The Project Gutenberg eBook, Prisoner of the Mill, by Harry Hazelton This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Prisoner of the Mill or, Captain Hayward's "Body Guard" Author: Harry Hazelton Release Date: February 28, 2016 [eBook #51318] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRISONER OF THE MILL*** E-text prepared by David Edwards, readbueno, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/prisonerofmillor00haze THE PRISONER OF THE MILL; OR, CAPTAIN HAYWARD’S “BODY GUARD.” BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL HAZELTINE. Author of “The Border Spy.” NEW YORK: THE AMERICAN NEWS CO., PUBLISHERS’ AGENT, NO. 121 NASSAU STREET. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by Sinclair Tousey, Publishers’ Agent, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. THE PRISONER OF THE MILL. CHAPTER I. Brother and Sister—Forebodings—Nettleton. War! Oh! how much of misery is expressed in that one word! It tells its own tale of woe, of blood, of broken hearts and desolated homes, of hopes blighted, of poverty and crime, of plunder, peculation and official tyranny, of murder and sudden death. In short, it develops all the baser passions of the human heart, changing a peaceful world to a world of woe, over which the destroying angel well might weep. Come, oh, thou angel, Peace! The “Army of the Mississippi,” as it was termed, had been unsuccessful in their pursuit of the rebel General Price. A portion of it, or rather the division commanded by General Sigel, had advanced from Springfield, Missouri, upon the Wilson creek road, as far as the famous battle-ground rendered immortal by the death of General Lyon, but finding no enemy, it had encamped upon Grand Prairie, a few miles to the west of the bloody field. All in camp was upon the “tip-toe of expectation.” The lovely scene spread out before the view, was sufficient to inspire the heart of man to great and glorious deeds. The broad, rolling prairie lay there, like heaven’s great carpet. The long grass waved in the breeze, presenting the appearance of a deep-green sea, undulating in low swells as if Queen Mab’s wand were wafting over it; the autumn’s frost had changed thousands of the delicate emerald blades to purple, yellow, and scarlet, while, intermixed with these, was the white prairie flower, lending to the scene an almost fairy-like aspect. The large “Fremont” tents were arranged in rows, in a tasty manner; flags were flying; bands were discoursing sweet strains which echoed far and wide; squads of soldiers in vari-colored uniforms were lounging lazily on the grass, while those detailed for mess or guard duty, were busily prosecuting their assigned tasks. To the east of the camp appeared a wall of forest-kings, their verdure, also, touched by the frost, presenting a variety of colors, and glistening in the sunlight. Few in that small army had witnessed the horrors of the battle-field; but, like all “green” troops, conceiving that there was much of romance connected with the deadly field, and that heroes were created by a single brave deed, the mass of Sigel’s men were eager to meet the foe. It had been given out that the entire army was to join this division on the prairies, and that an advance was to be made at once against Price, who was then at Cassville, some forty miles distant, to the southward. “I think we can safely count upon a desperate battle by the day after to-morrow,” exclaimed one of a party of five, seated within a captain’s tent—four of whom were at a table, with cups and wine before them. The fifth person was making himself generally useful, acting in the capacity of a servant. “You have fleshed your maiden sword at Springfield, and I did not suppose you would be anxious for another fight. I confess I can not gaze upon such scenes without a shudder, and, if duty would permit, I would willingly sheathe my sword forever.” “Captain Hayward, you are low-spirited to-day,” answered the first speaker. “I am, indeed, Lieutenant Wells. And can you wonder? My sister is here!” “I only wish mine was!” “That is a rash wish, my friend. She would be exposed to much danger, and I never want mine to gaze upon a battle-field. No! where men cut each other’s throats, delicate, sensitive women should not be near!” “Could you find no way in which to send her from Springfield to St. Louis?” asked Wells. “I could have done so by the mail coach but, you know, the entire distance of one hundred and thirty miles, from Springfield to Rolla, or to Tipton upon the other route, is infested with guerrillas, and I feared to send her. I preferred she should brave the dangers of the camp or even the battle-field with me.” Captain Hayward bent his head upon his hands and was silent. It was some moments before any one ventured to speak. All appeared to be oppressed with a strange sadness. At length one of the party, Captain Gilbert, slapping him familiarly upon the shoulder, and endeavoring to speak gayly, said: “Come, come, Harry, this won’t do! you must shake off every vestige of blues. You are suffering still from the wound you received in the Warsaw skirmish, and it makes