been captured.—Orderly, tell Corporal Owens I want to see him. He is one of the few non-commissioned officers in the command whom I am not afraid to trust.—Captain, have six picked men, with two days' rations, detailed to go with him in pursuit of these deserters. He can find and arrest them if anybody can."

The officer of the day closed the door of the colonel's head-quarters behind him, and in a few minutes the orderly opened it again to admit a sturdy young soldier, about eighteen years old, who wore upon his arms the yellow chevrons of a corporal of cavalry. This was Bob Owens—the boy who stole the mail-carrier's hard-earned money and ran away from home to enjoy it. He had not changed much in appearance. He had grown taller and his shoulders were broader, but any one who had known him before he entered the army would have recognized him now. The fact that he had been selected to perform the hazardous duty of pursuing and arresting the deserters who had left the fort the night before fully armed, and who would not hesitate to make a desperate resistance rather than allow themselves to be taken back to stand the punishment that would be inflicted upon them by a court-martial, and the colonel's declaration that he was one of the few non-commissioned officers in the command whom he was not afraid to trust, seemed to indicate that our old friend Bob had won a reputation since he enlisted in Galveston, nearly a year ago, and done something to win the confidence of his superiors. Let us go back and see what it was.

The last time we saw Bob Owens he was just coming out of a recruiting-office, having enlisted in the regular cavalry and sworn away his liberty for a long term of years. He did not take this step of his own free will, but was driven to it by force of circumstances.

When Bob found Dan Evans in his camp in the woods and stole from him the money that David, with Dan and Bert Gordon's assistance, had earned by trapping quails, he ran away from home, and after escaping from the constable who arrested him at Linwood on suspicion of being a horse-thief he took passage on board the steamer Sam Kendall for St. Louis. While he was on the steamer he made the acquaintance of George Ackerman, who was one of the pilots, and whom he twice saved from drowning. George owned an extensive cattle-ranche in Texas, which was held in trust for him by his uncle, John Ackerman, who was his guardian. After the Sam Kendall was burned he tried to show his gratitude to his preserver, whom he believed to be alone in the world, by offering him a home at his house. At first Bob was inclined to refuse. His imagination having been excited by the cheap novels he had read, he had left home intending to go on the Plains and make himself famous as a hunter and Indian-fighter; but George, who had seen more than one professional hunter in his frontier home, said so much against it, and painted the poverty and worthlessness of this class of men, and the dangers of the life they led, in such gloomy colors, that Bob was finally induced to give up his long-cherished idea, and to consent to accompany his new friend to his home in Texas. As George had no money, Bob footed all their bills, and in due time, in spite of the efforts which Uncle John Ackerman made to separate them in New Orleans, they arrived in Galveston.

They had scarcely stepped ashore before their troubles began in earnest. Bob's pocket was picked while he was passing through the crowd on the wharf, and the boys found themselves alone in a strange city, without money enough in their possession to pay for supper or lodging, and no friend to whom they could go for assistance. They spent the night on the streets, keeping constantly in motion to avoid attracting the attention of the police, and when morning came they found a good-natured grocer who gave them a breakfast of crackers and cheese, and provided George with the means of writing to Mr Gilbert for money to pay his fare and Bob's by rail and stage-coach to Palos. If they could only reach that place, their troubles would be over, for George was well known there, and everybody would be ready to lend him and his new friend a helping hand. But Mr. Gilbert lived a long way from Galveston, the mail facilities between Palos and his rancho were none of the best, and the boys were utterly at a loss to determine how they were going to exist during the two or three weeks that must elapse before George could receive an answer to his letter.

The two friends passed the day in roaming about the city looking for work, but nobody needed them. When the afternoon began drawing to a close they were almost tired out, and George talked of going to some station-house to spend the night—a project to which Bob could not bear to listen. The idea of having a policeman's key turned upon him was dreadful; the bare thought of it was enough to make him gasp for breath. As he walked along the streets he was continually searching his pockets in the faint hope of finding the missing money tucked away in some unexplored corner, and finally he discovered fifty cents in currency in the watch-pocket of his trousers. His heart bounded at the sight of it. It was enough to provide him with supper and a night's lodging, but was not enough to pay for the same comforts for George.

When Bob found this stray piece of currency he was not long in making up his mind how to act. He resolved to slip away from George, and accomplished his purpose by gradually slackening his pace and allowing the young pilot to get some distance in advance of him, and then he turned down a cross-street and took to his heels. He made his way to a cheap lodging-house, ate a hearty supper and went to bed, wondering how George was getting on and where he would pass the night. The latter, as we know, fared much better than Bob did, and the latter made a great mistake in deserting him. His companion had not been gone more than a half an hour before George encountered Mr. Gilbert, the friend to whom he had written that morning, and who had come to Galveston on business. The two looked everywhere for Bob, but were finally obliged to abandon the search. The missing boy had disappeared as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed him up.

The first question that forced itself upon the mind of Bob Owens when he awoke the next morning was, "What shall I do next?" A careful examination of all his pockets showed him that there were no more fifty-cent pieces in them, and he was obliged to confess to himself that the future looked exceedingly dark. He walked the streets in a very disconsolate frame of mind, and had almost decided that he would step into the nearest grocery-store and ask the proprietor if he would not give him a job of sawing wood to pay for something to eat, when he happened to pass a recruiting-office. A sign posted up in front of the door conveyed to the public the information that men were wanted there for the United States cavalry service, and suggested an idea to Bob. He took a few minutes in which to run it over in his mind, and then faced about and entered the office.

The law against enlisting minors without the consent of their parents or guardians is very strict, but Bob got around it by repeating the story he had told George Ackerman, that he was an orphan, and that there was no one who had a right to control his actions. The recruiting-officer was a young man, not more than two or three years older than himself, but he had seen service away up in the Yellowstone country, and the scar on his forehead, which was not yet fully healed, marked the track of the Indian bullet which had come very near putting an end to his career as a soldier. Being unable to do duty in the