"It ain't so!" he cried, wildly. "I ain't never been in the Confederate army." He made an involuntary step toward the door, but his guard pulled him back firmly.
"Why do you think that?" asked General Clark of Al.
"He was a deck hand on the boat I ascended the Missouri on," replied Al, "and I had trouble with him. That's doubtless why he hoped to have me shot. I judge that he was in the Confederate service only by threats and boasts that he made to me, and he was probably in an Arkansas regiment."
"An Arkansas regiment?" the General asked. "We have a whole division of Arkansas troops with us,—Fagan's."
A curious, gurgling gasp came from Jim's throat. His face was chalky.
"I never heerd o' Fagan," he sputtered. "Ner I ain't been in Arkansaw in all my life."
"You are not convicted," General Clark said, calmly. "But the matter is worth investigating."
He called the sergeant of the headquarters guard and directed him to have Jim placed in close custody, and the deck hand was led away, reeling and apparently almost fainting. Al never saw him again; and though by chance he heard long afterward that Jim had, in fact, been in an Arkansas regiment, he could never ascertain whether the young fellow paid the penalty of death for his violation of his oath of enlistment.
When Jim had been led away, the General turned to Al and asked,
"You wear no uniform. Why not?"