"Where are you boys going?" he asked, as he came up to them.
"Going home."
"Over there—at Oakland," pointing in the direction of their home, which seemed suddenly to have moved a thousand miles aways.
"Where have you been?" The other soldiers had come up now.
"Been down this way." The boys' voices were never so meek before. Each reply was like an apology.
"Been to see your brother?" asked one who had not spoken before—a pleasant-looking fellow. The boys looked at him. They were paralyzed by dread of the approaching question.
"Now, boys, we know where you have been," said a small fellow, who wore a yellow chevron on his arm. He had a thin moustache and a sharp nose, and rode a wiry, dull sorrel horse. "You may just as well tell us all about it. We know you've been to see 'em, and we are going to make you carry us where they are."
"No, we ain't," said Frank, doggedly.
Willy expressed his determination also.