It was about four miles to the overseer's house; thither we proceeded. When we came to his yard, myself and the little Sergeant went at once to the house, and the big Sergeant went to the negro quarters. The overseer and his family had retired for the night. Our rap for admittance was answered by "Who is there?" My reply was, "Federal soldiers; get up and open the door." The summons was obeyed by the overseer's wife. As we entered we heard the groans of a man as if in distress, proceeding from an adjoining room. On going into the room I found the overseer in bed, and feigning to be laboring under severe pain. Approaching the bedside, I said to him: "You are sick, are you, old hoss?" With great difficulty, seemingly, he answered, "Yes--I'm--very sick." "How long have you been sick?" "It's--going on--two weeks--now." "You lying whelp," said the little Sergeant, unable to contain himself; "I saw you in Grand Junction this morning." "Get up, old fellow," said I, "you need a little exercise; it will do you good to move about." "I can't--gentlemen,--I tell you--I'm sick," (still groaning, and letting on to be in great distress.) "Yes, that wolfish-looking face of yours _looks sick_! Get out of that!" He commenced to rise, trembling all over as if with nervous fear. "Your nerves a'n't so steady as they were this morning," I added. "Indeed--I _am_--sick--gentlemen." "I should think your conscience would make you tremble." "Are you--gwine to--kill me?" he asked, getting more and more agitated with alarm. "No, we won't kill you, but we'll give you a furlough to a warmer climate. I think it will improve your health." "You will give--a body--time--to pray--won't you?" "Praying won't do you any good; you will go to the warm climate, anyhow; so, hurry on them clothes and come along with us." We then walked him out of the house; we found that he could travel as strong as we could. The wife took on dreadfully, wringing her hands and crying out, "_Have mercy! have mercy!_ Don't kill him!" "Yes, _traitors are pretty objects of mercy_. You stay where you are." She was too much frightened to follow. As we passed out into the yard, we met the big Sergeant, accompanied by a nigger who had an iron collar on his neck, with a chain fastened to it, with the other end fastened around his waist. "Here, Bunker," said the Sergeant, "see what I have found."