Nettleton slowly lifted the noose from her neck, and, without another word, walked back to the cabin. He called out Lieutenant Wells, who was then watching at the captain’s bedside, and the two friends held a long consultation together, which ended by an order for a guard of twenty to be ready for a night expedition. By ten o’clock all were in readiness and on their way, taking the river path down stream. Wells was in command. Nettleton acted as scout and guide. All night long they pressed on, and daylight found them on the hills opposite the spot indicated by Madge as the locality of the cave in the bank. Asking Wells for his field-glass, Nettleton carefully scrutinized the river’s bank opposite. After a short survey he suddenly exclaimed: “_The Ingen_, as sure as Sacramento!” “What do you say?” inquired Wells. “Fall-leaf—see him—there he lays, and there is the cave. I’m blest if I know what to make of it. I supposed, _of course_, that that red-skin was roasted alive in the mill; but there he is, and here I goes.” So saying, down he dashed into the river, and forded its waters rapidly. Once on the opposite side, he hurried up the bank, and soon reached the ledge across which the Indian was lying. The poor fellow was but half conscious from over-fatigue and hunger, yet his eyes were fixed with cat-like vigilance upon the aperture of the cave, while his hand still firmly clasped the knife upon which he relied to do his deadly work. Nettleton approached him silently, and touched his feet. At once the Indian looked behind him. “Give Fall-leaf drink—quick!” was his hurried whisper, while the finger on his lip indicated silence. Nettleton comprehended all at a glance. Passing his canteen and knapsack to Fall-leaf, he beheld the Indian drink and eat with satisfaction. Not a word passed between them. “Good! Fall-leaf _much_ weak; now strong again,” he whispered. “Where’s Miss Mamie?” The Indian pointed to the cavern. “Walker, too?” Fall-leaf nodded, and scowled so fiercely that Nettleton perceived the savage wanted no interference in his case. “Shan’t I do the job for ye?” “No—Fall-leaf _mad_. Me kill ’em—you go way.” “That’s the talk, Ingen. You shall have your man; but, Jerusalem, don’t I ache to git my paws on him!” A noise was now heard in the cave; it was Walker’s voice. “I’ll not permit you to sing, I again tell you. If those men crossing the river are Union soldiers, you shall not betray our whereabouts, and if Fall-leaf moves I’ll shoot him!” “Bah, you ornery cuss; _I’m_ on your track now!” shouted Nettleton. “William—dear William!” cried the captive woman, recognizing his voice. “_Here!_” he responded, “and so chock full of the devil that if I don’t get rid of it soon it will spile me. Walker, you dirty beast, dare you fight me?” he yelled. “I dare fight any decent antagonist, but don’t care to dirty my hands with you,” was the reply.