“I was mistaken!” he said to himself. “If I was not, and a human being is around, I will wager it was Nettleton, who, anxious for my safety, has followed me.”
The captain was again silent for a moment, when the breaking of a twig betrayed the presence of some person. Hayward raised his head and called:
“William! William Nettleton!”
“Sir!” answered a voice but a few feet from the captain.
“Why did you follow me, William?”
“Cos I’m a darn skunk,” drawled the person addressed, as he emerged out of the darkness. “And——Curse you!”
The person speaking was before him. In an instant Hayward sprung to his feet, but, with a cry of agony exclaimed: “Great God, Nettleton—why have you—oh God, save me—you’ve killed me—I die!” And, falling heavily forward, the words died upon his tongue.
The murderer bent over the murdered for a moment; then, with some haste, rolled the body into the water, and turned from the spot. He paused under the shade of a tree, and listened for the tread of a sentry, that he might enter the camp unobserved. With a half-suppressed laugh he uttered his thoughts:
“I have done it, sure; and now that it is done, I must progress—no retreating now. I think I’ll win. Good-by, captain, and give my respects to my friends as you float downstream.”
He proceeded with caution toward the camp, and was soon lost in the city of canvas.