you low-spirited. No doubt your sister will be perfectly safe, and I know she had much rather be with you, to assist you should you need her aid, than to be safe in St. Louis, enduring the tortures of suspense.” Hayward made no reply. At this moment, a female, delicate and fair, came tripping lightly into the tent, her face wreathed in smiles, and her eyes sparkling with delight; but, as she caught sight of Hayward, she paused, and gazed upon him for a moment, exhibiting the most intense interest; then advancing, and placing her hand upon his shoulder, she spoke: “Brother!” Hayward started, and clasping her in his arms, he pressed her close to his heart for a moment. But, gazing into his eyes, she asked: “What is the matter, dear Harry, you appear ill?” The countenance of Hayward underwent an instant change, as he replied: “Not ill, but somewhat depressed in spirits, perhaps, in view of what a day may bring forth.” “Oh! Harry,” she said, “I hear there is going to be another fight. Will you have to go into it and leave me?” “Should there be a battle, I shall endeavor to protect you, dear sister.” “But, you will be in danger; perhaps wounded—perhaps killed! Oh! what would I do, then? Don’t go, Harry!” and the gentle girl threw her arms around her brother’s neck and wept. After a moment, he raised her, and pressing his lips to her forehead, said: “I wish to speak with these gentlemen a moment. Go to your friend Alibamo’s tent. I will come for you, soon!” The sister cast back a look of fond solicitude, and left the tent. Hayward gazed after her a moment, muttering audibly: “Poor child, what would you do if I should fall. You would indeed be alone!” “Now, captain, I don’t think that’s half fair,” exclaimed the one spoken of as being the servant. “Do you think I am such a darn skunk as to—if you was killed—the darn—not to fight for my capt’n’s sister—the skunk—no, I mean, if you die—if she —darn me, if I don’t—I—I—” and the speaker, as if unable to express what he did mean, suddenly left the tent. All present smiled broadly, and good-humor was thus, for the moment, infused in all hearts. “Nettleton had a sudden call!” said one. “He has gone to the sutler for a dictionary!” added another. “His heart is in the right place,” remarked Hayward. “That’s so!” responded all, with emphasis. “You are safe, with such a ‘darn skunk’ for your body-guard, Captain Hayward,” Gilbert declared, with comic seriousness. William Nettleton was in height about six feet. His general appearance was very singular. His hair was nearly white— naturally so; his eyes of a light green and large; his carriage very loose—indeed, when he walked, one would almost expect to see him fall in pieces. His feet were huge in dimensions. He had the appearance of a half-witted, illy-formed person; but he was, withal, neither one nor the other. Having been detached from the company to which he belonged, to act as servant to Captain Hayward, he soon became so greatly attached and devoted to the captain, as to be styled his “body-guard.” This attachment was not fictitious, nor did it proceed from a spirit of military sycophancy or subserviency; it was felt. Nettleton had evinced more than ordinary courage on several occasions, and had, also, displayed so much judgment with his intrepidity, that he had received offers of advancement; but these he declined, preferring, as he expressed himself, “to stay with my capt’n, the first what promoted me.” It will also be well to explain the presence of ladies in the camp. Miss Mamie Hayward was the sister of Captain Hayward, who, having received intelligence that her brother was wounded, had visited Springfield for the purpose of ministering to his wants. At the time of her arrival Fremont’s “Army of the Mississippi” was marching upon that place, and the journey from Rolla or Tipton was safe. But soon, those roads were infested with guerrillas, and, as they were poorly guarded, it was not thought prudent that the ladies who had reached Springfield should attempt a return. Miss Hayward, therefore, remained with her brother. This same reason will apply to all the ladies in camp, of which there were several—conspicuous among whom was the wife of Adjutant Hinton, one of the officers of the well-known “Benton Cadets.” She was usually addressed as “Alibamo”—her name when a captive in Price’s hands. She was very beautiful, and of that daring, determined nature which has immortalized so many women of the West. In company with Alibamo, was a young lady who acted in the capacity of waiting-maid, but who really appeared more like a companion. This female possessed the not particularly euphonious name of Sally Long. “I must join with Nettleton in my reproaches, Captain Hayward,” answered Lieutenant Wells, in a subdued tone. “You forget my conversation with you last night!” “No, Wells. You informed me of your affection for my sister, but you have never addressed her as a lover. How do you know that she will return your love? If she could return it, I confess, lieutenant, I do not know any one to whom I would more willingly see her united; but, if she can not, how could you assume