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The Free Rangers: A Story of the Early Days Along the Mississippi

by Joseph A. Altsheler · English · Gutenberg #15055 · 521,375 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Free Rangers: A Story of the Early Days Along the Mississippi

Author: Joseph A. Altsheler


        
Release date: February 14, 2005 [eBook #15055]
                Most recently updated: December 14, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FREE RANGERS: A STORY OF THE EARLY DAYS ALONG THE MISSISSIPPI ***




Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, Emmy and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.(www.pgdp.net)






THE
FREE RANGERS

[Illustration]

JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

_The_
FREE RANGERS




_The_
FREE RANGERS

A STORY OF EARLY DAYS
ALONG THE MISSISSIPPI

BY

JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

AUTHOR OF "THE YOUNG TRAILERS," "THE FOREST RUNNERS," ETC.

[Illustration]

APPLETON-CENTURY-CROFTS, INC.

NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY


_All rights reserved. This book, or parts
thereof, must not be reproduced in any
form without permission of the publishers._


Copyright, 1936, by Sallie B. Altsheler
Printed in the United States of America

"THE FREE RANGERS," WHILE AN INDEPENDENT
STORY IN ITSELF, CONTINUES THE FORTUNES OF THE
TWO BOYS AND THEIR COMRADES WHO WERE THE
CENTRAL CHARACTERS IN "THE YOUNG TRAILERS,"
"THE FOREST RUNNERS," "THE KEEPERS OF THE
TRAIL" AND "THE EYES of THE WOODS."


CONTENTS

CHAPTER                               PAGE

    I. THE CALL                          1

   II. A FOREST ENVOY                   17

  III. AN INVISIBLE CHASE               39

   IV. TAKING A "GALLEON"               54

    V. ON THE GREAT RIVER               74

   VI. BATTLE AND STORM                 96

  VII. THE LONE VOYAGER                115

 VIII. THE CHATEAU OF BEAULIEU         133

   IX. PAUL AND THE SPANIARD           153

    X. A BARBARIC ORDEAL               171

   XI. THE SPANIARD'S OFFER            181

  XII. THE SHADOW IN THE FOREST        196

 XIII. THE WHITE STALLION              214

  XIV. NEW ORLEANS                     230

   XV. BEFORE BERNARDO GALVEZ          251

  XVI. IN PRISON                       271

 XVII. THE FLAW IN THE ARMOR           285

XVIII. NORTHWARD WITH THE FLEET        302

  XIX. THE BATTLE OF THE BANK          322

   XX. THE BATTLE OF THE BAYOU         334

  XXI. THE DEFENSE OF THE FIVE         349

 XXII. THE CHOSEN TASK                 361





THE FREE RANGERS




CHAPTER I

THE CALL


The wilderness rolled away to north and to south, and also it rolled away
to east and to west, an unbroken sweep of dark, glossy green. Straight up
stood the mighty trunks, but the leaves rippled and sang low when a gentle
south wind breathed upon them. It was the forest as God made it, the
magnificent valley of North America, upon whose edges the white man had
just begun to nibble.

A young man, stepping lightly, came into a little glade. He was white, but
he brought with him no alien air. He was in full harmony with the primeval
woods, a part of them, one in whose ears the soft song of the leaves was a
familiar and loved tune. He was lean, but tall, and he walked with a
wonderful swinging gait that betokened a frame wrought to the strength of
steel by exercise, wind, weather, and life always in the open. Though his
face was browned by sun and storm his hair was yellow and his eyes blue.
He was dressed wholly in deerskin and he carried over his shoulder the
long slender rifle of the border. At his belt swung hatchet and knife.

There was a touch to the young man that separated him from the ordinary
woods rover. He held himself erect with a certain pride of manner. The
stock of his rifle, an unusually fine piece, was carved in an ornate and
beautiful way. The deerskin of his attire had been tanned with uncommon
care, and his moccasins were sewn thickly with little beads of yellow and
blue and red and green. Every piece of clothing was scrupulously clean,
and his arms were polished and bright.

The shiftless one--who so little deserved his name--paused a moment in the
glade and, dropping the stock of his rifle to the ground, leaned upon the
muzzle. He listened, although he expected to hear nothing save the song of
the leaves, and that alone he heard. A faint smile passed over the face of
Shif'less Sol. He was satisfied. All was happening as he had planned. Then
he swung the rifle back to his shoulder, and walked to the crest of a hill
near by.

The summit was bare and the shiftless one saw far. It was a splendid
rolling country, covered with forests of oak and elm, beech, hickory and
maple. Here and there faint threads of silver showed where rivers or
brooks flowed, and he drew a long deep breath. The measure of line and
verse he knew not, but deep in his being Nature had kindled the true fire
of poetry, and now his pleasure was so keen and sharp that a throb of
emotion stirred in his throat. It was a grand country and, if reserved for
any one, it must be reserved for his race and his people. Shif'less Sol
was resolved upon that purpose and to it he was ready to devote body and
life.

Yet the wilderness seemed to tell only of peace. The low song of the
leaves was soothing and all innocence. The shiftless one was far beyond
the farthest outpost of his kind, beyond the broad yellow current of the
Mississippi, deep in the heart of the primeval forest. He might travel
full three hundred miles to the eastward and find no white cabin, while to
westward his own kind were almost a world away. On all sides stretched the
vast maze of forest and river, through which roamed only wild animals and
wilder man.

Shif'less Sol, from his post on the hill, examined the whole circle of the
forest long and carefully. He seemed intent upon some unusual object. It
was shown in the concentration of his look and the thoughtful pucker of
his forehead. It was not game, because in a glade to windward, at the foot
of the hill, five buffaloes grazed undisturbed and now and then uttered
short, panting grunts to show their satisfaction. Presently a splendid
stag, walking through the woods as if he were sole proprietor, scented the
strange human odor, and threw up his head in alarm. But the figure on the
hill, the like of which the deer had never seen before, did not stir or
take notice, and His Lordship the Stag raised his head higher to see. The
figure still did not stir, and, his alarm dying, the stag walked
disdainfully away among the trees.

Birds, the scarlet tanager, the blue bird, the cat bird, the jay and
others of their kin settled on the trees near the young man with the
yellow hair, and gazed at him with curiosity and without fear. A rabbit
peeped up now and then, but beyond the new presence the wilderness was
undisturbed, and it became obvious to the animal tribe that the stranger
meant no harm. Nor did the shiftless one himself discern any alien note.
The sky, a solid curve of blue, bore nowhere a trace of smoke. It was
undarkened and unstained, the same lonely brightness that had dawned every
morning for untold thousands of years.

Shif'less Sol showed no disappointment. Again all seemed to be happening
as he wished. Presently he left the hill and, face toward the south, began
to walk swiftly and silently down the rows of trees. There was but little
undergrowth, nothing to check his speed, and he strode on and on. After a
while he came to a brook running through low soft soil and then he did a
strange thing, the very act that a white man travelling through the
dangerous forest would have avoided. He planted one foot in the yielding
soil near the water's edge, and then stepping across, planted the other in
exactly the same way on the far side.

