All was excitement, and every preparation was made for a forward movement. But soon it began to be whispered that the orders were to return. In a short time it was officially announced that the movement was, in reality, _back to Springfield_, and from thence to Rolla and St. Louis. Many were the expressions of disappointment and regret, and some even ventured to denounce the policy. Fremont had been superseded in the field, and General Hunter, his successor, had abandoned the campaign, then on the very eve of its final consummation. CHAPTER II. _The Tragedy of the Stream. Who was Guilty?_ WHEN Captain Hayward left the tent, he proceeded to the stream which skirted the woods. Bending over it, he bathed his fevered brow. Then he seated himself upon the bank of the river, and, resting his head upon his hands, was, for a long time, absorbed in his thoughts. A human form flitted lightly past. Hayward raised his head and listened, but all was quiet again, and, in the darkness of the night he could distinguish nothing. “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. The tattoo soon sounded. Lights were extinguished, and all was quiet, save in a few tents, which appeared to be those of officers. Yet, there were aching hearts within that camp, and, as the night progressed, many were the anxious inquiries as to why Captain Hayward did not return.