After listening to the story of William, the General drew from his pocket the note which had been found at the Ozark bridge, signed “Charles Campbell.” This note must have been written but a few moments before the fight took place. The date would be just two days after Hayward had received the assassin’s stroke, giving about the proper time for the wounded man to be carried from Grand Prairie to Ozark, at which latter place Lieutenant-Colonel Price had formed a temporary camp. The writer spoke of a wounded man in a boat, and against whom Price had an especial spite. This confirmed the conviction that Hayward had been taken thither for the especial gratification of Price’s fiendish propensities. The note also said that he bore the marks of a captain’s rank, and, in his delirium, spoke of “Net—” which might have referred to the young lady, Nettie Morton, whom he possibly might have seen in the distance, upon the bank, as the boat neared the spot where she was standing, or, as seemed more probable, that the wounded captain was calling upon Nettleton. At all events, it was decided that the person of whom Charles Campbell had written, was no other than Captain Hayward. It is true, he was still almost insensible from his wounds, and was near the camp of his most unforgiving enemy, but, there was a friend at hand—an enemy in arms—but a friend to the wounded and helpless soldier, as are all true men—and he had written that “he _would_ save him!” “Why should we not hope?” asked Alibamo, as she clasped her friend Mamie in her arms. “And why should we not _act_?” cried Wells, as he clutched the hilt of his sword. “Yes, we _will_ act,” yelled Nettleton, as he sprung up, and appeared ready for instant departure. “Go, William; follow the stream from Ozark, until you find some trace, and then return to us,” said Miss Hayward, eagerly. Nettleton turned his gaze upon Miss Sally, for a moment, and then, as if ashamed of his hesitation, or of his weakness, in exhibiting _any_ symptoms of love, he started with a bound, exclaiming: “I’m off. Good-by, all!” He had proceeded, however, but a few steps when he halted, and, scratching his head, his countenance assumed a most woful expression, and his eyes rolled wildly about. “What is the matter, William?” asked Wells. “_Got to go t’other way!_” was the melancholy reply. “Why so?” “O, just a bit of—fun—that’s all!” “Well, tell us what it is, Nettleton?” “I can’t! It will break _her_ heart!” he replied, pointing to Sally. “So it would, William, if any thing dreadful should happen to you!” replied Miss Long, as she dropped her eyes to the ground. “There, didn’t I tell you so?” replied the faithful servant, his mouth gaping and his eyes expanding. “William,” asked Wells, “do you really _love_ Miss Long?” “Love her, lieutenant? That ain’t no name for it. Why, can’t you see yourself that she’s the sweetest darn sk— no, I mean the nicest critter in the world—exceptin’ Miss Mamie!”