When another yard brought him to hard ground he stopped and looked back
with satisfaction. On either side of the brook remained the firm deep
impression of a human foot, of a white foot, the toes being turned
outward. No wilderness rover could mistake it, and yet it was hundreds of
miles to the nearest settlement of Shif'less Sol's kind.

He took another look at the footsteps, smiled again and resumed his
journey. The character of the country did not change. Still the low
rolling hills, still the splendid forests of oak and elm, beech, maple and
hickory, and of all their noble kin, still the little brooks of clear
water, still the deer and the buffalo, grazing in the glades, and taking
but little notice of the strange human figure as it passed. Presently, the
shiftless one stopped again and he did another thing, yet stranger than
the pressing-in of the foot-prints beside the little stream. He drew the
hatchet from his belt and cut a chip out of the bark of a hickory. A
hundred yards further on he did the same thing, and, at three hundred
yards or so, he cut the chip for the third time. He looked well at the
marks, saw that they were clear, distinct and unmistakable, and then the
peculiar little smile of satisfaction would pass again over his face.

But these stops were only momentary. Save for them he never ceased his
rapid course, and always it led straight toward the south. When the sun
was squarely overhead, pouring down a flood of golden beams, he paused in
the shade of a mighty oak, and took food from his belt. He might have
eaten there in silence and obscurity, but once more the shiftless one
showed a singular lack of caution and woodcraft. He drew together dry
sticks, ignited a fire with flint and steel, and cooked deer meat over it.
He let the fire burn high, and a thin column of dark smoke rose far up
into the blue. Any savage, roaming the wilderness, might see it, but the
shiftless one was reckless. He let the fire burn on, after his food was
cooked, while the column of smoke grew thicker and mounted higher, and ate
the savory steaks, lying comfortably between two upthrust roots. Now and
then he uttered a little sigh of satisfaction, because he had travelled
far and hard, and he was hungry. Food meant new strength.

But he was not as reckless as he seemed. Nothing that passed in the forest
within the range of eyesight escaped his notice. He heard the leaf, when
it fell close by, and the light tread of a deer passing. He remained a
full hour between the roots, a long time for one who might have a purpose,
and, after he rose, he did not scatter the fire and trample upon the
brands after the wilderness custom when one was ready to depart. The
flames had died down, but he let the coals smoulder on, and, hundreds of
yards away, he could still see their smoke. Now, he sought the softest
parts of the earth and trod there deliberately, leaving many footprints.
Again he cut little chips from the trees as he passed, but never ceased
his swift and silent journey to the south. The hours fled by, and a dark
shade appeared in the east. It deepened into dusk, and spread steadily
toward the zenith. The sun, a golden ball, sank behind a hill in the
west, and then the shiftless one stopped.

He ascended a low hill again, and took a long scrutinizing look around the
whole horizon. But his gaze was not apprehensive. On the contrary, it was
expectant, and his face seemed to show a slight disappointment when the
wilderness merely presented its wonted aspect. Then he built another fire,
not choosing a secluded glade, but the top of the hill, the most exposed
spot that he could find, and, after he had eaten his supper, he sat beside
it, the expectant air still on his face.

Nothing came. But the shiftless one sat long. He raked up dead leaves of
last year's winter and made a pillow, against which he reclined
luxuriously. Shif'less Sol was one who drew mental and physical comfort
from every favoring circumstance, and the leaves felt very soft to his
head and shoulders. He was not in the least lonesome, although the night
had fully come, and heavy darkness lay like a black robe over the forest.
He stretched out his moccasined toes to the fire, closed his eyes for a
moment or two, and a dreamy look of satisfaction rested on his face. It
seemed to the shiftless one that he lay in the very lap of luxury, in the
very best of worlds.

But when he opened his eyes again he continued to watch the forest, or
rather he watched with his ears now, as he lay close to the earth, and his
hearing, at all times, was so acute that it seemed to border upon instinct
or divination. But no sound save the usual ones of the forest and the
night came to him, and he remained quite still, thinking.

Shif'less Sol Hyde was in an exalted mood, and the flickering firelight
showed a face refined and ennobled by a great purpose. Leading a life that
made him think little of hardship and danger he thought nothing at all of
them now, but he felt instead a great buoyancy, and a hope equally great.

He lay awake a full three hours after the dark had come, and he rose only
twice from his reclining position, each time merely to replenish the fire
which remained a red core in the circling blackness. Always he was
listening and always he heard nothing but the usual sounds of the forest
and the night. The darkness grew denser and heavier, but after a while it
began to thin and lighten. The sky became clear, and the great stars swam
in the dusky blue. Then Shif'less Sol fell asleep, head on the leaves,
feet to the fire, and slept soundly all through the night.

He was up at dawn, cooked his breakfast, and then, after another long and
searching examination of the surrounding forest, departed, leaving the
coals of the fire to smoulder, and tell as they might that some one had
passed. Shif'less Sol throughout that morning repeated the tactics of the
preceding day, leaving footprints that would last, and cutting pieces of
bark from the trees with his sharp hatchet. At the noon hour he stopped,
according to custom, and, just when he had lighted his fire, he uttered a
low cry of pleasure.

The shiftless one was gazing back upon his own trail, and the singular
look of exaltation upon his face deepened. He rose to his feet and stood,
very erect, in the attitude of one who welcomes. No undergrowth was here,
and he could see far down the aisles of trunks.

A figure, so distant that only a keen eye would notice it, was
approaching. It came on swiftly and silently, much after the manner of the
shiftless one himself, elastic, and instinct with strength.

The figure was that of a boy in years, but of a man in size, surpassing
Shif'less Sol himself in height, yellow haired, blue-eyed, and dressed,
too, in the neatest of forest garb. His whole appearance was uncommon,
likely anywhere to attract attention and admiration. The shiftless one
drew a long breath of mingled welcome and approval.

"I knew that he would be first," he murmured.

Then he sat down and began to broil a juicy deer steak on the end of a
sharpened stick.

Henry Ware came into the little glade. He had seen the fire afar and he
knew who waited. All was plain to him like the print of a book, and,
without a word, he dropped down on the other side of the fire facing
Shif'less Sol. The two nodded, but their eyes spoke far more. Sol held out
the steak, now crisp and brown and full of savor, and Henry began to eat.
Sol quickly broiled another for himself, and joined him in the pleasant
task, over which they were silent for a little while.

"I was on the Ohio," said Henry at last, "when the trapper brought me
your message, but I started at once."

"O' course," said Shif'less Sol, "I never doubted it for a minute. I
reckon that you've come about seven hundred miles."

"Nearer eight," said Henry, "but I'm fresh and strong, and we need all our
strength, Sol, because it's a great task that lies before us."