to become her protector?” “If such should be the case, and the fortunes of war should deprive her of a brother, rest assured that, not only myself, but every man in camp would willingly shed his blood in her defense, and care for her as a sister!” “Thank you. I do feel a foreboding of evil. I believe I shall be killed in the coming battle. If this should be the case, I commend her to your care. But, my nerves are excited. I will walk into the open air. No! I would be alone!” he added, as one of the officers arose as if to accompany him. As he left the tent one of the party, a Captain Walker, exclaimed: “Well, I hope things are all right, but I have my doubts!” “Your doubts of what?” asked Wells. “Humph! well, no matter. You are too directly interested to listen to the explanation. But, perhaps you will find out some day.” “Do you intend, sir, to cast any slur upon Captain Hayward?” Captain Walker did not reply, but left the tent. An hour or more had passed, and Hayward did not return. It was now quite dark, when suddenly the assembly was sounded, and, all anxious, the troops fell in. The order was read: “Pack knapsacks, and have every thing in readiness for a move at daylight.” All was excitement, and every preparation was made for a forward movement. But soon it began to be whispered that the orders were to return. In a short time it was officially announced that the movement was, in reality, back to Springfield, and from thence to Rolla and St. Louis. Many were the expressions of disappointment and regret, and some even ventured to denounce the policy. Fremont had been superseded in the field, and General Hunter, his successor, had abandoned the campaign, then on the very eve of its final consummation. CHAPTER II. The Tragedy of the Stream. Who was Guilty? When Captain Hayward left the tent, he proceeded to the stream which skirted the woods. Bending over it, he bathed his fevered brow. Then he seated himself upon the bank of the river, and, resting his head upon his hands, was, for a long time, absorbed in his thoughts. A human form flitted lightly past. Hayward raised his head and listened, but all was quiet again, and, in the darkness of the night he could distinguish nothing. “I was mistaken!” he said to himself. “If I was not, and a human being is around, I will wager it was Nettleton, who, anxious for my safety, has followed me.” The captain was again silent for a moment, when the breaking of a twig betrayed the presence of some person. Hayward raised his head and called: “William! William Nettleton!” “Sir!” answered a voice but a few feet from the captain. “Why did you follow me, William?” “Cos I’m a darn skunk,” drawled the person addressed, as he emerged out of the darkness. “And——Curse you!” The person speaking was before him. In an instant Hayward sprung to his feet, but, with a cry of agony exclaimed: “Great God, Nettleton—why have you—oh God, save me—you’ve killed me—I die!” And, falling heavily forward, the words died upon his tongue. The murderer bent over the murdered for a moment; then, with some haste, rolled the body into the water, and turned from the spot. He paused under the shade of a tree, and listened for the tread of a sentry, that he might enter the camp unobserved. With a half-suppressed laugh he uttered his thoughts: “I have done it, sure; and now that it is done, I must progress—no retreating now. I think I’ll win. Good-by, captain, and give my respects to my friends as you float downstream.” He proceeded with caution toward the camp, and was soon lost in the city of canvas. The tattoo soon sounded. Lights were extinguished, and all was quiet, save in a few tents, which appeared to be those of officers. Yet, there were aching hearts within that camp, and, as the night progressed, many were the anxious inquiries as to why Captain Hayward did not return. In a large tent, near that occupied by Captain Hayward, were seated three ladies. One was Miss Hayward; another was Alibamo, or, as she is now a wife, she should be called Mrs. Adjutant Hinton; the other was Miss Sally Long, the waiting- maid of Alibamo. Before this tent paced a special guard; beside it was a tent of much smaller dimensions, occupied by Nettleton and his servant, black George, or, as Nettleton used to call him, “Swasey’s nigger.” “I fear something has befallen my brother. He does not return, and it is now twelve o’clock!” “Don’t be alarmed,” said Alibamo, in a soothing voice; “your brother is most likely at the head-quarters of General Sigel. He may be detained on business. Come, let us retire.” “No, not while my brother is absent.” At this moment the guard came to the tent entrance and said: “Ladies, if you have not yet retired Captain Walker requests the pleasure of a few words with Miss Hayward.” “Oh, Alibamo, I fear that man; he looks at me so strangely. But perhaps he brings news of my brother. I will see him. Bid the captain enter.” As Walker entered he appeared agitated, but controlling his emotions, he said: “Ladies, you will pray excuse me. I feel that I must speak now, as it may be my last opportunity. We—or, I should say the army—will be separated at