stationed at my gun in action."

"Why not?" inquired Frank.

"Why, because you can't tell the difference between a mule and a secesh."

Frank made no reply to this, for, although he was very much relieved to
find that it was a mule, and not a man, that he had killed, he was a good
deal mortified at first, for he expected to be made the laughing-stock of
his companions. But he consoled himself with the thought that he was not
to blame. The corporal had said that he had seen guerrillas in the woods,
and he had, as in duty bound, done his best to drive them away; besides,
he would not have fired his gun had he not been ordered to do so.

"It's no matter," said Simpson, who noticed that Frank looked a little
crest-fallen; "It was the corporal's fault."

"I know it," said Frank. "But that's poor consolation. I killed the mule,
and shall probably be laughed at for it."

"What's the odds?" asked Simpson. "I've seen many a better man than you
laughed at. But let us be going, for we have a long way to walk."

They accordingly retraced their steps to the vessel, and Woods awoke one
of the corporals, who had volunteered to row them over into Kentucky. The
dingy, which was kept fastened to the stern of the Illinois, was hauled
alongside, and, in a few moments, they reached the opposite shore. Our
four hunters sprang out, and, bidding the corporal good-by, shouldered
their muskets, and disappeared in the forest. Woods, who was well
acquainted with the "lay of the land," led the way. Just at sunrise they