"It shorely is," said Sol, "an' that's why I sent the message. I don't
want to brag, Henry, but we've done a big thing or two before, an' maybe
we kin do a bigger now."

He spoke the dialect of the border, he was not a man of books, but that
great look of exaltation came into his face again, and the boy on the
other side of the fire shared it.

"It seems to me, Sol," said Henry presently, "that we've been selected for
work of a certain kind. We finish one job, and then another on the same
line begins."

"Mebbe it's because we like to do it, an' are fit fur it," said Sol
philosophically. "I've noticed that a river gen'ally runs in a bed that
suits it. I don't know whether the bed is thar because the river is, or
the river is thar 'cause the bed is, but it's shore that they're both thar
together, an' you can't git aroun' that."

"There's something in what you say," said Henry.

Then they relapsed into silence, and, in a half hour, as if by mutual
consent, they rose, left the fire burning, and departed, still walking
steadily toward the south.

The country grew rougher. The hills were higher and closer together, and
the undergrowth became thick. Neither took any precautions as they passed
among the slender bushes, frequently trampling them down and leaving signs
that the blindest could not fail to see. Now and then the two looked back,
but they beheld only the forest and the forest people.

"I don't think I ever saw the game so tame before," said Henry.

"Which means," said Sol, "that the warriors ain't hunted here fur a long
time. I ain't seen a single sign o' them."

"Nor I."

They fell silent and scarcely spoke until the sun was setting again, when
they stopped for the night, choosing a conspicuous place, as Sol had done
the evening before. After supper, they sought soft places on the turf, and
lay in peace, gazing up at the great stars. Henry was the first to break
the silence.

"One is coming," he said. "I can hear the footstep. Listen!"

His ear was to the earth, and the shiftless one imitated him. At the end
of a minute he spoke.

"Yes," he said, "I hear him, too. We'll make him welcome."

He rose, put a fresh piece of wood on the fire, and smiled, as he saw the
flame leap up and crackle merrily.

"Here he is," said Henry.

The figure that emerged from the bushes was thick-set and powerful, the
strong face seamed and tanned by the wind, rain and sun of years. The man
stepped into the circle of the firelight, and held out his hand. Each
shook it with a firm and hearty clasp, and Tom Ross took his seat with
them beside the fire. They handed him food first, and then he said:

"I was away up in the Miami country, huntin' buffalo, when the word came
to me, Sol, but I quit on the minute an' started."

"I was shore you would," said the shiftless one quietly. "Buffaloes are
big game, but we're huntin' bigger now."

"I was never in this part of the country before," said Tom Ross, looking
around curiously at the ghostly tree trunks.

"I've been through here," said Henry, "and it runs on in the same way for
hundreds of miles in every direction."

"Bigger an' finer than any o' them old empires that Paul used to tell us
about," said Shif'less Sol.

"Yes," said Henry.

The three looked at one another significantly.

They wrapped themselves in their blankets by and by, and went to sleep on
the soft turf. Henry was the first to awake, just when the dawn was
turning from pink to red, and a single glance revealed to him an object on
the horizon that had not been there the night before. A man stood on the
crest of a low hill, and even at the distance, Henry recognized him. His
comrades were awaking and he turned to them.

"See!" he said, pointing with a long forefinger.

Their eyes followed, and they too recognized the man.

"He'll be here in a minute," said Shif'less Sol. "He jest eats up space."

He spoke the truth, as it seemed scarcely a minute before Long Jim Hart
entered the camp, showing no sign of fatigue. The three welcomed him and
gave him a place at their breakfast fire.

"I wuz at Marlowe," he said, "when the word reached me, but I started just
an hour later. I struck your trail, Sol, two days back, an' I traveled
nearly all last night. I saw Henry join you an' then Tom."

Shif'less Sol laughed. He had a soft, mellow laugh that crinkled up the
corners of his mouth, and made his eyes shine. There was no doubt that a
man who laughed such a laugh was enjoying himself.

"I reckon you didn't have much trouble follerin' that trail o' ourn," he
said.

Jim Hart answered the laugh with a grin.

"Not much," he replied. "It was like a wagon road through the wilderness.
The ashes uv your last camp fire weren't sca'cely cold when I passed by."

"We're all here 'cept the fifth feller," said Tom Ross.

"The fifth will come," said Henry emphatically.

"Uv course," said Tom Ross with equal emphasis.

"And when he comes," said Shif'less Sol, "we take right hold o' the big
job."

They lingered awhile over their breakfast, but saw no one approaching.
Then they took up the march again, going steadily southward in single
file, talking little, but leaving a distinct trail. They were only four,
but they were a formidable party, all strong of arm, keen of eye and ear,
skilled in the lore of the forest, and every one bore the best weapons
that the time could furnish.

Toward noon the day grew very warm and clouds gathered in the sky. The
wind became damp.

"Rain," said Henry. "I'm sorry of that. I wish it wouldn't break before he
overtook us."

"S'pose we stop an' make ready," said Shif'less Sol. "You know we ain't
bound to be in a big hurry, an' it won't help any o' us to get a soakin'."

"You're shorely right, Sol," said Jim Hart. "We're bound to take the best
uv care uv ourselves."

They looked around with expert eyes, and quickly chose a stony outcrop or
hollow in the side of a hill, just above which grew two gigantic beeches
very close together. Then it was wonderful to see them work, so swift and
skillful were they. They cut small saplings with their hatchets, and, with
the little poles and fallen bark of last year, made a rude thatch which
helped out the thick branches of the beeches overhead. They also built up
the sides of the hollow with the same materials, and the whole was done in
less than ten minutes. Then they raked in heaps of dead leaves and sat
down upon them comfortably. Many drops of water would come through the
leaves and thatch, but such as they, hardened to the wilderness, would not
notice them.

Meanwhile the storm was gathering with the rapidity so frequent in the
great valley. All the little clouds swung together and made a big one that
covered nearly the whole sky. The air darkened rapidly. Thunder began to
growl and mutter and now and then emitted a sharp crash. Lightning cut the
heavens from zenith to horizon, and the forest would leap into the light,
standing there a moment, vivid, like tracery.

A blaze more brilliant than all the rest cleft wide the sky and, as they
looked toward the North, they saw directly in the middle of the flame a
black dot that had not been there before.

"He's coming," said Henry in the quiet tone that indicated nothing more
than a certainty fulfilled.

"Just in time to take a seat in our house," said the shiftless one.

Sol ran out and gave utterance to a long echoing cry that sounded like a
call. It was answered at once by the new black dot under the Northern
horizon, which was now growing fast in size, as it came on rapidly. It
took a human shape, and, thirty yards away, a fine, delicately-chiselled
face, the face of a scholar and dreamer, remarkable in the wilderness, was
revealed. The face belonged to a youth, tall and strong, but not so tall
and large as Henry.

"Here we are, Paul," said Shif'less Sol. "We've fixed fur you."

"And mighty glad I am to overtake you fellows," said Paul Cotter,
"particularly at this time."

He ran for the shelter just as the forest began to moan, and great drops
of rain rushed down upon them. He was inside in a moment, and each gave
his hand a firm grasp.

"We're all here now," said Henry.

"All here and ready for the great work," said Shif'less Sol, his tranquil
face illumined again with that look of supreme exaltation.

Then the storm burst. The skies opened and dropped down floods of water.
They heard it beating on the leaves and thatch overhead, and some came
through, falling upon them but they paid no heed. They sat placidly until
the rush and roar passed, and then Henry said to the others:

"We're to stick to the task that we've set ourselves through thick and
through thin, through everything?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"If one falls, the four that are left keep on?"

"Yes! yes!"

"If three fall and only two are left, these must not flinch."

"Yes! yes!"

"If four go down and only one is left, then he whoever he may be, must go
on and win alone?"

"Yes! yes!" came forth with deep emphasis.




CHAPTER II

A FOREST ENVOY


A group of men were seated in a pleasant valley, where the golden beams of
the sun sifted in myriads through the green leaves. They were about fifty
in number and all were white. Most of them were dressed in Old World
fashion, doublets, knee breeches, hose, and cocked hats. Nearly all were
dark; olive faces, black hair, and black pointed beards, but now and then
one had fair hair, and eyes of a cold, pale blue. Manner, speech, looks,
and dress, alike differentiated them from the borderers. They were not the
kind of men whom one would expect to find in these lonely woods in the
heart of North America.

The leader of the company--and obviously he was such--was one of the few
who belonged to the blonde type. His eyes were of the chilly, metallic
blue, and his hair, long and fair, curled at the ends. His dress, of some
fine, black cloth, was scrupulously neat and clean, and a silver-hilted
small sword swung it his belt. He was not more than thirty.

The fair man was leaning lazily but gracefully against the trunk of a
tree, and he talked in a manner that seemed indolent and careless, but
which was neither to a youth in buckskins who sat opposite him,
a striking contrast in appearance. This youth was undeniably of the
Anglo-Saxon type, large and well-built, with a broad, full forehead, but
with eyes set too close together. He was tanned almost to the darkness of
an Indian.

"You tell me, Señor Wyatt," said Don Francisco Alvarez, the leader of the
Spanish band, "that the new settlers in Kaintock[A] have twice driven off
the allied tribes, and that, if they are left alone another year or two,
they will go down so deep in the soil that they can never be uprooted.
Is it not so?"

"It is so," replied Braxton Wyatt, the renegade. "The tribes have failed
twice in a great effort. Every man among these settlers is a daring and
skillful fighter, and many of the boys--and many of the women, too. But if
white troops and cannon are sent against them their forts must fall."

The Spaniard was idly whipping the grass stems with a little switch. Now
he narrowed his metallic, blue eyes, and gazed directly into those of
Braxton Wyatt.

"And you, Señor Wyatt?" he said, speaking his slow, precise English.
"Nothing premeditated is done without a motive. You are of these people
who live in Kaintock, their blood is your blood; why then do you wish to
have them destroyed?"

A deep flush broke its way through the brown tan on the face of Braxton
Wyatt, and his eyes fell before the cold gaze of the Spaniard. But he
raised them again in a moment. Braxton Wyatt was not a coward, and he
never permitted a guilty conscience to last longer than a throb or two.

"I did belong to them," he replied, "but my tastes led me away. I have
felt that all this mighty valley should belong to the Indians who have
inhabited it so long, but, if the white people come, it should be those
who are true and loyal to their kings, not these rebels of the colonies."

Francisco Alvarez smiled cynically, and once more surveyed Braxton Wyatt,
with a rapid, measuring glance.

"You speak my sentiments, Señor Wyatt," he said, "and you speak them in a
language that I scarcely expected."

"I had a schoolmaster even in the wilderness," said Braxton Wyatt. "And I
may tell you, too, as proof of my faith that I would be hanged at once
should I return to the settlements."

"I do not doubt your faith. I was merely curious about your motives. I am
sure also that you can be of great help to us."

He spoke in a patronizing manner, and Braxton Wyatt moved slightly in
anger, but restrained his speech.

"I may say," continued the Spaniard, "that His Excellency Bernardo Galvez,
His Most Catholic Majesty's Governor of his loyal province of Louisiana,
has been stirred by the word that comes to him of these new settlements of
the rebel Americans in the land of the Ohio. The province of Louisiana is
vast, and it may be that it includes the country on either side of the
Ohio. The French, our predecessors, claimed it, and now that all the
colonists east of the mountains are busy fighting their king, it may be
easy to take it from them, as one would snip off a skirt with a pair of
scissors. That is why I and this faithful band are so far north in these
woods."

Braxton Wyatt nodded.

"And a wise thing, too," he said. "I am strong with the tribes. The great
chief, Yellow Panther, of the Miamis and the great chief, Red Eagle, of
the Shawnees are both my friends. I know how they feel. The Spanish in New
Orleans are far away. Their settlements do not spread. They come rather to
hunt and trade. But the Americans push farther and farther. They build
their homes and they never go back. Do you wonder then that the warriors
wish your help?"

Francisco Alvarez smiled again. It was a cold but satisfied smile and he
rubbed one white hand over the other.

"Your logic is good," he said, "and these reasons have occurred to me,
also, but my master, Bernardo Galvez, the Governor, is troubled. We love
not England and there is a party among us--a party at present in
power--which wishes to help the Americans in order that we may damage
England, but I, if I could choose the way would have no part in it. As
surely as we help the rebels we will also create rebels against
ourselves."

"You are far from New Orleans," said Braxton Wyatt. "It would take long
for a messenger to go and come, and meanwhile you could act as you think
best."

"It is so," said the Spaniard. "Our presence here is unknown to all save
the chiefs and yourself. In this wilderness, a thousand miles from his
superior, one must act according to his judgment, and I should like to see
these rebel settlements crushed."

He spoke to himself rather than to Wyatt, and again his eyes narrowed.
Blue eyes are generally warm and sympathetic, but his were of the cold,
metallic shade that can express cruelty so well. He plucked, too, at his
short, light beard, and Braxton Wyatt read his thoughts. The renegade felt
a thrill of satisfaction. Here was a man who could be useful.

"How far is it from this place to the land of the Miamis and the
Shawnees?" asked Alvarez.

"It must be six or seven hundred miles, but bands of both tribes are now
hunting much farther west. One Shawnee party that I know of is even now
west of the Mississippi."

Francisco Alvarez, frowned slightly.

"It is a huge country," he said. "These great distances annoy me. Still,
one must travel them. Ah, what is it now?"

He was looking at Braxton Wyatt, as he spoke, and he saw a sudden change
appear upon his face, a look of recognition and then of mingled hate and
rage. The renegade was staring Northward, and the eyes of Alvarez followed
his.

