mill. Up the dirty stairs she went, and finally entered the room, or

attic, where the unfortunate brother had been detained prisoner. She shuddered as she gazed around her.

“Now,” said Walker, “I will show you _your_ room—one you shall occupy until you are Mrs. Colonel Brown.”

He drew her still further on, and opened a massive door, which grated upon its hinges. She gazed in. It was a small apartment into which the carpenter usually entered when he wished to repair the great water-wheel which set the mill in motion. This room, or rather aperture, was of construction unlike any apartment intended for occupancy. There was a platform about ten feet in width, which formed the only flooring. Then a great opening beyond, through which the main wheel extended upward about eight or ten feet, entirely filling the opening in the floor. Any man confined in this apartment would find little difficulty in effecting his escape, provided he was an expert swimmer, and the mill not in motion. But the manner in which an escape must be effected would be as follows:

When the mill was running, the wheel being then in motion, the water was thrown in large quantities in every part of the room, and its inmate could scarcely prevent drowning by catching his breath at intervals. To attempt to spring into the wheel—which was formed something like the wheel of a wagon, the rim, or tire, however, being about twenty feet in breadth, with crevices, or brackets, for catching the water which propelled it, and the braces answering as spokes bearing proportion to the rim—would almost assuredly be dashed in pieces in the attempt to gain the interior. But, once there, he would be whirled round and round until he could gather his energies for a jump when that portion of the wheel in which he was perched was _down_, or nearest the bed of the stream. To leap out _into_ the river would be a task equally perilous to that of springing in. When the wheel was _not_ in motion, one could step into the opening, slide down the rim with great ease, spring into the water, and gain the shore in a moment.

Miss Hayward gazed into this room or vault with a fainting, sickening sensation; but she did not speak. It appeared as if hope had almost left her heart, now that she found her brother gone, and she nerved herself for any fate that might overtake her.

* * * * *

It was, as we have stated, late in the afternoon before the rebels encamped around the stack where Nettleton and Fall-leaf were secreted, took their departure, and up to that time the two faithful pursuers were unable to venture forth. At last all was safe, and they emerged from their concealment, and gazed around them. No living person was to be seen. A meal was hastily prepared, after partaking of which they resumed their journey at a rapid rate. All night they plodded along, taking care to see that no _mill_ was passed upon the route. As the morning dawned, they found themselves in an open space of considerable extent, and close by the stream was a mill. This was carefully examined in every nook and corner; but nothing was found. They made inquiry of a woman living in a cabin near the spot, and learned that, a mile further on, was another mill of larger dimensions, belonging to one Bohannan. For this place they immediately bent their steps. Arriving, they were met by old Madge, who immediately commenced her mummeries in order to divert their attention. The Indian gazed upon her a moment, as if half in awe, and half in fear, but Nettleton did not pause, and exclaimed:

“Come along, Ingen; I expect here’s the place.”

They entered the mill. The Indian remained at the door to prevent any egress, while Nettleton commenced his search. Up and down, high and low, the search was prosecuted.

Walker being then within, had observed the approach of Nettleton and the Indian. His first impulse was to fire upon them; but he knew if his aim proved inaccurate he might then bid adieu to life, and so he resolved to resort to stratagem. He seized Miss Hayward and sprung into a wheat-bin, close by the door of the wheel-room we have described. He soon buried himself and his prisoner among a lot of old bags, husks and refuse, and cautioned her to remain quiet, as a band of Kansas cut-throats, who regarded neither the life or person of a pretty woman, were at hand. This had the effect to keep Miss Hayward quiet.

Nettleton had completed his search. The lower floor of the mill had been carefully scrutinized—its closets, its bins—except the small one near the wheel-room, which had escaped his notice.

“I wonder if there is any thing under the mill?” queried Nettleton. “I’ll call, and see if that does any good. Captain! Captain Hayward!”

The voice was at once recognized by Miss Hayward, who vainly struggled to reply; but Walker held a handkerchief so tightly over her mouth that she could produce no sound. At length, by a desperate effort, she removed his hand and shrieked:

“Here, William! here!”

“Where? where?” cried William, as he sprung toward the bin.

“_In the wheel-room!_” yelled Walker, smothering his voice so far as to drown the exact direction in which it came.

Nettleton bounded into the wheel-room, closely followed by the Indian, who now supposed their friends to be found. Quick as lightning Walker sprung from the bin, and slammed the door upon them, bolting it securely. He then started for the mill-gate, which, being hoisted, would set the large wheel in motion.

As soon as the door was closed upon Nettleton, he rightly suspected treachery, and throwing himself with all his violence against the door, tried to force it. But in vain.

“Quick, Ingen; jump into the mill-wheel, and down into the water!”

They were about to adopt this plan of escape, when the wheel started with great rapidity, rendering it seemingly impossible to do so.

“Now,” yelled Walker, as he seized Miss Mamie and bore her from the mill, “you shall see the folly of opposing me! You shall see how I triumph over _all_ obstacles, and how those who oppose me perish!”

