Just then Fred noticed a countryman who had been attracted by the sound of the firing, and motioned to him to approach. He came up trembling, and looked with wonder on the dead men and horses.
"My good man," said Fred, "here are some wounded men that should be looked after. Can you not do it, or get word to their command?"
"I reckon I kin," slowly replied the countryman. "Must had quite a fought."
"Yes," replied Fred; "and this reminds me, boys, we had better get away from here. We do not know how many of the enemy may be near."
The wounds of the two Federals who had been hurt were bound up, and they were helped on their horses. The bodies of the two dead were then tenderly placed on two of the Confederate horses which were unhurt, and the mournful cavalcade slowly moved away.
Going back to the house which the Confederates had entered, a distressing sight met their view.
On a bed, the master of the house lay dead, shot to death by the murderers. By the bedside stood the wife and two daughters, weeping and wringing their hands. The face of the widow was covered with blood, and there was a deep gash on her head where one of the wretches had struck her with the butt of his revolver, as she clung to him imploring him not to murder her husband.
The pitiful sight drove Fred's men wild, and he had all that he could do to prevent them from going back and finishing the wounded murderers.
"You did wrong, capt'in, in not letting me finish that red-handed villain who tried to shoot you," said Williams.
With broken sobs the woman told her story. Her husband had a brother in East Tennessee, who had been accused by the Confederate authorities of helping burn railroad bridges. He escaped with a number of Union men, and was now a captain in one of the Tennessee regiments.