Springfield, and I shall see you no more.” “Do you bring news of my brother?” asked Miss Hayward. “No! His disappearance is very strange. But I came to speak of myself.” “What would you say?” “This, Miss Hayward. I have loved you long and dearly. To-morrow we may be parted, and I would ask you, should the fortunes, or rather the misfortunes, of war deprive you of a brother’s love and protection, will you not permit me to seek you out and become your future protector?” “Captain Walker, these words surprise me, and I think propriety demanded that they should have been spoken in the presence of my brother.” “Pardon me, dear lady. I have waited until this hour for your brother’s return, and at last, fearing I should have no other opportunity, I ventured to visit you now. You have a friend and sister in Alibamo, and surely you will not fear to speak before her.” “I can not answer your question—it refers to the future.” “Then for the present. Let me speak plainly, and I beg you will do the same. Can you not at least regard me now as your friend and protector, and give me a friend’s privileges?” The timid girl turned toward Alibamo, and in an inaudible voice, spoke a word. “She answers promptly, no!” replied Alibamo, somewhat sterner than was her usual manner. “You love another, then?” asked Walker. Miss Hayward did not reply. “Is the favored one Lieutenant Wells?” again asked Walker. “You are impertinent, Captain Walker,” replied Alibamo. “I must request you to retire. How can you thus, in her brother’s absence, address her in this manner?” At this moment there was a commotion in the tent of Nettleton. The voice of the negro was heard, exclaiming: “I he’rd you, massa Nettleton. There ain’t no use in you denyin’ it. I he’rd massa cap’n say, ‘Oh, Nettleton, ye kill me!’ Oh Lord, if eber I get out ob dis scrape, ye’ll neber catch dis chile in such another one.” “Is the nigger crazy? What is the darn skunk talking about?” “Oh, you needn’t make b’lieve ignoramus on dis ’ere question. I he’rd ye.” “Now, look a here, you unconscionable dark; if you have got any thing to say, spit it out. Don’t make a darn skunk of yourself.” “Oh! won’t I fotch ye up in de morning? Yes, sah!” “Are you going to speak, and say what you mean?” “Oh, golly! You go back on de cap’n dat way!” “What cap’n? Out with it, or I’ll break your head and every bone in your body,” exclaimed Nettleton, in a state of undisguised excitement. “Serve dis nigger as ye did de cap’n, and den put his body in de riber!” The negro had scarcely uttered these words when Nettleton seized him. He set up a terrible howl, which brought Captain Walker to their tent. “What is all this fuss about?” asked Walker. The negro went on to explain as follows: “Why, ye see, massa cap’n, I went ober to dat yar house across de riber, to see Miss Julia, a col’d gal dat used to be my sweetheart. Well, I see’d de Johnnies comin’, and I ran down to de riber to come on dis side, but dey come so close to me dat dis chile hid behind a big log. Den dey stop right by me, and say, ‘Golly, we can’t cotch nobody.’ Den I he’rd some one on de oder side ob de riber say, “Oh, Nettleton, you—” “Silence this stuff! You have been drunk. If you speak upon this subject again, I’ll cut your black throat.” “I’se dumb, massa cap’n.” Quiet had now been restored, and all parties retired for the few hours that intervened before morning. But it was evident all were not asleep. Several times a stealthy step was heard, and a shadow flitted past the white canvas tent, dimly seen by the pale starlight. Morning came at last, and all was astir. Captain Hayward had not yet returned. The inquiry was made if any one had seen him. “I have not seen him since last evening at twilight,” replied Walker, “at which time he acted very strangely, and talked about the injustice of war. I am inclined to think he has deserted and joined the enemy.” “Oh, you darn skunk!” yelled Nettleton, as he sprang forward, and was about to strike the speaker. But, checking himself, he added: “It’s well you wear them gilt things on your shoulders, or I’d teach you to call my cap’n such names.” “If you would save yourself trouble you had better remain quiet, Nettleton,” replied Walker, as he fixed his eyes significantly upon him. “I knows where Cap’n Hayward am,” said the negro, stepping forward. “Where is he?” sobbed Miss Hayward, pressing forward, in her eagerness. “He is—” “Silence!” yelled Walker. “Let him speak,” said the colonel. “Go on, George. Where is the captain?” “Down dar!” The negro trembled violently, and glanced at Nettleton. “What do you mean?” “He’s in de riber—killed dead, sure!” A wild shriek rose upon the air as Miss Hayward fell back into the arms of Alibamo, insensible. “By whom was he killed?” “By massa Nettleton dar, sure. I he’rd across de riber, jis as plain as day.” Nettleton started back in horror, his eyes extending widely, and his frame trembling. A general murmur of disbelief ran through the crowd. “Did you see him do the deed?” asked the colonel. “Golly, I couldn’t see much, it war so dark. But I hear massa cap’n say, ‘Oh, Nettleton, you kill me!’ Golly, see how massa Nettleton shake!” “Where was this?” “Rite down by dat tree. His blood is all ober de ground; I jest see it.” In an instant Nettleton had dashed off for the spot indicated. In accordance with an order from the colonel he was pursued. Reaching the locality named, he gazed upon the ground. It was red with blood—fresh blood. He threw himself upon the earth, and wept and moaned, and called upon his captain to return. His grief was terrible to behold. By this time the officers and many of the men had arrived. They gazed upon the grief-stricken servant with respect, and more than one expression of sympathy was heard. “If Captain Hayward has been murdered, it was not by that boy. Nettleton loved his captain too much to harm him,” said Lieutenant Wells. “I am inclined to think the deed has been done by skulking guerrillas.” “I incline to your opinion, Lieutenant Wells, as to the innocence of Nettleton. But, as to the deed having been done by guerrillas, it is not likely. It is much too near camp.” “But Hayward certainly had no enemy in our camp who would have done this deed.” “We do not know the secret motives which animate the human heart,” replied Walker, in a tone and manner not devoid of meaning. “Let instant search be made for the body,” commanded the colonel. It was done, but no trace of it could be found, although the water was too shallow to have permitted it to float down the river. Attention was again directed to Nettleton, who was sitting erect, gazing at a piece of sharp, bloody steel which he held in his hand. Viewing it a moment, he sprung to his feet, and fixed his eyes upon Lieutenant Wells. Then he turned to the colonel and handed him the blade. That officer examined it. Directing his gaze upon Lieutenant Wells, he asked: “Has any one among you a small Spanish dirk, with a highly-polished and ornamented blade?” “I had such a one,” replied Wells, “but I have missed it for several days.” The colonel instantly turned toward the camp, commanding all to follow him. He halted before the tent of Lieutenant Wells, and said: “You, Captain Walker, and you, Adjutant Hinton, enter this tent, and tell me what you find.” The search lasted but a moment, during which time Wells had been assisting Miss Hayward, but not without evincing much agitation. Walker now appeared, holding in his hand a bowl of bloody water, and exhibiting the broken stiletto, covered with blood, which had been found in the overcoat pocket of Wells. A shirt, also, was found, which was stained with blood. “What can you say to this damning proof of your guilt?” asked the colonel. “I know nothing of it.” “Arrest the murderer of Captain Harry Hayward!” commanded the colonel, in a loud voice. The guards instantly seized him. “Murderer! He a murderer—and of my brother! No! no! This is some dreadful dream. Oh, tell me my brother is not murdered; it will kill me. Oh, see! Pity a friendless girl who kneels to you and begs you to tell her that you have not deprived her of a dear brother. Speak to me, Edward. I did love you, and you would not harm him.” Wells could not speak. He had never spoken to Miss Hayward of his love for her; but now, in the delirium of her grief, she had confessed her love for him. Oh, what a moment! Walker advanced to raise Miss Hayward from her bended position before Wells. “Paws off, ye darn skunk!” yelled Nettleton, as he hurled Walker to the ground. “I alone am her protector now.” CHAPTER III. The Proposal—The Interruption—The Indian —The Rescue—The Wounded Man—The Mystery. Near the village of Ozark, at the base of a ridge of mountains of that name, runs a most beautiful stream or river, which bears the name of the village, and is one of the tributaries of the north fork of the Gasconade. Its banks are high, and covered with a thick but small growth of the “scrub” oak, peculiar to that portion of Missouri. The bed of the river sparkles with brilliant white and yellow pebbles, polished by the rush of waters for thousands of years. A fine bridge spans the stream along the main road, that runs through the only opening in the forest for miles around. After crossing this bridge, and ascending a sharp hill, the village of Ozark is reached. This consists of about twenty ordinary-looking dwellings, a court-house, and a rough building, dignified by the name hotel. Beyond the village, and higher up the mountain, is a line of rolling hills, which overlook the country for miles around. On one of these, and near the edge of a grove, were to be seen a cluster of tents, and, from the number of horses picketed but a short distance away, it would at once be supposed, from a distance, to be a cavalry camp, with, perhaps, a section of artillery. On a sloping point, extending from the side of the bridge to the stream, and reclining upon the turf, were two persons. The one a young man of marked appearance, and the other a female of much beauty, although her dress bespoke her a native of that portion of the country. “Nettie, when do you expect your sister to return?” “It is difficult to answer, Charles, but I trust very soon.” “Have you not heard from her recently?” “No. There is no way in