WILD SHOOTING WAS ALL THAT SAVED A SURPRISED COLORED MAN.

THOUGH Si and Shorty were certain that the trouble was over and the rebels all gone, it was impossible to convince the boys of this. The sudden appearance of the guerrillas had been so mysterious that they could not rid themselves of the idea that the dark depths beyond the creek were yet filled with vicious foemen animated by dire intents.

Si and Shorty gathered the boys together on the bank above the railroad cut, had fires built, posted a few guards, and ordered the rest of the boys to lie down and go to sleep. They set the example by unrolling their own blankets at the foot of a little jack-oat, whose thickly-growing branches, still bearing a full burden of rusty-brown leaves, made an excellent substitute for a tent.

"Crawl in. Si, and git some sleep," said Shorty, filling his pipe. "I'll take a smoke and set up for an hour or two. If it looks worth while then, I'll wake you up and let you take a trick o' keepin' awake. But if everything looks all right I'll jest crawl in beside you and start a snorin'-match."

But neither orders nor example could calm down the nerves of boys who had just had their first experience under fire. There was as little rest for them as for a nest of hornets which had been rudely shaken. They lay down at Si's order, but the next minute they were buzzing together in groups about the fires, or out with their guns to vantage points on the bank, looking for more enemies. Their excited imaginations made the opposite bank of the creek alive with men, moving in masses, squads and singly, with the sounds of footsteps, harsh commands, and of portentous movements.

Two or three times Shorty repressed them and sharply ordered them to lie down and go to sleep. Then he decided to let them wear themselves out, braced his back against a sapling near the fire, pulled out from his pocket the piece of Maria's dress, and became lost in a swarm of thoughts that traveled north of the Ohio River.

He was recalled by Harry Joslyn and Gid Mackall appearing before him.

"Say, Corpril," inquired Harry, "what's to be done with them rebels over there at the end o' the bridge?"

"Them that we shot?" said Shorty carelessly, feeling around for his tobacco to refill his pipe. "Nothin'. I guess we've done enough for 'em already."

"Don't we do nothin' more?" repeated Harry.

"No," answered Shorty, as he rubbed the whittlings from his plug to powder in the hollow of his hand.

"Just plug at 'em as you would at a crow, and then go on your way whistlin'?" persisted Harry.

"Certainly," answered Shorty, filling his pipe and looking around for a sliver with which to light it. "What're you thinkin' about?"

"I don't hardly know," hesitated Harry. "It seems awful strange just to blaze away at men and then pay no more attention to 'em. They mayn't be knocked out at all—only 'possumin'."

"No 'possumin' about them fellers," said Shorty sententiously, as he lighted his pipe. "Feller that gits an ounce o' lead from a Springfield rifle anywhere in his carkiss don't play off nor purtend. He's got something real to occupy his attention, if he's got any attention left to occupy. You needn't bother any more about them fellers over there. Their names's mud. They're now only part o' the real estate on the other side o' the crick. They're suddently become no good for poll-tax; only to be assessed by the acre."

"So you're sure they can't do more harm to the bridge?"

"No more'n the dead leaves on the banks."

"But I thought," persisted Harry, "that when a man's killed something had to be done—coroner's inquest, corpse got ready, funeral, preacher, neighbors gather in, and so on."

"Well, you needn't bother about any obsequies to them fellers over there," said Shorty, sententiously, as he pulled away at his pipe. "You done your whole share when you done the heavy work o' providin' the corpses. Let anybody that wants to put on any frills about plantin' 'em. If we have time tomorrow mornin' and nothin' better to do, we may go over there and dig holes and put 'em in. But most likely we'll be needed to rebuild that bridge they burnt. I'd rather do that, so's we kin hurry on to Chattynoogy. Buzzards'll probably be their undertakers. They've got a contract from the Southern Confedrisy for all that work. You lay down and go to sleep. That's the first dooty of a soldier. You don't know what may be wanted o' you tomorrow, and you should git yourselves in shape for anything—fightin', marchin' or workin'."

"And sha'n't we do nothin' neither to that man that we shot when he was tryin' to set fire to the train?" asked little Pete Skidmore, who with Sandy Baker had come up and listened to Shorty's lecture. "He's still layin' out there where he dropped, awful still. Me and Sandy took a piece o' fat pine and went down and looked at him. We didn't go very close. We didn't like to. He seemed so awful quiet and still."

"No; you let him alone," snapped Shorty impatiently. "He'll keep. Lay down and git some sleep, I tell you. What need you bother about a dead rebel? He ain't makin' no trouble. It's the livin' ones that need lookin' out for."

The boys' looks showed that they were face to face with one of the incomprehensibilities of war. But they lay down and tried to go to sleep, and Shorty's thoughts returned to Indiana.

A shot rang out from the post on which he had stationed Jim Humphreys. He was on his feet in an instant, with his gun in hand, and in the next Si was beside him.

"What's up?" inquired Si, rubbing his eyes.

"Nothin', I believe," answered Shorty. "But hold the boys and I'll go out and see."

He strode forward to Jim's side and demanded what he had shot at.

"I saw some men tryin' to cross the crick there," replied Jim, pointing with his rammer in the direction of the opposite bank.

"There, you kin see 'em for yourself."

"I don't see no men," said Shorty, after a moment's scrutiny.

"There they are. Don't you see that white there?" said Jim, capping his musket for another shot.

"That white," said Shorty contemptously, "is some water-birches. They was there when you came on guard, for I noticed 'em, and they hain't moved since. You seen 'em then, lookin' just as they do now. You're a fool to think you kin see anything white in a rebel. 'Taint their color."

"I don't care," half whimpered Jim. "Gid Mackall, and Harry Joslyn, and Alf Russell, and Pete Skidmore, and even Sandy Baker, have all shot rebels, and I hain't hit none. I don't have half-a-show."

"Be patient," Shorty consoled him. "Your three years's only begun. You'll have lots o' chances yit. But if I ketch you shootin' at any more white birches I'll tie you up by the thumbs."

Shorty returned to the fire. Si bade the boys h............