Inside of the mill, and near the door, was a quantity of hay and unthreshed grain, stored there for use by some neighboring farmer or guerrilla. Striking a match, Walker lit the inflammable material. In a moment it blazed high, and communicated with the woodwork. Walker only waited to see this, and then, almost dragging Miss Hayward along, he reached the river, drew the boat into the stream, and was once more floating with the current.

“Look, Miss Mamie, is not that a lovely sight?” he cried, pointing to the mill, now thoroughly enveloped in flames. “Nettleton is there, and Fall-leaf is there, and they have been brought there by _you_. They will perish in those flames, and you must be responsible for their murder. When will you learn that it is useless to oppose me, and cease to do so? To submit to my proper and honorable requests is the only way you can save your friends.”

When Nettleton and Fall-leaf found their mode of escape thus cut off, they naturally turned to each other for advice. But the water thrown from the wheel so blinded and choked them that they could not hold conversation at all. It was not long before our prisoners became aware of the fact that, however disagreeable the water might be, they were likely to be visited by an element, and that very soon, far more disagreeable, under the present circumstances. The flames were seizing upon every part of the mill, and all around them soon became a mass of lurid, destroying light. The rafters, flooring and upper work threatened to fall at any moment. Still the room in which our friends were confined remained unscathed, surrounded as it was by water. But, it must soon yield to the fiery element. The wheel still moved; yet it seemed as if its speed was somewhat lessened. At length Nettleton yelled:

“Ingen, I’m going; take your chances!”

With a bound he sprung into the wheel. He escaped any severe blow, but, upon alighting he was tossed, and pitched, and tumbled over, until at last, catching upon the centre-bar, he held himself until he had made his calculation as to where his next jump should be. At last he ventured the hazardous leap, and was precipitated into the foaming waters beneath the wheel, which in its revolution struck him lightly, calling forth a grumble or a grunt. But Nettleton battled bravely with the rushing waters, and at length, half dead with suffocation, he crawled upon the bank as the burning rafters of the mill were falling around him.

“Wal, I suppose Ingen is roasted alive, and I must do the work alone. I’m darn sorry. And I’ve lost my gun, too. But I ought to be glad that I didn’t lose myself. The villain, but won’t I roast him if ever I lay these hands on him!”

Thus he muttered as he sat for a moment gazing upon the appalling spectacle before him. He then sprung up, and seeing the old woman, at once started for the cabin. Madge met him at the door.

“Will you have my services, to tell you truly the fortune that is in store for you?” she asked.

“Your services. Yaas; I’ll have you tell me all about affairs here in this quarter, and if you don’t own up every thing, I’ll put you in this pile of logs and roast you, as sure as you are a she woman. Do you understand?”

“I have but little to reveal of the circumstances to which you refer. The Federal officer _was_ in the mill a prisoner, but escaped, in his delirium, and is now somewhere out in the mountain. Walker and the lady were in the mill, but are now out of reach, down stream. This is all I know.”

“And it is enough. Now, you just fork over a good Minié musket—I know you have a dozen concealed here for the use of your friends, and all the fixins for settlin’ the hash of your friend, Captain Walker, for him and me has an account to fix what will require powder and lead, if this bread-cutter of mine don’t do the job,” he said, handling his bowie-knife.

Madge only too well read in Nettleton’s face the resolute nature of the man, and with scarcely a moment’s hesitancy went out of the hut to a hollow tree near by, and produced from thence an armful of arms, made up of shot-guns, old-fashioned rifles, and a Minié musket. From these Nettleton selected, after careful scrutiny, a heavy double-barrel squirrel gun. Ammunition was also supplied by the woman without hesitancy, and the pursuer soon found himself equipped in a most formidable manner.

“There, old gal, you have done the right thing. It is well that you did, for, as sure as lizards, I should have burned you in your pen if you hadn’t forked over what I know’d was in your possession. Now, good-by, and behave yourself. If the captain—my captain I mean—comes back to you, do you be kind to him, for I tell _you_ it is for your best interests to be so. Do you believe that?”

“I believe any thing you say,” replied the old creature, betraying her anxiety to get rid of her visitor.

“You do, eh? Well, jist keep on thinking so, for I shall, mayhap, want to use you again some of these days. So good-by, and keep your eyes clean.”

With this injunction he started again for the river, following the stream for some distance, but finally, for some reason best known to himself, took to the mountains. Every few moments he would pause and listen, as if a faint sound met his ears, and then continue his journey.

After Nettleton had escaped from the mill, Fall-leaf began to look around for some other means of escape. He felt sure that Nettleton’s leap must be a fatal one—that, if he was not dashed to pieces by the wheel, he would surely be drowned in the rushing waters. All chance of escape for the poor Indian appeared quite as hopeless. The flames were already hissing around him, and curling up the sides of his prison-house. The fire had weakened the boards, and, just as the flames were coiling around his form, he made a desperate effort, and burst the siding from the mill. In an instant he sprung through the aperture, although the fiery element presented a formidable obstacle between himself and safety. He alighted, however, with only a few slight bruises, and, waiting for nothing, bounded forward. He knew if Walker had continued his journey down the river, he could soon overtake him. For an hour he did not slacken his pace, and finally, in turning a short bend in the river, he beheld the boat.

