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—”
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.
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:
“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 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?”
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.
