but finally get to the mill.

the time and the surroundings were such as to bring the spirits of the boys to their lowest ebb.

the gloomy, mysterious woods seemed a world's distance away from their homes, friends and assistance.

the long, tiresome tramp, the violent rainstorm, which had soaked them to their skins, and apparently found its way to their hearts; the muddy, slippery road, with torrents rushing across it, the splashing, searching rivulets from the boughs overhead, were all deeply depressing.

the boys huddled together, as if to gain courage by closer contact.

"gracious, i never supposed they'd pull off a fight at night, when everybody was tired to death and soaked to a gruel," said alf russell in a shivery whisper.

"they fought at hohenlinden at night, and on the snow," answered monty scruggs. "but snow's not so bad as rain, and, then, they didn't have these awful woods. i'd feel much better if we was out in a clearing somewhere."

"come into line to the left, there," commanded si, in a low tone. "deploy, one pace apart. shorty, take the left out there in the bushes. don't make no noise, step carefully, and don't shoot till i do."

"keep near me, pete, and you won't git lost," said shorty, as he stepped off into the brush.

—"must i shoot the same time you do, or wait till you shoot?" asked pete, who seemed less depressed by his surroundings than the others, and mainly eager to get a chance to shoot.

"don't watch me," cautioned shorty. "watch the fellers you are shootin' at, and try to hit 'em. fire just as soon as you want to after you hear the others."

"i'll bet i'll hit a rebel if anybody does," said pete with hopeful animation.

they tramped forward a few steps over the spongy ground, and through the dripping bushes.

the musketry fire continued fitfully around the mill in the distance.

they came to the summit of the little rise.

"hist—halt; lay down, quick," called the watchful si, in a penetrating voice. "they've loaded agin', and are about to shoot."

he and shorty were down on their faces as he spoke. the others obeyed more slowly and clumsily. the rebel volley cut the limbs and bushes over their heads, and whistled viciously through the damp air and the darkness.

as little pete dropped to the ground, his nervous finger touched the trigger and his gun went off up in the air. the others took this as a cue, and banged away as rapidly as they could get their muskets off.

only si and shorty, in dropping, had kept the lay of the ground in view, and without rising they deliberately aimed their pieces whither the volley had come and fired. a suppressed yell of pain came from the other side.

"we salted one of 'em, anyway," chuckled shorty, as he raised on his knee to reload his gun.

"gosh all chrismus," said si, using his most formidable swear-word, for he was very angry. "what was you brats shootin' at? squirrels or angels? a rebel'd had to be 80 cubits high, like old haman, for one o' you to've hit him. lots o' good o' your packin' around guns and cartridges, if you're goin' to waste your ammynition on the malaria in the clouds. load agin, now, carefully, and when you shoot agin be sure to fetch something. i'll take my ramrod to the next boy that i ketch shootin' higher'n a man's head. this ain't no fourth-o'-july business. our job's te kill them whangdoodles over there, and i want you to 'tend strictly to that."

the threat of a real boyish thrashing and the cool, matter-of-fact way that si and shorty conducted themselves—precisely as if chopping trees or mowing a field—steadied the boys wonderfully.

"they're about ready to shoot agin," si spoke down the line, in a penetrating whisper. "everybody hug the ground, and watch the flashes. each feller git a good line on the flash straight in front of him, and let the hound have a chunk o' lead just below his belt. if you're all real good, and shoot just right, i'll take you on a rush right at them fellers, and we'll scatter what's left like a flock o' quail. lay low. there it comes agin. lay low."

an irregular volley burnt out in the blackness beyond. the bullets sang around much closer than before, and several of them struck near si, one landing in the leaves and moss directly in front of him, and throwing a wet sprinkle in his face.

"like the parrot, i was talkin' too much and too loud," thought si. "they wuz all reachin' for me, and one feller made a mighty good line shot. le's see if i can't better him."

he drew down in his sights as carefully as he could in the darkness, and pulled the trigger. as the smoke thinned out a little he thought he saw something beyond which indicated a man staggering and falling.

this time the boys seemed to be firing effectively. there was a commotion in the woods beyond, and the sound of groans on the damp air.

