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The Sergeant ordered an advance, but no enemy was found. They had silently decamped and left no trace behind, and had taken Calhoun and Nevels with them. Crippled as they were, and the Sergeant suffering terribly from his wound, it was decided it would be madness to pursue with their small force.
Seeing a house standing on an eminence up the cross-road, Calhoun decided to take one of his soldiers named Nevels, and ride up to it to see if he could learn anything. “Better let us all go, there is no telling what one may run into in this country,” said a sergeant named Graham, who in the absence of Calhoun would be in command of the little company.
No sooner were they alone than the six, with oaths and jeers, tied their prisoners securely to trees, drawing the cords so closely that they cut into the flesh. Although the pain was terrible, neither Calhoun nor Nevels uttered a moan. After the prisoners were thus securely tied, Red Bill produced a bottle of whisky, and the six commenced drinking, apparently taking no notice of their captives.
He is a good one, he is.” The Sergeant did not answer, but stood earnestly gazing after his chief, who by this time was about a quarter of a mile away. Here Calhoun and Nevels descended into a depression, which for a moment would hide them from the watchful eyes of the Sergeant.
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