t man!" ejaculated Old Ben.

"Yes, Ben; he had me taken from the stable, where I had gone to watch
that guerrilla."

"And where am de guerrilla?"

"Dr. Mackey helped him to escape."

The faithful old colored man shook his head doubtfully.

"Massah Jack, do yo' dun t'ink dat doctor am your fadder?" he asked.

"No, Ben; I think nothing of the kind."

"Neider do I. He is a-plottin' against yo'."

"That is what I think, Ben. If I could manage it, I would have him
arrested. Then we could get at the bottom of this affair."

Jack was speedily released, and the party of three left the lonely
mountain cabin and started across the country for the Ruthven
plantation.

"Yo' mudder will be tickled to see yo'," remarked Old Ben, as they
trudged along. "She was worried to death ober yo' absence."

"After this I will see to it that they don't get me again," replied our
hero.

Half a mile was covered when, on turning a point in the trail, they came
unexpectedly upon a company of Confederate guerrillas who were taking it
easy, lying in the grass.

"Hullo! who are you?" demanded one of the guerrillas as he leaped up and
drew up his gun.

"Friends!" answered Jack.

Just then he caught sight of the men who had marched him away from the
stable, and also of Pete Gendron, who was lying on some blankets in the
shade.

"Friends, are you!" cried one of the men who had marched him off. "Up
with your hands, sonny!"

There was no help for it, and Jack put up his hands, and his negro
companions did likewise.

"I reckon as how we cotched ye nicely," went on the man with the gun.
"Whar did ye come from--thet cabin up the mountain?"

"Yes."

"Whar is Dr. Mackey?"

"I do not know."

"Did he let ye go?"

"Of course he didn't let the boy go," growled Pete Gendron. "The niggers
must have released him."

"Is that true, sonny?"

"That is none of your business," answered Jack, not knowing what else to
say.

"Aint it, though? All right, ride yer high hoss, if yer want to. But
throw down them arms fust."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean all of yer are prisoners, thet's wot I mean," drawled the
guerrilla.

"You have no right to hold me up in this fashion."

"Ye forgit, sonny, thet might makes right in most cases. Come, hand over
them firearms."

Jack had been provided with a pistol by Old Ben, and this he was
compelled to surrender, and his companions were also disarmed. The
guerrillas numbered fully a score, so resistan