“White hunter knows! Make good Ingen!”
The day dragged slowly away. Toward night a party of the rebels came for forage for their horses, but the hay was tumbled from the top of the stack, and our friends were not discovered. The guerrillas’ conversation, however, was listened to with the greatest interest by Nettleton.
“So Colonel Brown, or Walker, as he is called, came within one of being done for in the camp of the Yanks at Springfield?”
“Yes, so he says.”
“What the devil does he want with the gal?”
“Oh, some love affair, of course.”
“The gal was happy, for she was singing like a nightingale.”
“Oh yes! No doubt she was dazzled by the prospect of being a colonel’s wife.”
“Who is she?”
“Don’t know.”