“Now, I do hope an’ trust he ain’t gone an’ lost his temper up thar in the woods,” remarked Uncle Billy. “I hope it from the bottom of my heart. These here wars an’ rumors of wars makes the folks mighty restless. They’ll take resks now what they wouldn’t dassent to of tuck before this here rippit begun, an’ it’s done got so now human life ain’t wuth shucks. The boys up here ain’t no better ’n the rest. They fly to pieces quicker ’n they ever did.” No trouble, however, had come to Captain Moseley. Though he was confused in his bearings, he was as serene and as unruffled as when training a company of raw conscripts in the art of war. After an unsuccessful attempt to find the road he gave his horse the rein, and that sensible animal, his instinct sharpened by remembrance of Uncle Billy Powers’s corn-crib and fodder, moved about at random until he found that he was really at liberty to go where he pleased, and then he turned short about, struck a little canter, and was soon going down the road by which he had come. The captain was as proud of this feat as if it were due to his own intelligence, and he patted the horse’s neck in an approving way. As Captain Moseley rode down the mountain, reflecting, it occurred to him that his expedition was taking a comical shape. He had gone marching up the hill, and now he came marching down again, and Israel Spurlock, so far as the captain knew, was as far from being a captive as ever—perhaps farther. Thinking it all over in a somewhat irritated frame of mind, Moseley remembered Lovejoy’s eagerness to recapture Spurlock. He remembered, also, what he had heard the night before, and it was in no pleasant mood that he thought it all over. It was such an insignificant, such a despicable affair, two men carrying out the jealous whim of a little militia politician. “It is enough, by George!” exclaimed Captain Moseley aloud, “to make a sensible man sick.” “Lord, yes!” cried out a voice behind him. Looking around, he saw the hunchback following him. “That’s what I tell ’em; goodness, yes!” “Now, look here!” said Captain Moseley, reining in his horse, and speaking somewhat sharply. “Are you following me, or am I following you? I don’t want to be dogged after in the bushes, much less in the big road.” “Ner me nurther,” said the hunchback, in the cheerfulest manner. “An’ then thar’s Spurlock—Lord, yes; I hain’t axt him about it, but I bet a hoss he don’t like to be dogged atter nuther.” “My friend,” said Captain Moseley, “you seem to have a quick tongue. What is your name?” “Danny Lemmons,” said the other. “Now don’t say I look like I ought to be squoze. Ever’body inginer’lly says that,” he went on with a grimace, “but I’ve squoze lots more than what’s ever squoze me. Lord, yes! Yes, siree! Men an’ gals tergether. You ax ’em, an’ they’ll tell you.” “Lemmons,” said the captain, repeating the name slowly. “Well, you look it!”