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—”

Something caught the eye of Nettleton in the water. He sprung in and secured it. It proved to be a handkerchief, which bore a name upon the corner. He gazed upon it a moment, and said:

“The man as had on _them_ boots stood in _them_ tracks, and washed himself in that river. He wiped upon this hankercher and then threw it into the water. Folks as washes the evidence of murder off their hands, don’t wash in the river, throw away the wiper, and then take a tin pot of bloody water to—”

“What the devil are you doing here?”

Nettleton turned to behold a party of six horsemen who had suddenly approached him. In his anxiety he had forgotten to change his clothing—that is, to cover his blue uniform with the rough gray suit he wore underneath.

“So, you are a Yankee soldier,” exclaimed one of the party.

“No I ain’t; I’m a darn skunk.”

This reply, and the ungainly appearance of Nettleton, caused a laugh throughout the entire party.

“You are not a Yankee soldier? Then what are you doing with that uniform?”

Nettleton looked at his dress, and for the first time became conscious that he had not changed it. He, however, instantly replied:

“I am a spy for the General.”

“What General?”

“General Price, to be sure.”

This created another fit of merriment.

“Just as if the likes of you would be employed as a spy! Why, you don’t know enough to last you half a mile.”

“That’s just the reason why I _am_ a spy. I am such a darn skunk no one pays any attention to me.”

“Have you been in the Yankee camp here?”

“Yes.”

“Have you a Confederate uniform under that blue?”

“Yes,” replied Nettleton, throwing off his coat and exposing the gray.

“To what company and regiment do you belong?”

“No company. I go it on my own hook.”

“You know General Price?”

“Yes, very well.”

“Have you ever been in his camp?”

“Often.”

“Describe him.”

Nettleton had, on one occasion, accompanied a party of disguised Union officers into the very camp of Price, while that General held possession of the upper Osage. One of the officers being detected and wounded, was borne along with the retreating rebel army from the Osage to Springfield, and Nettleton had followed on for the purpose of rendering assistance if possible. His apparent stupidity prevented suspicion, and he had been one of the leading spirits in a rescue which afterward occurred. He was, in consequence, not only known to General Price himself, but to a large number of his officers and men, and hence it was very desirable for him to avoid the main army. He supposed that he could deceive his captors, or effect his escape. And the shadowy thought that Captain Hayward might have been seized and borne toward the rebel quarters at once decided his course. He gave an accurate description of Price.

“Good!” answered one of the party, “it is evident you _are_ a spy. I find you on the spot the Yankees have just left. You have _their_ uniform on and _ours_ under it. So far that _looks_ well. You know and have perfectly described our General. That renders it certain you have seen him. Now, one of two things is certain: you are a _Yankee_ spy, and have been in our camps with that gray uniform _outside_, and then communicated your information to _your_ General, or you are a _Confederate_ spy, who, having just been in the Yankee camp, must have important information for _our_ General. In either case we shall conduct you to him. If you are his man, then all will be right. If you are _not_, then you will be hung within half an hour after your arrival. You understand?”

“I first thought of going on to Springfield, but I think I have all the information necessary, and I had made up my mind to return. I halted here a moment to change my dress; and to look for a Yankee officer who was supposed to be killed last night. But I think he was only badly wounded, and may yet be found alive in the tall grass. Look for him.” These words were spoken by Nettleton in an apparently cheerful tone.

“Oh! you mean the captain who was stabbed last night.”

“Yes, yes; do you know any thing of him?”

“You appear especially anxious, Mr. What’s-your-name?”

“I am anxious,” replied Nettleton, fiercely. “He insulted me, and I would be revenged.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. He’ll catch it soon enough. He was _not_ killed, but was taken out of the water by us.”

“Who struck the blow?” yelled Nettleton.

“No one of our party. We were concealed upon the opposite bank. We could not see the murderer strike, for it was too dark; but we saw the body thrown in the stream, and saw the stabber wash himself in the river. We would have fired upon him, but were afraid of rousing the Yanks. We waited until he left the body, after throwing it into the stream, and then we recovered it. The man was still alive. He had only fainted from loss of blood. We dressed his wound as well as we could, and then conveyed him to a house the other side of the pike. He will recover; but Colonel Price has an especial spite against him. He met him once at Springfield. So, _when_ he recovers he will be hung.”

“Where is he now?” asked Nettleton.

“At a little house not fifty rods from here, just the other side of the pike.”

Without a word, Nettleton bounded like a deer in the direction the Federal forces had taken. But a dozen shots were fired after him, and he fell. He was soon secured, when it was ascertained that one bullet had cut the neck badly, and another had struck the ankle, although it had not broken the bone. He was still able to walk, and, after being bound, he was dragged forward toward Cassville.

A march of forty miles was almost too much even for the tough Nettleton, more especially as he had received a severe shot in the ankle; but he bore up firmly, and at last arrived at the outskirts of the rebel camp. He had become very lame, and rolled about like a ship in a heavy sea. As he entered the camp, many were the jeers and taunts which hailed this specimen of the Yankee soldier. Nettleton made no reply, although his countenance bespoke his contempt.