which she can communicate with me. The mails have been discontinued, you are aware, from Rolla to Springfield.” “If you can visit the army, I presume you can both dispatch and receive letters. Are you not very anxious to learn how she is treated among the Federals?” “I am most anxious; still I have no fears.” “I can not feel as you do upon that subject. I would not awaken useless fears in your breast, but I have not so much confidence in their magnanimous natures.” “Charles, you told me to-day for the first time, that you loved me, and asked me if I could not address you as dear Charles. You have been very kind to me, and, on one occasion, you rescued me from the hands of a villain. I feel grateful— truly so. But, whatever my feelings may be, I never can wed my country’s enemy. Look yonder. You see that white cottage. Once it was beautifully adorned with creeping vines, and the lawn before it bloomed with flowers and shrubbery. But, dearer than all, within its walls lived my father and my sister. Look at it now! Its beauty has departed—it is a wreck; father and sister have been driven from it, while I have been detained here by force. You profess to love me. If you do so, prove it! We are now more than a mile from the rebel camp, and you can escape with me to Springfield.” “I will assist you to escape; indeed, I will accompany you a portion of the way to Springfield. But I must return to my own people and fight with them to the last. I do love you, and I would become your husband, gladly, if I could be satisfied you loved me for myself alone. But, I can not sacrifice one jot of honor or principle to win even you, dear Nettie.” “And you will go with me, now?” “Yes—stay, what is that? Did you not hear a low, moaning sound?” “I heard nothing.” “Well, perhaps I am mistaken. But I fancied I heard such a sound. No matter. I will go with you now to Springfield.” “To what purpose, young man?” The speaker was a powerful person, and had emerged from the bridge just in time to hear the last sentence of Charles Campbell. “So, sir,” he continued, “you would desert us, and join the Yankees, and all for your foolish regard for this vixen!” “Colonel Price, if you were not an officer I would make you eat your words. I have served you faithfully, and you have no right to question my loyalty. I do not intend to desert, neither is this lady a vixen any more than you are a coward.” Price started, bit his lips, and frowned fiercely. At length he asked: “Why did you propose visiting Springfield with this——lady?” “I intended to accompany her a portion of the way, and then to return to my duty.” “Why does she wish to visit Springfield?” “Because her father and sister are both in St. Louis, and she wishes to rejoin them.” “Did not yonder cottage belong to her father?” “It did.” “He was one of the most bitter opposers in this section. And you love his abolition daughter?” “I love his daughter, sir!” “Enough. You will return to camp this moment. I will take charge of this young lady. When I rejoin you, I shall put your loyalty and your courage to the test. Do you see yonder boat?” He pointed up the river. A small boat was seen floating down the stream, in which three men were sitting erect, and the form of a fourth, lying prostrate. “How do you propose testing my loyalty, Colonel Price?” “That boat contains a Yankee officer. He is to be hung up by the neck. You shall perform the job.” “Is not that man wounded, Colonel Price?” “Yes, very badly so, I am informed.” “Then I will not perform the base thing you propose.” Price drew a revolver, and pointing it to the head of Campbell, commanded him to start at once for camp. He had scarcely done so, when a powerful Indian sprung from concealment, and snatched the weapon from his hand. At the same time he seized Price, as if he had been a child, and hurled him into the water below. Without waiting to watch the result of this sudden immersion upon the chivalrous colonel, he caught the maiden in his arms, and bounded off in the direction of Springfield. As he started, he beckoned to the young man and muttered: “Come—follow—me save her!” Price floundered about in the water for a moment, and finally succeeded in reaching the shore just as the boat came up. “Come—quick—join me in the pursuit!” yelled Price. The three men leaped upon the bank, and, at the command of Price, all discharged their pieces after the retreating Indian, but without effect. Pursuit was then ordered, but Price, observing that Campbell did not follow, turned and asked: “Are you not coming, sir?” “No!” was the prompt reply. Price felt for his revolver, but finding it gone, he only muttered, “Curse you,” and then commenced the pursuit. For over a mile it was kept up. The pursuers gained upon the Indian, who was considerably obstructed in his flight by the weight of the female. At last Price exclaimed: “By the eternal, there come the Yankees!” Sure enough, just appearing in view upon an elevated point a little beyond, was seen a squadron of cavalry, and a section of flying artillery rapidly advancing. “To the hill! Give the signal for our guns—to the bridge—secure the prisoner in