The Spaniard saw a man or rather a youth approaching, a straight, slender,
but tall and compact figure, and a face uncommon in the wilderness, fine,
delicate, with the eyes of a dreamer, and seer, but never weak. The youth
came on steadily, straight coward the Spanish camp.

"Paul Cotter!" exclaimed Braxton Wyatt. "How under the sun did he come
here!"

"Some one you know?" said Alvarez who heard the words.

"Yes, from the settlements of which we speak," replied Wyatt quickly and
in a low tone. He had no time to add more, because Paul was now in the
Spanish camp, and was gravely saluting the leader, whom he had recognized
instantly to be such by his dress and manner. Francisco Alvarez rose to
his feet, and politely returned the salute. He saw at once a quality in
the stranger that was not wholly of the wilderness. Braxton Wyatt nodded,
but Paul took no notice whatever of him. A flush broke again through the
tan of the renegade's face.

"Be seated," said Alvarez, and Paul sat down on a little grassy knoll.

"You are Captain Francisco Alvarez of the Spanish forces at New Orleans?"

"You have me truly," replied the Spaniard smiling and shrugging his
shoulders, "although I cannot surmise how you became aware of my presence
here. But the domains of my master, the king, extend far, and his servants
must travel far, also, to do his will."

Paul understood the implication in his words, but he, too, had the gift of
language and diplomacy, and he did not reply to it. Stirred by deep
curiosity, the Spanish soldiers were gathering a little nearer, but
Alvarez waved back all but Wyatt.

"I am glad to find you here, Captain Alvarez," said Paul with a gravity
beyond his years; indeed, as he spoke, his face was lighted up by that
same singular look of exaltation that had passed more than once over the
face of the shiftless one. "And I am glad because I have come for a
reason, one of the greatest of all reasons. I want to say something, not
for myself, but for others."

"Ah, an ambassador, I see," said Francisco Alvarez with a light touch of
irony.

But Paul took no notice of the satire. He was far too much in earnest, and
he resumed in tones impressive in their solemnity:

"I am from one of the little white villages in the Kentucky woods far to
the eastward. There we have fought the wilderness and twice we have driven
back strong forces of the allied tribes, although they came with great
resolution and were helped moreover by treachery."

Braxton Wyatt moved angrily and was about to speak, but Paul, never
glancing in his direction, went on steadily:

"These settlements cannot be uprooted now. They may be damaged. They may
be made to suffer great loss and grief, but the vanguard of our people
will never turn back. Neither warrior nor king can withstand it."

Now Paul's look was wholly that of the prophet. As he said the last words,
"neither warrior nor king can withstand it" his face was transfigured. He
did not see the Spaniard before him, nor Braxton Wyatt, the renegade, nor
the surrounding woods, but he saw instead great states and mighty cities.

The Spaniard, despite his displeasure, was impressed by the words of the
youth, but he took hold of himself bodily, as it were, and shook off the
spell. A challenging light sprang into his cold blue eyes.

"I do not know so much about warriors," he said, "but kings may be and are
able to do what they will. If my master should choose to put forth his
strength, even to send his far-extended arm into these woods, to what
would your tiny settlements amount? A pinch of sand before a puff of wind.
Whiff! You are gone. Nor could your people east of the mountains help you,
because they, on bended knee, will soon be receiving their own lesson from
the King of England."

Francisco Alvarez snapped his fingers, as if Paul and his people were
annihilated by a single derisive gesture. Paul reddened and a dangerous
flash came into his eyes. But the natural diplomatist in him took control,
and he replied with the utmost calmness.

"It may be so, but It is not a question that should arise. The King of
Spain is at peace with us. We even hear, deep in the woods as we are, that
he may take our part against England. France already is helping us. So I
have come to ask you to take no share in plots against us, not to listen
to evil counsels, and not to turn ear to traitors, who, having been
traitors to one people, can readily be traitors to another."

Braxton Wyatt leaped to his feet, his face blazing with wrath, and his
hand flew to the hilt of the knife at his belt.

"Now this is more than I will stand!" he exclaimed, "you cannot ignore me,
Paul Cotter, until such time you choose, and then call me foul names!"

The Spaniard smiled. The sight of Braxton Wyatt's wrath pleased him, but
he put out his hand in a detaining gesture.

"Sit down!" he said in a tone so sharp that Wyatt obeyed. "This is no time
for personal quarrels. As I see it, an embassy has come to us and we must
discuss matters of state. Is it not so, Señor, Señor--"

"Cotter! Paul Cotter is my name."

Paul felt the sneer in the Spaniard's last words, but he hid his
resentment.

"Then your proposition is this," continued Alvarez, "that I and my men
have nothing to do with the Indians, that we make no treaty, no agreement
with them, that we abandon this country and go back to New Orleans. This
you propose despite the fact that the region in which we now are belongs
to Spain."

"I would not put it in quite that fashion," replied Paul calmly.
"I suggest instead that you be our friend. It is natural for the white
races to stand together. I suggest that you send away, also, the messenger
of the tribes who comes seeking your help to slaughter women and children."

Braxton Wyatt half rose, but again he was put down by the restraining
gesture of Francisco Alvarez.

"No personal quarrels, as I stated before," said the Spaniard, "but to
you, Señor Cotter, I wish to say that I have heard your words, but it
seems to me they are without weight. I do not agree with you that the
settlements of the Americans cannot be uprooted. Nor am I sure that your
title to Kaintock is good. It was claimed in the beginning by France, and
justly, but a great war gave it by might though not by right to England.
Now Spain has succeeded to France. Here, throughout all this vast region,
there is none to dispute her title. To the east of the Mississippi great
changes are going on, and it may be that Kaintock, also, will revert to my
master, the king."

He waved his hand in a gesture of finality, and a look of satisfaction
came into Braxton Wyatt's eyes. The renegade glanced triumphantly at Paul,
but Paul's face remained calm.

"You would not proceed to any act of hostility in conjunction with the
tribes, when Spain and the colonies are at peace?" said Paul to the
Spaniard.

Francisco Alvarez frowned, and assumed a haughty look.

"I make neither promises nor prophecies," he said, "I have spoken
courteously to you, Señor Cotter, although you are a trespasser on the
Spanish domain. I have given you the hospitality of our camp, but I cannot
answer questions pertaining to the policy of my government."

Paul, for the first time, showed asperity. He, too, drew himself up with a
degree of haughtiness, and he looked Don Francisco Alvarez squarely in the
eyes, as he replied:

"I did not come here to ask questions. I came merely to say that our
nations are at peace, and to urge you not to help savages in a war upon
white people."

"I do not approve of rebels," said Alvarez.

Paul was silent. He felt instinctively that his mission had failed.
Something cold and cruel about the Spaniard repelled him, and he believed,
too, that Braxton Wyatt had not been without a sinister influence.

