"He was a deck hand on the boat I ascended the Missouri on," replied Al, "and I had trouble with him. That's doubtless why he hoped to have me shot. I judge that he was in the Confederate service only by threats and boasts that he made to me, and he was probably in an Arkansas regiment." "An Arkansas regiment?" the General asked. "We have a whole division of Arkansas troops with us,--Fagan's." A curious, gurgling gasp came from Jim's throat. His face was chalky. "I never heerd o' Fagan," he sputtered. "Ner I ain't been in Arkansaw in all my life." "You are not convicted," General Clark said, calmly. "But the matter is worth investigating." He called the sergeant of the headquarters guard and directed him to have Jim placed in close custody, and the deck hand was led away, reeling and apparently almost fainting. Al never saw him again; and though by chance he heard long afterward that Jim had, in fact, been in an Arkansas regiment, he could never ascertain whether the young fellow paid the penalty of death for his violation of his oath of enlistment. When Jim had been led away, the General turned to Al and asked, "You wear no uniform. Why not?" "I am not enlisted in the army, sir. I am too young." "Ah! You would not be in our service," the General returned, with a smile. "But you are a Union sympathizer?" "Yes, sir, I am," replied Al, firmly. "Well, you appear to be a pretty bright boy," the General observed, shrewdly. "I think it will be as well not to have you at large for a few days. Corporal, lock these young men in that brick storehouse a block below here, on the left side of the street. Mount a guard, give them supper, and keep them securely till further orders." As they were being marched out, they passed the short guerilla who had championed them in the morning. He was lounging by the doorstep. Al motioned to him and he caught step with them. "We are very grateful to you for taking our part down there where we were captured," said he. "We'd have been killed if it hadn't been for you." "Maybe," said the other, somewhat embarrassed. "But I didn't like the way you were taken." "How do you mean?" "Oh, havin' that dough-faced shipmate o' yours come in to give yeh up,--pervidin' we'd shoot yeh!" "It was a low-down trick," said Wallace. "I should say it was! I'm glad you tipped off the General to the kind of a pup he is." "Why are you so set against him?" asked Al. "Aw, I just don't like his looks," returned the bushwhacker. "Yeh kin see he's yellow, an' I sized him up fer a deserter when he got in such a sweat to pull out." "What's your name?" asked Al, as the man stopped, evidently not intending to go as far as their prison with them. The bushwhacker looked at him suspiciously. "You needn't be afraid of me," Al insisted. "Perhaps we can do you a good turn sometime." For a moment longer the other hesitated, then answered, "My name's Bill Cotton," and, turning, he walked away.