"raise up!" shouted si. "forward! forward! jump 'em. jump 'em before they kin load agin!"

loading his gun with the practiced ease of a veteran as he rushed forward, si led his squad directly against the position of the rebels. part of the rebels had promptly run away, as they heard si order the charge, but part boldly stood their ground, and were nervously reloading, or fixing bayonets, as the squad came crashing through the brush. one of the rebels fired a hasty, ineffectual shot, and by its light shorty saw the nervous little pete, who had torn off his cumbering haversack, letting his hat go with it, slip between him and si, and gain a pace in advance.

"git back, you little rat," said shorty, reaching out a long arm, catching the boy by the collar, and yanking him back. "git behind me and stay there."

the flash revealed another rebel fumbling for a cap. shorty's gun came down, and the rebel fell, shot through the shoulder. the rebel leader, a long haired, lathy man, with the quickness of a wildcat, sprang at si with his bayonet fixed. heavy-footed and deliberate as si usually was, when the electricity of a fight was in him there was no lack of celerity. he caught the rebel's bayonet on his musket-barrel and warded it off so completely that the rebel shot by him in the impetus of his own rush. as he passed si delivered a stunning blow on the back of his head with his gun-barrel.

"that zouave drill was a mighty good thing, after all," thought si, as he turned from his prostrate foe to the others.

while this was going on, the boys were imitating shorty's example, getting their guns loaded, and banging away as fast as they did so into the rebels, who went down under the shots, or ran off, leaving one of their number, a tall, lank mountaineer, who seemed beside himself with rage. he had grasped his empty gun by the stock, and was swinging it around his head, yelling fierce insults and defiance to the whole race o' yankees.

"come on, you infernal pack o' white-livered, nigger-stealin', house-robbin', hell-desarvin' hypocrites," he shouted. "i kin lick the hull bilin' o' yo'uns. this is my wounded pardner here, and yo'uns can't have neither me nor him till yo'uns down me, which y' can't do. come on, y' pigeon-livered cowards."

the boys who had pressed lip near him, shrank back a little, out of possible range of that violently brandished musket, and began loading their guns.

shorty had stopped for an instant to turn over into an easier position the rebel he had shot.

si paced up. his gun was loaded, and he could have easily brought the rebel down. but the rebel's devotion to his partner touched him.

don't anybody shoot. 119

"don't shoot, boys," he commanded; "leave me to 'tend to him. say, johnny," he addressed the rebel, in a placatory way, "don't make a fool o' yourself. come down, we've got you, dead. drop that gun."

"go to brimstone blazes," shouted the rebel. "if yo'uns have got me, why don't y' take me. i kin lick the hull caboodle o' y' sneakin' mulatters. come on, why don't y'?"

"give him a wad, si," said shorty, reloading his own gun. "we haint no time to lose. they need us over there."

"no, don't anybody shoot," commanded si; "he's just crazy about his partner. he's too brave a man to kill. say, johnny, have a little sense. we haint goin' to hurt your partner, nor you, if you'll behave. drop that gun at once, and surrender."

"go to blazes," retorted the rebel, swinging his gun more wildly than ever. "yo'uns is all liars. no dependence kin be placed on y'. if y' want me, come and git me."'

shorty had begun to think the thing somewhat humorous. "look here, johnny," said he, "wouldn't you like a big chaw o' navy terbacker—bright plug. genuine yankee plug? swingin' that ere gun that way is awful tiresome."

"eh—what's that?" said the rebel, startled by the new proposition and its coolness.

"i say, don't you want a big chaw o' terbacker? you must need it. i always do after i've bin workin' hard. drop your gun, and have one with me. we're injiannians, and we don't mean no harm to your partner, nor to you. we'll take care o' him, if he's hurt. here, cut your own chaw."