Alvarez arose and walked over to his camp-fire. Braxton Wyatt followed him
and whispered rapidly to the Spaniard. Paul, persistent and always
hopeful, was putting down his anger and trying to think of other effective
words that he might use. But none would come into his head, and he, too,
rose.

"I am sorry that we cannot agree. Captain Alvarez," he said with the grave
courtesy that became him so well, "and therefore I will bid you good day."

A thin smile passed over the face of the Spaniard and the blue eyes shed a
momentary, metallic gleam.

"I pray you not to be in haste, Señor Cotter," he said. "Be our guest for
a while."

"I must go," replied Paul, "although I thank you for the courtesy."

"But we cannot part with you now," said the Spaniard, "you are on Spanish
soil. Others of your kind may be near, also, and you and they have come,
uninvited. I would know more about it."

"You mean that you will detain me?" said Paul in surprise.

The Spaniard delicately stroked his pointed beard.

"Perhaps that is the word," he replied. "As I said, you have trespassed
upon our domain, and I must hold you, for a time, at least. I know not
what plot is afoot"

"As a prisoner?"

"If you wish to call it so."

"And yet there is no war between your country and mine!"

The Spaniard delicately stroked his pointed beard again.

Paul looked at him accusingly, and Francisco Alvarez unable to sustain his
straight gaze, turned his eyes aside. But Braxton Wyatt's face was full of
triumph, although he kept silent.

Paul thought rapidly. It seemed to him a traitorous design and he did not
doubt that Wyatt had instigated it, but he must submit at present. He was
powerless inside a ring of fifty soldiers. Without a word, he sat down
again on the little grassy knoll and it pleased Alvarez to affect a great
politeness, and to play with his prisoner as a cat with a mouse. He
insisted that he eat and he made his men bring him the tenderest of food,
deer meat and wild turkey, and fish, freshly caught. Finally he opened a
flask and poured wine in a small silver cup.

"It is the wine of Xeres, Señor Cotter," he said, "and you can judge how
precious it is, as it must be a full five thousand miles from its
birthplace."

He handed the little cup in grandiose manner to Paul, and Paul, meeting
his humor, accepted it in like fashion. He had not tasted wine often in
his life and he found it a strong fluid, but, in this crisis, it
strengthened him and put a new sparkle in his blood.

"Thanks," he said as he politely returned the empty cup, and resumed his
seat on the knoll. Then Alvarez walked aside, and talked again in whispers
with the renegade.

Wyatt urged that Paul be held indefinitely. He would not talk at first,
but they must get from him the fullest details about the settlements in
Kentucky, the weak points, where to attack and when. If the settlements
were left alone they would certainly spread all over Kentucky and in time
across the Mississippi into the Spanish domain. Spain was far away, and
she could not drive them back. But the Spaniards could urge on the tribes
again, and with a hidden hand, send them arms and ammunition. White men
with cannon could even join the warriors, and Spain might convincingly say
that she knew nothing of if.

The words of the renegade pleased Francisco Alvarez. Deep down in his
crafty heart he loved intrigue and cunning.

"Yes, we'll hold him," he said. "He is a trespasser here, although I will
admit that he is not the kind of person that I expected to find in the
heart of this vast wilderness."

He glanced at Paul, who was sitting on the knoll, calm and apparently
unconcerned, his fine features at rest, his blue eyes lazily regarding the
forest. The blue of Paul's eyes was different from the blue of the eyes of
Alvarez. The blue of his was deep, warm, and sympathetic.

"Is it likely that Cotter is alone?" Alvarez asked of Wyatt.

"Not at all," replied the renegade. "He has friends, and I warn you that
they are able and dangerous. We must be on our watch against them."

"What friends?" asked the Spaniard incredulously.

"There is a group. They are five. Where one of them is, the other four are
not likely to be far away. There is Cotter's comrade, Henry Ware, a little
older, and larger and stronger, wonderful in the woods! He surpasses the
Indians themselves in cunning and craft. Then comes Sol Hyde, whom they
call the shiftless one, but swift and cunning, and much to be dreaded.
Look out for him when he is pretending to be most harmless. And then Tom
Ross, who has been, a hunter and guide all his life, and the one they call
Long Jim, the swiftest runner in the wilderness. Oh, I know them all!"

"Perhaps you have had cause to know them well," said the Spaniard in a
sardonic tone--he was a keen reader of character, and he understood
Braxton Wyatt.

But Braxton Wyatt ignored the taunt in his anxiety.

"They must not be taken too lightly," he said. "They are somewhere in
these woods, and, Captain, I warn you once more against them."

The Spaniard smiled in his superior way, and, turning to his men, began to
give directions for the camp that night. Sunset was not far away, and they
would remain in the glade. His was too strong a force to fear attack in
that isolated region, but Alvarez posted sentinels, and ordered the others
to sleep, when the time came, in a wide ring about the fire. Within the
ring he and Paul and Wyatt sat, and the Spaniard, maintaining his light,
ironic humor, talked much. Paul, if addressed directly by Alvarez, always
answered, but he persistently ignored the renegade. Such a being filled
him with horror, and once, when Wyatt gave him a look of deadly hate, Paul
shot back one of his own, fully a match for it. But that was all.

Night came on fast. The red sun shot down. Darkness fell upon the forest,
and swept up to the circling rim of the camp fire. Chill came into the
air. The Spaniards shivered and crept a little nearer to the coals. Talk
ceased, and, out of the illimitable forest, came the low, moaning sound of
the wind among the leaves. The great stars sprang out, and shone with a
thin, pale light on the wilderness.

Francisco Alvarez was a brave man, but he was born on sunny plains where
he basked in warmth and the eye ranged far. Now, despite himself, he felt
a chill that was uncanny. The forest, thick and black, spread away, he
knew, for hundreds of miles, and neither city nor town broke it. A fervent
imagination leaped up and peopled it with weird beings. Nor would
imagination go down before will and knowledge. Boughs twisted themselves
into fantastic, hideous shapes, and the moan of the wind was certainly
like the cry of a soul in torment.

Don Francisco Alvarez shivered and the shiver became a shudder. He looked
across the fire at his prisoner, but Paul seemed unconscious of the forest
and the night, and the demon spell of the two. The lad sat immovable. Upon
his face was the dreamy, mystic look that so often came there. He seemed
to be gazing far beyond the Spaniard and the renegade into some greater
future.

Francisco Alvarez, brave man though he was, felt awe. He rose impatiently,
kicked a coal deeper into the fire, looked once more at Paul, who was yet
silent, and spoke sharply to the sentinels. Then he returned to his place,
and said to Paul:

"We offer you the hospitality of the forest and an extra blanket if you
wish it."

"It's a hospitality to which I'm used," replied Paul, "and I don't need
the extra blanket, although I thank you for the offer."

