“Nettle be sick?” he at length asked of his companion.
“You be danged to darnation, you red onion-head of a Delaware!” was the somewhat excited answer, as he turned in the saddle and stared the Indian in the face.
Fall-leaf smiled. “Nettle want physic—Miss Long give Nettle physic,” he obstinately persisted.
“Now look here, Mr. Ingen, ef you wants to fight, jest you say so, and I’ll be catawampussed ef I don’t lick you wuss’n a nigger what’s got a mad woman arter him!”
“Fall-leaf no want to fight Nettle. Maybe whip Nettle—den what Miss Long say?”
“Yoh—yoh! you mean, sneakin’ son of a brick-kiln! Ef you don’t stop that clapper in your head, I’ll be switched ef I don’t put a peg through it!” And he set his face firmly to the front, roweled the horse severely with his spurs, and dashed ahead at a speed quite uncomfortable to the provoking Delaware.
When the cavalcade reached the cabin, Nettleton did not obtrude himself upon the party within. For an hour or more they were alone. At length Hayward asked: “Where is my brave preserver? Why is he not here to enjoy our happiness? And Fall-leaf, too; I would thank him as he deserves, the noble and devoted savage.”
Search was made. Fall-leaf was found out by the camp-fire, undergoing the process of the lotion-cure for his wounds, at the hands of Madge, who was carefully washing the bruised and cut flesh of the red-man. All inquiries for Nettleton were fruitless; he was not to be found. It was ascertained, at length, that his horse also was gone. Many were the surmises as to the cause of his absence, and fears were expressed for his safety.
Morning came, and the party, now rejoined by the entire battalion, prepared to move, by easy stages, from the valley toward the line of march pursued by the retreating army. Captain Hayward was made quite comfortable in a camp-wagon, with his sister for companion and nurse. Fall-leaf pushed out far ahead to scout and secure the command from surprise. Adjutant Hinton and Wells were tireless in their devotion to the comfort and safety of their charge. It was a pleasant journey—that week of slow progress toward Tipton. At length, however, the village hove in sight. The white tents dotting the hills and valleys proved that the division was there. While yet a long way off, a party of horsemen, accompanied by ladies, was seen dashing off at full speed toward the spot where the battalion had halted for its noon bivouac. Wells caught sight of the party, and with his glass made out the gaunt form of Nettleton far in advance. Behind him on the same horse rode a female, whose identity the officer could not fix. Nearer and nearer the horsemen came, until, after an exciting race, they dashed into the camp—Nettleton and Sally Long! They were received with a wild huzza from the entire troop, and none shouted louder than Nettleton himself.