"air yo'uns from injianny?" said the rebel, bringing his gun down to a less menacing attitude. "i've done got two brothers in injianny, and i hear they'uns 've done inlisted in yankee rijiments. mebbe yo'uns know 'em."

"mebbe we do," said shorty, handing him a long plug and his knife. "but we hain't time to talk it over now. we'll do that in the mornin', when business ain't so pressin'. le' me hold your gun while you cut your terbacker."

"now, look here," said si, "time's jumpin', and we must talk quick. if we parole you, will you stay here, and take care o' your partner and the others, and be here in the mornin', when we send for you?"

"you won't send for me, if yo'uns is a-gwine on ter fout we'uns up at the mill. we'uns chaw yo'uns up, or run y' outen the country."

"we'll take care o' that," said si sharply. "will you promise on your honor to stay with these men, and take care o' them till daylight, if we don't come sooner?"

"sartin,—'pon honor," answered the rebel, with his mouth full of tobacco.

"all right, then. load at will. load! forward!—march!" commanded si.

si moved on cautiously, for he feared that the runaways had told those attacking the mill about his advance, and would bring them all down upon him. the dying down of the firing about the mill confirmed this opinion. he warned his boys to make as little noise as possible, and went ahead of them some distance, to reconnoiter, slipping along the side of the road, under the shadow of the trees. he arranged a system of signals with shorty, by which one click of his gunlock meant halt, and two to come ahead. presently he came in sight of the broad race which ran to the mill. the starlight was sufficient to show its width and its banks, with the logs lying along, which had been cut when it was dug. a bridge crossed the race for the road to the mill. beyond the ground rose sharply, and looking at the crest against the sky, he could see the rebels, one by one, file over, and come down to where they could crouch behind the logs and ambuscade the bridge.

si clicked his gunlock, and waited till he had counted 25 rebels gathered there, which seemed to be all, as no more appeared. then he slipped back to shorty, and hurriedly explained the situation.

the boys listened with sinking hearts. more than three times as many rebels as they themselves numbered, and perhaps fiercer and stronger than those they had already encountered.

the elation of their recent victory subsided. again the woods became ominously dark and gloomy, the soaking dampness very depressing. they huddled together to brace each other up.

"si," said shorty, "didn't you say that it was a squad o' the maumee muskrats in the mill, and that we wuz goin' to relieve 'em."

"yes, and the orderly said that railroad 'mick'—hennessey—was the sarjint in command."

"o, that bog-trottin' old section boss, that hairy-handed artist with the long shovel, is there, is he with his crucifix and his prayers to the saints. that's all right. he's bin stormin' and swearin' ever since the fight begun; because he's bin obliged to stay inside and shoot, and instid of making a grand rush and settling things, according to donnybrook fair rules. i tell you what you do. you work the boys carefully down through the brush toward the race, and git 'em into position in easy range of the rebels, covering 'em behind logs. i'll take a circuit around to the left, and git over to the hill, behind the rebels, and near enough the mill for hennessey to hear me. then i'll fire a shot and yell for hennessey. he knows my voice, and he'll bring his men out like a pack o' hornets. then you let into the rebels from your side. they can't git across the race at you, and we'll have 'em where we kin whipsaw 'em."

"shorty," said si admiringly, "gen. grant 'll hear o' you some day, and then co. q will lose its brightest star, but the army'll gain a great general."

"i know it; i know it," said shorty, modestly; "but don't stop to talk about it now. i think i've got the lay o' the mill in mind. i'll just cut around that way. don't shoot till you hear me."

si quietly deployed his boys to the left of the road, and worked them through the brush until they came to the crest overlooking the mill-race. they took readily to this sort of work. they had all hunted rabbits over the hills of southern indiana, and they came into position so softly that the rebels beyond did not suspect their presence.

then came a long wait for the signal from shorty. the rebels seemed to get tired first. presently they could be seen moving around, and si had hard work restraining his squad from shooting at the tempting marks. then the rebels began talking, at first in murmurs, and then louder. there seemed to be a division of opinion among them. those who had been run back were sure that the yankee were coming on to the relief of their comrades in the mill. the others thought that their comrades had run the other away just as fast.

