
of Henderson, from Mississippi. Bill introduces him to his good old pal,
an' we three have a friendly talk. Guess they're down there yet, if you
want to see 'em. I liked that fellow, Henderson, too, though he was a
powerful boaster."

"All right," said Dick. "Lead on, but don't get us shot."

They went cautiously through the bushes to the bank of the river, and
then the sergeant blew softly between his fingers. Two figures at once
appeared on the other side, and Sergeant Whitley and the boys rose up.

"Mr. Brayton and Mr. Henderson," said the sergeant politel