“Are _you_ not going to accompany us?” asked Lieutenant Wells, of Nettleton, who was seated upon the ground, looking gloomy and sullen.
“Not by a darn sight!” answered Nettleton, doggedly.
“You go ’long, and let me alone!” he answered, sharply.
There was no time for words, and the squadron departed.
The night passed, during which Nettleton was bitter in his self-reproach for not watching closer, and would not hold conversation with any person. As the first dawn of day became visible, Nettleton was seen crawling upon his hands and knees, in front of the former prison of Walker, and through the garden, toward the west. His movements were watched with considerable interest, as all had begun to respect him for his sagacity, in his peculiar way. At length he returned to his tent, and, without speaking, carefully examined his double-barrel shot gun—a beautiful piece which he had picked up upon the Wilson creek battle-ground, and had been permitted to retain. This he loaded; then, taking a large artillery ammunition-bag, he went directly to the tent of Adjutant Hinton. Removing the lid of a minnié-ball ammunition-box, he filled this pouch with cartridges. His next move was to place some provision in his haversack; then he started.
“Where are you going, William?” asked Mrs. Hinton.
“Them _boots_!” he replied, pointing in the direction he had just taken in his hands-and-knees examination.
“Why, _them boots as had two hearts on the soles_ went _that_ way, and I’m going to follow if I go to thunder!” He waited to hear no more, or to speak more, but bounded off to the westward.
He had been gone perhaps an hour, when Fall-leaf, the Indian scout already referred to, entered the camp. He was soon made aware of the state of things. Fall-leaf was deeply attached to Captain Hayward, and, more especially so to his fair sister, Mamie. The scout had been but a short time in camp, when he had given to the General all the information he possessed with regard to the enemy. This done, he followed on the trail fast as possible.
For several hours Nettleton kept on his course, now striking the main road for the purpose of searching for fresh tracks, then taking to the woods again, to avoid observation. Several times he came upon the well-known footprints, and a bitter exclamation would escape him. He kept his course, more from the judgment he had formed as to the direction Walker had taken, than from the numerous impressions of his boots. He was ascending a sharp and ragged hill, so heavily covered with the thorn-bush and small scrub-oak peculiar to that country, that his progress was rendered very difficult. Suddenly a figure darted in front of him and concealed itself among the thick undergrowth. Nettleton brought his gun to the shoulder, and called out: