The South also had its share of hot-heads, fellows who were equally certain of immediate victory, and who thought that our great government at Washington could be turned upside down in an equally short space of time. How much of a task they cut out for themselves history has shown. But there were others in the South who were cooler and more far-seeing, and, feeling that war was slowly but surely approaching, they began to prepare for it, at first in secret and then more and more openly as the time for action drew near. At first Northern business connections were severed, and this accomplished, the leaders began to form military and cavalry companies in their local districts, fitting the men out on the sly and drilling them in unfrequented and out of the way places. Some reports of these doings reached the North, but never, until the actual opening of the war, was it suspected how thorough these preparations had been. In the district about Lee Run, which, I may as well admit here, is not the real name of the country town with which our opening chapters have had to do, several military companies and one troop of cavalry had thus far been formed, organizations having nothing in common with the regular State militia. Of these companies Mr. Arlington was cognizant, but because of his cork leg and his generally shattered health, he had taken no active part in the work, although joining with the leaders in heart and spirit. He understood Jacks when spy work was spoken of, but he was satisfied that Louis during his stay at the plantation had discovered nothing of importance. Yet he was now glad the boy was gone, for there was no telling what a day would bring forth. On and on along the winding turnpike galloped Louis’s faithful steed, named Jess, after a cherished aunt in New York State. The day was cloudy, and on rising the lad had felt that a shower was not far off. He was yet three miles from the next town, situated in Maryland, when it began to rain. At first the drops came down scatteringly, then followed a perfect deluge, and he was glad enough to seek the shelter of a deserted tobacco house, standing on the edge of a large clearing. He had occupied the shelter for less than three minutes, when, on looking forth from the wide open doors, he saw something which filled him with astonishment not unmixed with dismay. A band of soldiers were approaching, an odd-looking set of men, wearing their ordinary clothing, but each with a gun and bayonet, and a belt with a cartridge box. At the head of the crowd, which numbered probably forty, rode a man named Pickering, the postmaster of Lee Run. “Left wheel!” came the command, and leaving the roadway the company set out for the tobacco house. Then followed the order: “Double quick!” and on came the men at increased speed.