As yet, I had heard nothing about the atrocities committed against the remaining members of the Hildebrand family; but in order to stir up my old enemies in that quarter, I selected two good men, John Burlap and James Cato, to accompany me in another excursion to St. Francois county, Missouri. They, too, had been badly treated at the outbreak of the war, and had several grievances to redress, for which purpose I promised them my future aid. We procured Federal uniforms, and started late in the afternoon of July 13th, 1862; but on arriving at St. Francis river, we found it out of its banks from the heavy rains that had fallen the day previous. My comrades were rather reluctant about venturing into the turbid stream amid the floating driftwood; but I had ever been impressed with the truth of the old adage, that it was “bad luck to turn back.” I plunged my horse into the stream and made the opposite shore without much difficulty. I was followed by Burlap and Cato, who got across safely, but were somewhat scratched by the driftwood. We built a fire, dried our clothes, took a “snort” from our black bottle, and camped until morning. Nothing of interest occurred until we reached the vicinity of Bloomfield, in Stoddard county, Missouri, when we met a man in citizen‘s dress, whom we accosted in a very familiar manner, asking him if there were any Rebels in that vicinity. He stated that there was a party of Rebels in Bloomfield, and that we had better make our way back to Greenville to the command, otherwise we would be sure to fall into their hands. He stated that he had been with them all day, pretending that he wanted to enlist; that he had learned all about their plans, and thought that about to-morrow night they would all be taken in. I inquired if they had not suspicioned him as a spy? He answered that they had not; that he had completely deceived them. I then asked him if he did not want to ride behind me and my companions, by turns, until we reached Greenville? He signified his assent by springing up behind me. I let him ride about two miles, but not exactly in the direction of Greenville, for I told him that I was aiming to strike a certain cross road, which seemed to satisfy his mind. He had much to tell us about his exploits as a spy, and that he had learned the names of all the Rebels in Greenville and Fredericktown. By this time we had enough. I told him I was Sam Hildebrand, knocked him off my horse, and then shot him. I felt no compunction of conscience for having ended the days of such a scoundrel. A little notch underneath the stock of old “Kill-devil” was made, to indicate the probability that he would fail to report. On the rest of our trip we traveled altogether in the night, and avoided the commission of any act that would be likely to create a disturbance. We arrived safely at the house of my brother-in-law, on Flat river, who lives within ten miles of the Hildebrand homestead.