"Well, 'pears to me I hearn tell o' some, 'roun' to'des that-a-ways," making a comprehensive sweep of his arm in the direction just opposite to that which the boys were taking. "I seen the conscrip'-guard a little while ago pokin' 'roun' this-a-way; but Lor', that ain' the way to ketch deserters. I knows every foot o' groun' this-a-way, an' ef they was any deserters roun' here I'd be mighty apt to know it." This announcement was an extinguisher to the boys' hopes. Clearly, they were going in the wrong direction. "We are just going to eat our lunch," said Frank; "won't you join us?" Willy added his invitation to his brother's, and their friend politely accepted, suggesting that they should walk back a little way and find a log. This all three did; and in a few minutes they were enjoying the lunch which the boys' mother had provided, while the stranger was telling the boys his views about deserters, which, to say the least, were very original. "I seen the conscrip'-guard jes' this mornin', ridin' 'round whar they knowd they warn' no deserters, but ole womens and children," he said with his mouth full. "Whyn't they go whar they knows deserters _is_?" he asked. "Where are they? We heard they had a cave down on the river, and we were going there," declared the boys. "Down on the river?--a cave? Ain' no cave down thar, without it's below Rockett's mill; fur I've hunted and fished ev'y foot o' that river up an' down both sides, an' 'tain' a hole thar, big enough to hide a' ole hyah, I ain' know." This proof was too conclusive to admit of further argument. "Why don't _you_ go in the army?" asked Willy, after a brief reflection. "What? Why don't _I_ go in the army?" repeated the hunter. "Why, I's _in_ the army! You didn' think I warn't in the army, did you?" The hunter's tone and the expression of his face were so full of surprise that Willy felt deeply mortified at his rudeness, and began at once to stammer something to explain himself. "I b'longs to Colonel Marshall's regiment," continued the man, "an' I's been home sick on leave o' absence. Got wounded in the leg, an' I's jes' gettin' well. I ain' rightly well enough to go back now, but I's anxious to git back; I'm gwine to-morrow mornin' ef I don' go this evenin'. You see I kin hardly walk now!" and to demonstrate his lameness, he got up and limped a few yards. "I ain' well yit," he pursued, returning and dropping into his seat on the log, with his face drawn up by the pain the exertion had brought on. "Let me see your wound. Is it sore now?" asked Willy, moving nearer to the man with a look expressive of mingled curiosity and sympathy.