“Oh! you mean the captain who was stabbed last night.”
“Yes, yes; do you know any thing of him?”
“You appear especially anxious, Mr. What’s-your-name?”
“I am anxious,” replied Nettleton, fiercely. “He insulted me, and I would be revenged.”
“Don’t trouble yourself. He’ll catch it soon enough. He was not killed, but was taken out of the water by us.”
“Who struck the blow?” yelled Nettleton.
“No one of our party. We were concealed upon the opposite bank. We could not see the murderer strike, for it was too dark; but we saw the body thrown in the stream, and saw the stabber wash himself in the river. We would have fired upon him, but were afraid of rousing the Yanks. We waited until he left the body, after throwing it into the stream, and then we recovered it. The man was still alive. He had only fainted from loss of blood. We dressed his wound as well as we could, and then conveyed him to a house the other side of the pike. He will recover; but Colonel Price has an especial spite against him. He met him once at Springfield. So, when he recovers he will be hung.”
“Where is he now?” asked Nettleton.
“At a little house not fifty rods from here, just the other side of the pike.”
Without a word, Nettleton bounded like a deer in the direction the Federal forces had taken. But a dozen shots were fired after him, and he fell. He was soon secured, when it was ascertained that one bullet had cut the neck badly, and another had struck the ankle, although it had not broken the bone. He was still able to walk, and, after being bound, he was dragged forward toward Cassville.