"Not by a great sight. He doesn't know whether I am dead or alive. I wish I had changed my name when I enlisted."
"He lives in Foxboro', Ohio, I believe?" said George.
Gus replied that he did.
"Is his name Gus too?"
"No; his name is Thomas, and he is—I say," exclaimed Gus suddenly, "what are you asking so many questions for? Do you intend to write to him about me?"
"Why, what object could I possibly have in doing that?" asked George, turning a very innocent-looking face toward the deserter. "I am sure it is none of my business what you do. Let's talk about something else. We are getting over the ground pretty rapidly now, and if Bob would let me I could land you in the fort in four hours. I don't suppose that you are in any hurry to get there, but what I meant was, that your additional weight would not prevent this horse of mine from travelling from here to the fort at his very best licks."
"No, I don't weigh much now," said Gus with a sigh. "Hard work, hard fare, hard treatment and constant worry have brought me down to a hundred and ten pounds."
"That's not very heavy for a seventeen-year-old boy."
"Oh, I am nineteen," said Gus, "but just now I feel as though I were forty."
"And you look so, too," said George to himself.—"That was the reason I wanted to know your exact age."