Two young men, one of them a civilian and the other evidently a soldier who was home on furlough (to judge by his gray uniform and right arm in a sling), were promenading up and down, and smoking clay pipes.
“I don’t understand it,” the soldier was saying. “They talk about sending powder through to General Beauregard, but it’s an utter impossibility to do it.”
“You’re right,” said his friend. “The thing looks fishy. If these fellows are really what they——”
“Hush,” whispered the soldier. He pointed to George as he spoke. “Well, you’re beginning railroading pretty young,” he added aloud, scrutinizing the boy as if he would like to read his inmost thoughts.
“It’s never too young to begin,” answered the boy, carelessly.
“What is this powder train of yours, anyway?” asked the soldier, in a wheedling voice which was meant to be plausible and friendly.
George had heard enough of the conversation between the two young Southerners to know that they were more than curious about the supposed powder train. And now, he thought, they would try to entrap him into some damaging admission. He must be on his guard. He put on as stupid a look as he could assume (which was no easy task in the case of a boy with such intelligent features), as he replied stolidly: “Dunno. I’ve nothing to do with it. I’m only fireman on the engine.”
“But you know where you’re going?” demanded the soldier, with a gesture of impatience.
“Dunno.”
“Who is the tall chap with the beard who has charge of the train?”