He was now near the quarters of Price.

“By thunder!” yelled one of the Confederate soldiers, “that is the very fellow who fooled us at Springfield. Hang him! Hang him!”

An explanation was soon made, and Nettleton’s fate appeared certain, as a “drumhead” court-martial had already been convened. Sentence was soon given—the Yankee spy was to be hung upon the spot!

A rough scaffolding was formed, under a large tree, and a rope, with the fatal noose attached, thrown over a limb. Nettleton ascended the platform in silence, although his frame trembled.

“I never saw a Yankee yet that did not fear to die,” exclaimed one of the bystanders.

“Then you see one now, you darn skunk,” replied Nettleton.

“Why do you tremble, then?” asked the Confederate.

“I was thinking of the captain, and of his poor sister ‘Mamie.’”

“Ha! ha! ha! This booby is in love. A romantic spy. And the idol of his passion is called ‘Mamie!’”

“You lie, you dog!” yelled Nettleton. “I only—”

“What is all this?” asked a stately-looking officer, who had just approached, and before whom all the rest fell back.

“A spy, General,” was the response.

“Why was he not brought to _my_ quarters?”

“Because Raines ordered a drumhead court-martial.”

“Release the man until I have conversed with him.”

Nettleton was released, and, as he descended from the scaffolding, he was recognized by General Price.

“We have met before?” asked Price.

“Yes, General, we have,” was the prompt reply of Nettleton.

“What were you doing in my camp the _first_ time we met?”

“Serving my captain, whom I love.”

“Good! What are you doing here now?”

“That will require considerable explanation,” added Nettleton.

“Go on,” said Price.

“Well, General, some darn skunk _murdered_ my captain, and when our troops left Grand Prairie, on their return to Springfield, I remained behind to search for his body. I am _no_ spy.”

“But you said you were a spy, serving General Price,” replied one of the soldiers who had brought Nettleton to the rebel camp.

“How can you explain this?” asked Price.

“Well, ye see, General, Miss Sally—no, I mean Miss Mamie—that’s the captain’s sister—will break her poor heart and die of grief if she can’t learn something about her brother. Them darn skunks as arrested me told me that Captain Hayward was _not_ killed. Besides this, as nice a darn sk— I mean as good a man as ever lived, and one who loves Miss Sally—no—that Miss Sally keeps running in my head—one as loves Miss Mamie, is accused of murdering the captain. But I know better, for I found proof enough to convict the right one. I wanted to tell Mamie that Sally—darn Sally—that her brother was _not_ dead, and to clear Lieutenant Wells and convict the one as did the deed. So I told them sneaks as how I _was_ a spy, in hopes they’d let me alone.”

“Would you give any information you may have gleaned here, if I should set you free?”

“I ain’t no such darn skunk, General. Honor is honor bright with me.”

“What have you seen here?”

“A lot of the darndest sapheads I ever met.”

“If I should set you free, will you fight against me?”

“Like the devil, the first time we meet in fair play.”

“Why do you wear that gray suit under your uniform?”

“Because captain’s always getting himself into some scrape, and I have to hunt him up. Sometimes I have to go among the Johnnies to do it, and then the blue ain’t healthy.”

“Will you ever act as spy upon me if I let you go?”

“Not unless capt’n does. But I’m his body-guard, and shall go everywhere he does, if I can.”

“What is your name?”

“William Nettleton.”

“Well, William, I think we shall be obliged to hang you.”

“All right, General,” answered Nettleton, stepping upon the scaffolding again. “And them darn sneaks shan’t say they never see’d a Yankee die bravely. But, General, let me ask of you one favor. You don’t want to see a good fellow shot for what he didn’t do, and a murderer go clear, do you?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then all I ask is, that you send this handkerchief to Colonel Mann, and tell him the murderer didn’t wash in a basin in his tent, but in the river, and then threw this wiper away; and that the guilty one has _two hearts_, made with nails, on the sole of each boot. And tell Sally—no, Mamie—that the captain is—Lieutenant Wells—and Walker—the skunk, when I’m dead—that Sally—no, capt’n, won’t think of poor Nettleton—and—”

“Oh stop! stop! William, I can never recollect all this. You had better go yourself and attend to this matter.”

“What, General? Do you mean it?” cried William, as he sprung from the scaffold and gazed earnestly at Price.

“On one condition I will permit you to go.”

“Well, what is it?”

“That as soon as you have given your evidence in the court-martial which will probably be ordered, you will return at once _and be hung_.”

“I’ll do it; I’m a loafer if I don’t.”

“You swear it?”

“Yes, by the great jumping jingo, and Sally Long’s tearful eyes!”

“The guard will see this man safely beyond our lines,” said Price, speaking to one of his officers, “and furnish him a pass and a horse. Let one of our men accompany him near to the Federal lines, and bring back the animal which William will ride.”

Nettleton rushed forward, and grasping the hand of Price, shook it violently, and then exclaimed, as he took his leave:

“General Price, you ain’t such a darn sneak as I thought you was!”