He took his own blanket from the little roll at his back, wrapped himself
in it, pillowed his head on the knoll, and closed his eyes. Francisco
Alvarez looked at him for some minutes, and could not tell whether he was
sleeping or waking, but he thought that he slept. His long, regular
breathing and the expression of his face, as peaceful as that of a little
child, indicated It.

The night grew chillier. The great stars remained pale and cold, and the
forest continued to whine, as that strange, wandering breeze slipped
through the leaves. Francisco Alvarez of the sunny plains wished that it
would stop. It got upon his nerves, and the feeling it gave him was
singularly like that of an evil conscience. He saw his men fall to sleep
one by one, and he heard their heavy breathing. Braxton Wyatt also wrapped
himself in his blanket and soon slumbered. The fire sank, the coals
crumbled, and with soft little hisses, fell together. The circling rim of
darkness crept up closer and closer, and the trunks of the trees became
ghostly in the shadows.

Alvarez saw his sentinels at either side of the camp, to right and left,
walking back and forth, and he knew also that they would watch well. Time
passed. The night darkened and then a wan moon came out, casting a
ghostly, gray shadow over the measureless black forest. The great stars,
pale and cold, danced in a dusky blue. Faint moans came out of the depths
of the wilderness, as a stray wind wandered here and there among the
leaves. Francisco Alvarez, resolute and self contained though he was,
could not sleep. He had taken a bold step in holding the messenger of
peace, and, although one might do much a thousand wilderness miles from
the seat of his authority, he was nevertheless anxious to have the full
support of Bernardo Galvez, the Spanish governor of Louisiana.

Royalist to the marrow, he wished the colonists to be defeated by their
mother country, and he wished, moreover, that Spain might make secure a
title to all the immense regions in the valley. If he could skillfully
commit Spain to a quarrel with the settlers much might be done for the
cause in which his heart was enlisted. He foresaw the truth of Paul's
warning that in a little while nothing could uproot the settlers in
Kentucky. A blow at them, if it would destroy, must fall quickly, and he
meant that the blow should be given.

His anxiety weighed heavily upon him and the wilderness at night grew more
uncanny. Sleep refused to come. The coals sank lower. One by one they
gleamed with the last fitful sparks of dying fire and then went out. The
two sentinels, one to the right and one to the left, had sat down now upon
fallen logs, but Alvarez knew that they were still watching with
care--they would not dare to do otherwise. All the rest but Alvarez slept.

The Spaniard looked at Braxton Wyatt as he lay in his blanket, one arm
under his head, and his lip curled. He despised him, and yet he could be
very useful. He would have to work with him and he must treat him at least
with superficial politeness. Then he looked at the prisoner. Paul, too,
slept soundly, his fine face thrown into relief in the wan moonlight,
every sensitive feature revealed. Alvarez wondered again that he should
find a youth of such classic countenance and cultivated mind in the deep
forest.

The wandering breeze ceased, and the wilderness fell into a silence so
deep and heavy that it preyed upon the nerves of the Spaniard. Then, out
of the stillness came a long, plaintive note, wailing, but musical, full
of a quality that made it seem to Alvarez weird and ominous.

"Only the howl of a wolf," muttered the Spaniard, who recognized the
long-drawn cry. But it made him shiver a little, nevertheless. He alone
was awake, except the sentinels, and he felt like a tiny, lost speck in
all the vast wilderness. A second time came the cry of the wolf, and then
it was repeated a third and a fourth time. After the fourth it ceased.

The four cries were so distinct, so equal in length, and repeated at such
regular intervals that they seemed to Francisco Alvarez like set notes. He
listened intently, but they did not come again. He glanced at the prisoner
but Paul had not stirred, the moon's rays illuminating his face with a
pale light. The renegade, too, slept soundly.

Alvarez wrapped himself in his blanket after the fashion of the others,
and lay down, but still sleep would not come. He knew that it was far in
the night and he wished to be rested and fresh for the next day, but he
lay awake, nevertheless. A half hour passed, and then came that plaintive
cry of the wolf again. As before, it seemed to be wonderfully distinct and
full of character, but it was nearer now. Francisco Alvarez raised
himself on his elbow, and heard it a second and then a third and fourth
time. After that only the heavy silence of the forest.

"The same as before," murmured the Spaniard to himself. "The wolf howled
four times. What a coincidence! Bah, I'm becoming a superstitious fool!"

He resolutely closed his eyes and sought slumber once more. It was far
past midnight now, and weary nature began at last her task. His nerves
were soothed. A soft breeze fanned his eyelids with drowsy wing, the
forest wavered, swam away, and he slept.

Red dawn was coming when Francisco Alvarez awoke. The fire was dead and
cold, and the men around it yet slumbered. The two sentinels, one to the
right and one to the left, still sat on the logs, backs toward him. He
took one glance to see if the prisoner, too, slept, and then he leaped to
his feet with a cry. The prisoner was not there! Nor was he anywhere in
the camp.

"Up! up! you rascals!" shouted the Spaniard. "The boy is gone! escaped.
Luiz, Pedro, in what manner have you watched!"

He rushed to the sentinel on the right, Luiz, and struck him sharply
across the back with the flat of his sword.

"Wretch!" he cried, "you have slept!" and he struck him again.

Luiz did not stir, even under the sharp blow. He remained, sitting on the
log, back to his chief, shoulders bent forward, as if he were in a
slumber too profound to be disturbed by anything short of a crash of
thunder in his ear. Alvarez, furious with anger, seized him by the
shoulder and dragged him back. Then he uttered another cry, in which rage
and surprise were mingled in equal portions. But Luiz, the sentinel, still
said nothing. He could not. A gag was fixed firmly in his mouth, his arms
were bound to his side, his legs to the tree on which he sat, and his
rifle had been left standing between his knees and against his shoulder,
as if held by one who watched.

The unfortunate sentinel gazed up at his chief with wide-open, appealing
eyes, and, leaving him with the men, who were now crowding around he ran
to the other sentinel. Pedro, only to find him gagged and bound, exactly
like his comrade. It was some minutes before either could speak, after
they were cut loose and their gags removed, and then their tales were the
same.

"I watched. I watched well, Captain," said Luiz, "by the Holy Virgin I
swear it! Never in this whole terrible night, not for a moment, have my
eyes closed. I saw nothing, I heard nothing but a wolf howling in the
forest, and then, long after midnight, I was suddenly seized from behind
by powerful hands. I could not move, so strong were they. I was gagged and
bound and I could see only the phantom figures of the men who did it. I
know no more."

Pedro, with many supplications, repeated the tale, and Francisco Alvarez
was forced to believe them, although he cursed them for carelessness, and
promised them punishment. Braxton Wyatt had remained silent, although his
face showed deep disappointment. Presently, when the turmoil had died
down, he said in a low voice to Alvarez:

"What was it that the sentinel said about hearing the howl of a wolf?"

"I heard it myself," replied Alvarez. "It was about midnight, when a wolf
to the north howled four times. An hour or so later I heard it again,
somewhat nearer and somewhat to the west, when it howled four times as
before."

