"Well, you ketched him, didn't you? You're the only ones ever been able to ketch him," he said, with a low chuckle. "Now, Mills, you know how things stand," said the General. "It's a shame for you to have been acting this way. You know what people say about you. But if you come back to camp and do your duty, I'll have it all straightened out. If you don't, I'll have you shot." His voice was as calm and his manner as composed as if he were promising the man opposite him a reward for good conduct. He looked Mills steadily in the eyes all the time. The boys felt as if their friend were about to be executed. The General seemed an immeasurable distance above them. The deserter blinked twice or thrice, slowly bit his shred of straw, looked casually first toward one boy and then toward the other, but without the slightest change of expression in his face. "Cun'l," he said, at length, "I ain't no deserter. I ain't feared of bein' shot. Ef I was, I wouldn' 'a' come here now. I'm gwine wid you, an' I'm gwine back to my company; an' I'm gwine fight, ef Yankees gits in my way; but ef I gits tired, I's comin' home; an' 'tain't no use to tell you I ain't, 'cause I _is_,--an' ef anybody flings up to me that I's a-runnin' away, I'm gwine to kill 'em!" He rose to his feet in the intensity of his feeling, and his eyes, usually so dull, were like live coals. The General looked at him quietly a few seconds, then himself arose and laid his hand on Tim Mills' shoulder. "All right," he said. "I got a little snack M'lindy put up," said Mills, pulling a substantial bundle out of his game-bag. "I 'lowed maybe you might be sort o' hongry. Jes' two or three squirrels I shot," he said, apologetically. "You boys better git 'long home, I reckon," said Mills to Willy. "You ain' 'fraid, is you? 'Cause if you is, I'll go with you." His voice had resumed its customary drawl. "Oh, no," said both boys, eagerly. "We aren't afraid." "An' tell your ma I ain' let nobody tetch nothin' on the Oakland plantation; not sence that day you all went huntin' deserters; not if I knowed 'bout it." "Yes, sir." "An' tell her I'm gwine take good keer o' Hugh an' the Cunnel. Good-bye!--now run along!" "All right, sir,--good-bye." "An' ef you hear anybody say Tim Mills is a d'serter, tell 'em it's a lie, an' you know it. Good-bye." He turned away as if relieved. The boys said good-bye to all three, and started in the direction of home. CHAPTER XVI. After crossing the gully, and walking on through the woods for what they thought a safe distance, they turned into the path. They were talking very merrily about the General and Hugh and their friend Mills, and were discussing some romantic plan for the recapture of their horses from the enemy, when they came out of the path into the road, and found themselves within twenty yards of a group of Federal soldiers, quietly sitting on their horses, evidently guarding the road.