The trouble came from Sam Jacks and his followers. Chagrined at the failure to find Louis at Mr. Arlington’s plantation, the mountaineer had set off for Deems, to learn if the youth had passed in that direction. Jacks was of the class of men who never forget or forgive a blow, no matter how much deserved, and he was determined to “square accounts” or know the reason why. The men with him were a rough, dissolute set, willing to enter into anything which promised excitement and sport--men who afterwards became unauthorized guerrillas, to prey upon any helpless band of soldiers they ran across, and who cared nothing about who won on the battlefield so long as they could add to their plunder. Jacks and his followers arrived in Deems less than five minutes after Louis had left the hamlet, and at the smithy received full particulars concerning the youth. “Forward, boys,” he cried to the other mountaineers. “We’ll soon be up to the Yankee lick-spittle!” And away they went down the hill beyond Deems and up the next, where they beheld Louis just crossing the ridge. In a few minutes more the youth found himself surrounded. Although not actually frightened, he was much disturbed, for the mountaineers were a wild-looking set and he knew from the look upon Jacks’s face that the fellow meant him no good. As the others rode directly in front of him he was compelled to draw rein. “So, I’ve caught you, have I?” sneered Jacks, as he ranged up beside Louis. “Didn’t reckon I’d make it, did you?” “You have no right to detain me, Jacks,” replied Louis, as calmly as he could. “Hain’t we? Wall, all I kin say is, we’re a-takin’ the right; eh, boys?” “Thet’s so, Sam.” “And what is your object, gentlemen?” “Oh, you needn’t git on no high horse,” returned Jacks. “Yer know well enough what our object is.” “You-uns ain’t gwine ter spy on us,” put in another of the horsemen, a fellow horribly pitted with smallpox marks. “Jacks, I reckon it’s best to search him.” “Of course we’ll search him,” came from several of the others. “You have no authority to touch me,” answered Louis, with all the dignity he could command. “You march along with us,” returned Jacks, and caught hold of Jess’s bridle. “Hogwell, git on one side of him and Ross, you git on the other. The rest go behind. He sha’n’t git away this trip. Forward!” “Where are you going to take me?” asked Louis, in alarm. “Shut up! You’ll find out soon enough. Git along!” There was no help for it, and much against his will, the youth rode off in the midst of the mountaineers. The road taken was along the ridge of the hill, at right angles to the turnpike. An eighth of a mile was covered, and they descended into a thickly wooded hollow and presently halted in front of what had once been a sawmill, on the south bank of a half-frozen stream.