Quiet had now been restored, and all parties retired for the few hours that intervened before morning. But it was evident all were not asleep. Several times a stealthy step was heard, and a shadow flitted past the white canvas tent, dimly seen by the pale starlight.
Morning came at last, and all was astir. Captain Hayward had not yet returned. The inquiry was made if any one had seen him.
“I have not seen him since last evening at twilight,” replied Walker, “at which time he acted very strangely, and talked about the injustice of war. I am inclined to think he has deserted and joined the enemy.”
“Oh, you darn skunk!” yelled Nettleton, as he sprang forward, and was about to strike the speaker. But, checking himself, he added: “It’s well you wear them gilt things on your shoulders, or I’d teach you to call my cap’n such names.”
“If you would save yourself trouble you had better remain quiet, Nettleton,” replied Walker, as he fixed his eyes significantly upon him.
“I knows where Cap’n Hayward am,” said the negro, stepping forward.
“Where is he?” sobbed Miss Hayward, pressing forward, in her eagerness.
“He is—”
“Silence!” yelled Walker.
“Let him speak,” said the colonel. “Go on, George. Where is the captain?”