the boat!” These commands were given by Price, as he commenced a rapid retreat toward the bridge. Pausing on the hill just before reaching it, he unfurled a small flag and made a signal. In an instant all was astir in the rebel camp, and artillery and cavalry soon came dashing down the hill. “Where is the prisoner?” yelled Price, as he came to the bridge. “Perhaps the young man you left here has taken him to camp.” “But the boat is gone! However, there is no time to be lost, now. They are upon us! Quick!” Colonel Price started for the opposite end of the bridge, followed by his three confederates. The rebel troops were still some distance from that end of the bridge nearest their camp, which it was evident they intended reaching, if possible, in order to sweep the narrow passage, if the Union forces attempted to cross. The Federals, however, were the first to gain that point. But, had a crossing been effected, as soon as they reached the opposite side they would have been exposed to the most galling fire of the enemy, as there was a large space of flat, swampy ground in front; and then a sharp bluff, upon which the rebel artillery would, in such a case, be planted. The commander of the Federals, observing this situation at a glance, ordered a halt, and brought his section of artillery into position. One piece was placed so as to enfilade the bridge, and the other upon a little rise of ground, in a position where it could sweep their lines beyond. The rebels observing this, threw forward two guns, amid a deadly fire from the Unionists, and succeeded in taking a position upon the opposite end of the bridge. Several rounds of grape were hurled back and forth, but as the cover was good, but little damage was done. The cavalry attempted a crossing, but the thick growth of oaks prevented. A charge was about to be ordered across the bridge, when an explosion took place, and it was shattered to fragments. Taking advantage of this, the rebels made a rapid flight. As pursuit was useless, the command was given to fall back to Springfield. The Indian we have spoken of now approached the commander, leading the trembling woman, and said: “Me save—you save—white squaw!” “Do you require my protection?” asked the commander. Nettie told her story in an artless manner, of which the reader has gleaned all necessary particulars. She was kindly provided for, and soon reached Springfield in perfect safety. Soon after the arrival, a soldier came to the tent of the commanding officer, presenting a bit of paper. “Colonel, I picked up this scrap near the bridge, but did not look at it until this moment. It may be of importance.” The colonel took the paper and read aloud: “A suspicion of my fidelity to the Confederate cause has crossed the mind of my commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel A. M. Price, simply because I consented to assist Miss Nettie Morton to reach Springfield, from which point she might be able to rejoin her friends, who formerly resided in Ozark, but are now in St. Louis. I was condemned, in consequence, to be the executioner of a wounded Federal officer. At this cowardly act my whole nature revolted. Chance has favored me, and I have determined to save him. In what manner I can not here write, fearing this paper should fall into Confederate hands, and my plans be thus interrupted. I can not learn who he is. I asked his name, and I have some reason to believe that Miss Morton may throw some light upon the subject, as the only words he spoke were ‘Net—murdered—sister —.’ He bore the rank of captain. Charles Campbell.” The colonel turned toward Miss Morton, who was seated in his tent, and asked: “Do you feel any especial interest in any Union officer now with us?” Miss Morton hung her head and blushed. “Do not fear to speak, and frankly, too, Miss Morton. Perhaps the welfare of one you love—perhaps his safety, may depend upon your candid confession.” “I—I—” “Have you ever met one of our officers?” “But once. And then I only passed the evening in his society. He was kind, but he has forgotten me!” “It is enough, you love him. But the short time he was with you could scarcely have made an impression so deep that he would mutter your name in his delirium. And yet, the wounded man was near your residence. And he exclaimed ‘Net—’. Your name is Nettie, is it not?” “It is.” “And what is the name of him you refer to?” “Captain Harry Hayward!” The officer was visibly affected. “‘Nettie.’ ‘Net—.’ ‘Nettleton!’ ‘Murdered.’ ‘Sister.’ It is very strange. Harry Hayward’s body was not found, but he was assassinated. Ah, I begin to fathom the mystery.” He murmured all this in words not audible to the astonished Miss Morton, and left the tent slowly, as if oppressed with the weight of a momentous thought. CHAPTER IV. Nettleton’s Adventure in a Noose—Some Important Information. The surprise of Walker was very great at the unexpected movement of Nettleton. His sword flashed from its scabbard, and he made a half-pass at his breast. But, checking himself, he said: “William, I can forgive you in consideration of your grief, and I spare you, that you may assist in the care of Miss Hayward. Curse him!” he muttered to himself, “I would strike the infernal dog dead at my feet, but the act would only place a greater barrier between me and my prize. Miss Hayward,” he added aloud, “you will always find me ready and most anxious to serve you.” “Miss Hayward will not lack for friends, sir!” replied Alibamo, in a tone of contempt. “Captain Walker, I shall place the prisoner in your charge. You will forward at once.” These words were spoken by the colonel. Walker bit his lip, and was silent. He then commanded the guard to forward, muttering as he did so: “The second most agreeable job. I’ll revenge myself upon him.” As the guard formed around Lieutenant Wells, he turned to Miss Hayward, and said: “Oh! dear lady, you have inadvertently confessed that you had some regard for me. This is not a time to speak of such things, but I will now say to you, that which has never before passed my lips, excepting to your brother. I love you, with a devotion, ardent as it is pure and holy; and by that love I swear, and beg you to believe, that I have never harmed your brother!” Miss Hayward turned toward him, and made a movement as if to reach his side, but Walker held aloft the bloody knife, which met her gaze, and, with a shudder, she turned to Alibamo. “Forward!” cried Walker, and Edward Wells, the once popular officer and general favorite, was urged on, bound and guarded, charged with, and generally believed guilty of, the foulest of crimes. But yesterday he was on the road to honor and fame; now he was marching forward to a disgraceful death. The entire division was soon in motion. Nettleton now approached Miss Hayward, and said: “Miss Mamie, I am going to do all for you such a darn sk— I mean such a chap as me can do; but, I’m feard that ain’t much. But you’re going now where there ain’t no danger, and if you please, I’m a going to stay behind and hunt for the captain.” “Oh! thank you, William,” sobbed Miss Hayward. “How can I ever repay you, dear friend?” “Don’t—don’t!” said William. A choking sensation came over him, and, unable to say more, he turned away, only to be comforted by Miss Sally Long, who placed her hands upon his shoulders, and said: “William, if you will find the captain, I’ll love you dearly!” Nettleton started back, opened his eyes wide—so he did his mouth, as if attempting to speak. His lower jaw wagged two or three times, but no sound was heard. Then turning his eyes, he saw the gaze of all fixed upon him, and started off suddenly upon a run, exclaiming as he did so: “Who ever thought it possible that I should ever be loved by Sally—such a darn skunk—a sweet gal, I mean!” Nettleton did not pause until he had overtaken the colonel, of whom he requested permission to remain and make a more thorough search for his captain. “No, William,” was the reply. “We will not be a mile distant before the enemy’s scouts will be here, and you will be taken prisoner.” “No fear, they don’t notice such as me!” “But your uniform will be sufficient.” “Oh! I always go prepared. I have another suit under this, one as I got from the bushwhack I laid out the other night, as he came noseing around Captain Hayward’s tramping ground, and I shall put that on top.” “Well, do as you like, but be careful!” Nettleton waited for no other words, but turning, proceeded at once to the spot where Hayward received the fatal stab. He sat down for a time, silent and mournful, gazing into the water. He then commenced a scrutinizing search. He became satisfied that the body could not have floated down the river, on account of the shallowness of the water. He crossed the stream, searched upon the opposite bank, and there found the footprints of a number of men. He followed the tracks, and found that two persons had descended into the river, and out again, near the same spot. He took the measurement of each impression in the mud, and then exclaimed: “I’ll be darned if Lieutenant Wells’ boot made any of them marks! I know how it is. Captain must have come here last night to think, and some of them darn rebel skunks come up behind him suddenly, and killed him, and then two of them crossed over and got his body, and brought it back, and that accounts for the tracks in and out of the water. But what did they want with him if he was dead? Perhaps he wasn’t quite killed, and they took him prisoner. I’ll follow these tracks, anyway.” Nettleton followed up the footmarks until they merged into the turnpike, which was so cut up with travel as to prevent him tracing them further. He now returned to the fatal spot. Bending down he examined the earth, still red with blood. Something appeared to interest him, and creeping on his knees, he followed a footprint to the edge of the stream. Here was an impression of two boots, side by side, in the mud. Nettleton gazed upon them for a few moments. His breast heaved violently —he clenched his hands, and at last said: “I’ve blacked them boots. I know ’em well—there is the impression of the two hearts in the mud, and there ain’t but one pair of boots in our camp as has two hearts made with nails in the ball of each boot. Oh, you darn—”