He was about to dash forward to the rescue of Miss Hayward, but he remembered that he had no gun, his only weapon being his sheath-knife, while Walker was well armed. He must resort to stratagem. His object was to watch for opportunity, and when Walker should land, or when the boat neared the shore, and the thicket favored the movement, to spring upon him suddenly, and drive the knife to his heart. But the river gradually grew wider, and Walker kept his boat in the center, too far distant from shore for any attempt for his seizure to prove successful. All that day and all the night following, the boat drifted on with the stream. It was evident Walker was anxious to reach a certain point as quickly as possible.

The morning dawned just as the little craft shot past the ford on the Rolla turnpike, near the “ghost swamp,” a locality of weird interest and novel character. Walker was about to land, near a small farm-house which stood behind a jutting hill, entirely concealed from the main road, but before touching the shore, his quick eye caught sight of a dark form creeping cautiously along the bank. At the same moment he discovered three horses tied in a thicket only a short distance from the house. Whether they belonged to friend or foe he could not tell; but the fact of seeing the creeping form rendered him cautious, and he immediately pulled for the opposite shore, where he landed.

“Are you friend or foe to the Confederates?” shouted Walker, from the opposite side of the stream.

There was no response.

“That cursed Dick must have betrayed me,” he muttered. “But, I will match them yet. Come!”

He dragged Miss Hayward along up the mountain steep. At length he reached a point of rock which extended far over the valley below. A narrow footway, not more than ten inches in width, forming a kind of shelf in the rock, led into an immense cavern, which is known in that region as the “Silver Cave.” Just in front of this cave was a large, flat rock, forming an overhanging platform, but to reach this, or the mouth of the cave, required great care, as the narrow path was the only manner in which an entrance or exit could be effected. Into this place Walker conveyed Miss Hayward.

Walker had, when meeting the rebels two days before, provided his boat well with provisions. These he conveyed with him into the cavern.

He had not observed, however, that he was followed closely, and that the Indian arrived at the narrow passageway just as the rebel and his prisoner entered the cave. This was so. The Indian crept up as closely as possible, and peered over the projecting point which shut Walker from his view. He was observed.

“And who are you?” yelled Walker.

The Indian was perfectly familiar with the cave. He knew no person could leave it by the narrow shelf or pathway. He could keep himself concealed, and if Walker passed a certain point, before he could bring his gun to bear, he could strike him dead. Walker was a prisoner, with a watchful and relentless keeper. The Indian replied:

“Ah, White Bird! Fall-leaf here! Fall-leaf save!”

“Is it indeed my friend Fall-leaf?” cried Miss Hayward, joyfully.

“Yes; Fall-leaf save you!”

“Where is William Nettleton?” asked Mamie.

“Gone—gone!”

“Ah! then I have only _you_ to encounter,” yelled Walker, “and, if the Fates favor me, I shall triumph. I know the Indian has not thought to provide himself with provisions. I have enough to last us, with care, for two weeks, and by that time he will starve, for no Federal fool ever will find me _here_. He dare not leave in search of help, for I should then effect my escape. So we will play our hands, and see if I do not hold the trump card. Ha! ha! I can baffle any friend you have, Miss Hayward.”

“White Bird sing,” said the Indian.

“Yes, I will sing. And as we are now near the main road, some one will be sure to hear me.”

“Me watch—me wait!”

During the entire passage Miss Hayward had not failed to sing her echo-song every few miles, hoping to attract attention and gain assistance. Now that she was so near the public highway, she applied herself anew to the task. Walker made frequent attempts to silence her, but could not do it, as he feared, whenever he turned from his watch, that the Indian would dart in upon him.

Some two years previous, there was a superstitious belief prevailing in that section of Missouri, that the spirit of a murdered lady appeared upon the waters of the Gasconade, singing her mournful lays, and gliding in her death-skiff along the waters. For some time past nothing had been heard of the “lady-ghost;” but, when the songs of Miss Hayward were heard, the simple inhabitants began to think that the “ghost-lady” had returned, and, instead of seeking to gratify their curiosity, were careful to keep as far as possible away. So it proved with regard to the cave, after the singing commenced.

Several days passed, and no succor appeared. The Indian kept faithful watch, and so did Walker, that he might not be taken by surprise.

Walker becoming convinced that Fall-leaf had no gun, several times endeavored to bring his own to bear upon his vigilant foe, but this he could not do without placing himself in a dangerous position. Both were weary for want of sleep, and both would occasionally sink into a fitful slumber; but, so intent was each upon his object, that the slightest movement would rouse the sleepers, and each stand ready to meet his foe. But, as Fall-leaf had no food, he began to grow faint—his firm frame began visibly to weaken; still, he determined to maintain his watch as long as life should last.