“That’s a p’int as will admit of some argument, as the lawyers say! I may be _your_ man when I am in Springfield, but you are _my_ man now! So don’t kick up any fuss, and after I have made you fast, I’ll tell you the rest. Ha, ha!” he muttered to himself, “but Walker shall pay me well for _this_!” Saying this the rebel rascal left the mill. Not far from this mill, in a wretched log-hut, lived an old woman, who gloried in the title of “crazy Madge,” and of whom the rude backwoods people of the vicinity stood in fear, as it was almost universally believed among them that she was possessed of the devil. She told fortunes with great correctness, and employed the most singular modes in doing this, such as burning powder and strange incense, and the uttering of fearful imprecations, and unearthly sounds. The mill was owned by one Bohannan, a captain of Confederate guerrillas. Since the commencement of the war, it had not been in operation, except on rare occasions. About one mile above Bohannan’s mill, there was another mill, of smaller dimensions, which had formerly been owned by a thorough Union man, who, becoming a refugee, had abandoned this mill, also. So when the residents in that region, or any of the straggling rebel bands, had occasion to grind their grain, they always went to the upper mill, more especially as it was believed that “crazy Madge” had taken full possession of the lower one after its proprietor left, and that, being occupied in sacrilegious rites, it was very generally believed to be unsafe to venture in that vicinity. Even the most reckless and hardy of the guerrillas held the spot in awe, and avoided it at all times. Madge was seated in her own door when Campbell entered the mill with Hayward in his arms. She watched him closely, but uttered no word. She saw him emerge, and meet the rebel band. She watched their departure, and then discovered the newcomer, “Grouse Green,” as he was known. When he came forth from the mill, Madge still was seated in the cabin doorway, smoking her pipe. She did not even raise her eyes, or pretend the least consciousness of his presence, until, with a rude slap upon her shoulder, he said: “Come, old woman, I want you!” The old creature pretended not the least surprise, but, raising her snake-like eyes to those of the speaker, she said: “Does the son of Belial wish to know his fate? I need not the aid of my magic charms to point it out to me. In less than a month, the most horrible death—” “Bah, you old crone! I’d dash your brains out for a copper, you infernal croaking old buzzard! I don’t come to have my fortune told, but I want you to serve me, and you shall have gold—do you hear, old woman? No fooling now, and gold is yours!” “Gold! It is the master-key to human hearts! And what am I to do for gold?” “My bidding! First, I want a set of chains! Have you such things in your infernal den?”