CHAPTER IV

THE PROGRESS OF THE UPRISING

It would be hard to put Louis’s feelings into words when he found himself alone once more. Here he was bound hands and feet to a corner post of the old mill, robbed of his valuables, and with the prospect of even harsher treatment in the morning.

“They are thorough rascals, if ever there were any,” he thought, bitterly. “I believe they would murder me if they thought they could get anything more out of me by doing it. I’m in a scrape and no mistake. What’s to be done, Jess?”

For reply the faithful mare bent her soft eyes on him and gave an unsatisfactory whinny. Evidently she felt something was wrong. On her back rested a rusty brown saddle, which one of the mountaineers had “swapped” for Louis’s new trappings.

“It’s a shame the way they treated us,” went on the youth. “But never mind, only let us get away and some day we’ll get square, won’t we? I wonder how strong this confounded rope is?”

Louis found it much stronger than expected--far too strong to be either stretched or broken--and a half-hour’s work upon it only sufficed to chafe his wrists and ankles to the blood-drawing point. He stopped his struggles and drew a long breath.

“They understand tying a fellow up,” he murmured. “Is it possible I must remain in this dismal place all night?”

It was not long before Louis was shivering, for he was wet to the skin, and the wind that was rising swept through every opening in the old