"You seen any?" asked the leader, carelessly, while one or two men pressed their horses forward eagerly. "No, th' ain't any deserters in this direction at all," said the boys, with conviction in their manner. "How do you know?" asked the officer. "'Cause a gentleman told us so." "Who? When? What gentleman?" "A gentleman who met us a little while ago." "How long ago? Who was he?" "Don't know who he was," said Frank. "When we were eating our snack," put in Willy, not to be left out. "How was he dressed? Where was it? What sort of man was he?" eagerly inquired the leading trooper. The boys proceeded to describe their friend, impressed by the intense interest accorded them by the listeners. "He was a sort of man with red hair, and wore a pair of gray breeches and an old pair of shoes, and was in his shirt-sleeves." Frank was the spokesman. "And he had a gun--a long squirrel-gun," added Willy, "and he said he belonged to Colonel Marshall's regiment." "Why, that's Tim Mills. He's a deserter himself," exclaimed the captain. "No, he ain't--_he_ ain't any deserter," protested both at once. "He is a mighty brave soldier, and he's been home on a furlough to get well of a wound on his leg where he was shot." "Yes, and it ain't well yet, but he's going back to his command to-night or to-morrow morning; and he's got another wound in his side where a Yankee ran him through with his sword. We know _he_ ain't any deserter." "How do you know all this?" asked the officer. "He told us so himself, just now--a little while ago, that is," said the boys. The man laughed. "Why, he's fooled you to death. That's Tim himself, that's been doing all the devilment about here. He is the worst deserter in the whole gang." "We saw the wound on his shoulder," declared the boys, still doubting. "I know it; he's got one there,--that's what I know him by. Which way did he go,--and how long has it been?" "He went that way, down in the woods; and it's been some time. He's got away now." The lads by this time were almost convinced of their mistake; but they could not prevent their sympathy from being on the side of their late agreeable companion. "We'll catch the rascal," declared the leader, very fiercely. "Come on, men,--he can't have gone far;" and he wheeled his horse about and dashed back up the road at a great pace, followed by his men. The boys were half inclined to follow and aid in the capture; but Frank, after a moment's thought, said solemnly: "No, Willy; an Arab never betrays a man who has eaten his salt. This man has broken bread with us; we cannot give him up. I don't think we ought to have told about him as much as we did." This was an argument not to be despised. A little later, as the boys trudged home, they heard the horns blowing again a regular "toot-toot" for "Millindy." It struck them that supper followed dinner very quickly in Holetown.