"i tell you, hit's no use to wait for they'uns no longer," said one strong voice. "them yankees is runnin' back to their camps as fast as they'uns's legs 'll carry they'uns. if yo'uns 'd had any sand, and stood yer ground, you'd 'a seed 'em. but yo' yaller hammers allers git the ager when ever a cap's busted, and run yer rabbit-gizzards out."

"y're a liar," hotly responded another voice. "thar was more'n 50 o' them yankees, if thar was a man. we fit 'em awful, before we give away, and they'd killed burt dolson and bob whittyker, and i don't know how many more. they come bulgin' right on toward the mill, arter they'd reformed. i know hit, bekase eph and me staid and watched 'em, and shot at 'em, till we thought hit best to run back and warn ye."

"ye wuz in a powerful hurry to warn us," sneered the other. "well, thar's no yankees over thar, and none haint a-comin' till daylight. i've ketched all the ager and rhematiz here that i'm a-gwine ter. le's go back and salivate them fellers in the mill, and set fire to it."

this seemed to be the prevailing sentiment, and si began to fear that they would all go, and might intercept shorty. he was on the point of ordering the boys to fire, and attract their attention, when shorty's rifle rang out, and the next instant came a roar from shorty's powerful lungs, with each word clear and distinct:

"hennessy—you—red—mouthed—mick—come out. the 200th injianny is—here. come out—with a rush—you—imported spalpeen—and jump—'em—in—the—rear!"

"now, boys," commanded si, "keep cool, pick your man, and fire low. i'm goin' to take the feller that's bin doin' the big talkin'."

each of the boys had already picked his man, and was eagerly waiting the word. their fire threw their enemies into confusion, and as their guns rattled, the barricaded doors of the mill were thrown open, and hennessey rushed out with a wild irish "hurroo." the rebels incontinently fled, without an attempt at resistance.

after it was ascertained that every unhurt rebel was running for dear life to get away, after hennessey and his squad had gathered up the wounded and carried them into the mill, and after the boys had yelled themselves hoarse over their victory gained with such unexpected ease, they suddenly remembered that they were so tired that they could scarcely drag one foot after another, and hungrier than young wolves at the end of a hard winter.

"gewhillikins," murmured jim humphreys, "i wonder when we're going to have supper. i'm as holler as a stovepipe."

"you've got your suppers in your haversacks," said si. "we'll go into the mill and build a fire and make some coffee and fry some meat."

"in my haversack," said jim ruefully, after they had entered the mill, and he had run his hand into his forgotten haversack, and withdrawn it covered with a viscid greasy mush. "my haversack's full o' water, that's soaked everything else in it to a gruel."

"so's mine; so's mine," echoed the rest, as they examined.

"confound it," said si' wrathfully, as he looked into one after another. "didn't none o' you have sense enough to fasten down the covers carefully, so's to keep the water out? here it is—salt and sugar and coffee, bread and greasy pork all in one nasty mess. i declare, you don't seem to have the sense you wuz born with. you've bin breakin' yourselves down luggin' around 10 or 15 pounds o' water, besides spilin' your rations."

"probably sarjint hennessey has some rations that he kin give us," suggested shorty, who was genuinely sorry for the poor boys.

"dade i haint—not a smidgeon," answered hennessey. "we ixpicted ye's to git here this forenoon and relieve us, and we et up ivery spoonful of our grub for breakfast, so's to lighten us for a quick march back to camp. they've not bin runnin' in the mill for several days, and've carted off ivery bit of the male they ground. we're nigh starved oursilves, but we've had a lovely little foight, and we forgive ye's for not coming airlier. oi wouldn't 've missed that last rush on thim divil's for a month's double rations."

"well," said si, encouragingly, "we'll have to make mine and shorty's rations go around as well as they kin, among all of you. fish the meat out o' your haversacks, boys, and wash the dope off it. it ain't spiled, anyway. we kin each of us have a little to eat tonight, and we'll trust to providence for termorrer."