"Ah!" said Braxton Wyatt.

It was a short exclamation, but it was so full of significance that the
Spaniard in surprise, asked him what he meant.

"Four cries," replied the renegade, "and he had four friends, of whom I
told you to beware. I told you what they were, what cunning and skill they
have, but you would not believe me and you must now! Cotter heard the four
cries. He was not asleep and he understood!"

Braxton Wyatt, despite his annoyance at Paul's escape, felt a moment of
triumph. His warning had come true. He had been wiser than this Spaniard
who had patronised and insulted him.

"We will deal with these people yet," said Francisco Alvarez angrily as he
turned away.

"I hope so," replied Braxton Wyatt.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: An early French and Spanish name for Kentucky.]




CHAPTER III

AN INVISIBLE CHASE


Deep in a shadowed glade sat the five, eating a quiet breakfast, and
talking in low tones of satisfaction.

"I knew that you would come," said Paul, "and when I heard the four cries
of the wolf I knew, too, that all four of you were there. When you sent
the call Braxton Wyatt, who alone might have suspected, was asleep. The
Spanish commander was awake, and he was troubled, but he did not know
why."

"Wa'al, I guess he knows now," said Shif'less Sol with a silent but deep
laugh. "Ef he's the kind o' man you say he is, Paul, an' I guess he is--he
needed our teachin' him a lesson. I hate a man who knows too much, who is
too almighty certain, an' I guess the Spaniard is one o' that kind. Think
o' him comin' out here in the woods, breakin' faith, so to speak, an'
holdin' you, Paul. Ef I wuz to go over to Europe, which I ain't ever goin'
to do--an' wuz to light down in one o' them big cities, Paris or London,
do you think I'd tell the fellers in the streets that I knowed more about
their town than they did?"

"No, Sol," said Paul, "you're too wise a man ever to do such a thing."

"I should hope I wuz," said Sol emphatically. "Jest think o' me stoppin' a
lot o' French fellers in the streets o' Paris, me jest happened in from
the woods fur the fust time, an' sayin' to them: 'Here, Bob, be keerful
how you cross the street thar, it's a right bad spot fur wagons, an' you'd
shorely git run over ef you tried it,' or 'Now, Dick, that thar is the
wrong street that you're takin', ef you foller it you'll land a full mile
from your cabin.'"

"But Frenchmen are not named Bob and Dick," said Paul with a smile.

"Wa'al ef they ain't they ought to be," said the shiftless one with
conviction. "Why they want to call theirselves by all them long names
nobody can pronounce, when there are a lot o' good, nice, short, handy
names like Dick, an' Jim, an' Bill, an' Bob, an' Hank, layin' 'roun' loose
an' jest beggin' to be used, is more'n I kin understand."

"We must soon decide what to do," said Henry. "If the Spanish captain
concludes to help the Indians, and with Braxton Wyatt at his elbow I think
he is likely to do it, our people in Kentucky will again be in great
danger. We must drive the Spaniards back to New Orleans."

"I agree with you," said Paul, "but how is it to be done?"

"Mebbe we kin shoo 'em back, skeer 'em, so to speak," said Shif'less Sol.
"We're jest bound to keep Spain out o' this country."

"It is true," said Paul. "Great things grow out of little ones. Such a
land as this is sure to have a great population some day and what we five
do now, obscure and few as we are, may help to decide what that population
is to be."

As Paul spoke, his comrades and the shadowed glen floated away, and the
look of seer came upon him. Again he saw great towns and a nation. The
others regarded him with a little awe. The spiritual, or rather prophetic,
quality in Paul always had their deep respect.

"Paul shorely does take mighty long looks ahead," whispered Shif'less Sol
to Henry, "an' sometimes I can't follow him clean to the end. I mostly
drop by the way. I like to live this very minute, an' I'm pow'ful glad to
be alive right now. But I'm with him clean to the finish o' our big job."

Henry nodded and presently he and the shiftless one went away through the
woods. Paul, Ross, and Long Jim remained lying at ease in the forest--Paul
had learned the great wilderness lesson of patience--and about noon the
two returned. They had been spying upon the Spanish camp, and they
reported that Alvarez and his men had not moved.

"They seem to be waiting for something," said Henry. "Braxton Wyatt is
still with them, and they have posted more sentinels in a wider circle. I
don't believe they will move camp for several days. So long as they keep
theirs there, we'll keep ours here."

"O' course," said the shiftless one. "We must keep the watch."

Several days passed and there was little to do. One or another of the
five at times crept close to the Spanish camp, and always reported that
the men there were lounging at their ease and still waiting. Now and then
the Spaniards hunted in detachments, usually guided by Braxton Wyatt, and
brought in both deer and buffalo. On the fourth day Henry and Paul also
went hunting.

"The country west of here," said Henry, "opens out into a big prairie, and
we may see something worth seeing."

Paul did not ask what it was, content to go and see, and the two, rifle on
shoulder, slipped away through the woods, taking a direct, western course.

Paul noticed that the country soon became much less hilly, and that the
forest thinned. After a while hills and forest ceased altogether and the
two stood upon the edge of a wide sweep of gently rolling, open country,
extending so far that it met the horizon.

"Look," said Henry. "A great prairie!"

"And look what's on it!" exclaimed Paul.

Henry laughed and glanced at his comrade's pleased face. As far as the eye
could reach the prairie was covered with a multitude of great, dark
animals, grazing on the short, sweet grass. Near by these animals, as Paul
saw, were a few feet apart, but further on they seemed to blend into one
solid, black, but heaving mass.

"A real buffalo herd," said Henry.

Paul had seen buffaloes often in Kentucky, but there they were usually in
small groups of a dozen or so, owing to the wooded nature of the country,
and now he looked for the first time upon a great herd, twenty thousand,
thirty thousand, maybe more--one could not calculate. The spectacle
appealed greatly to his imaginative temperament.

"What a grand sight!" he said.

"Yes," said Henry, "it is wonderful, but, Paul, this is nothing to what
you can see on the great plains. When I was a captive with the
northwestern Indians I've seen a herd that was passing our party all day,
and it was also so wide you could not see across it."

They stood there some time looking. The huge, savage bulls were on the
outskirts of the herd, and just beyond them at the fringe of the forest
were snarling timber wolves, waiting for a chance to drag down some
careless calf, or a bull weakened to the last degree by old age.

As the two youths looked they heard a shot and saw a movement among the
buffaloes. Another shot followed and then a half dozen. The portion of the
herd near by seemed suddenly to contract and to roll in upon itself. The
waiting wolves disappeared in the woods, and snorts of terror arose from
the herd.

"There they are! I see them!" exclaimed Paul. "It is the Spaniards, sure
enough!"

Five or six men in the Spanish military attire burst from the forest, not
more than a hundred yards away, and continued to fire as fast as they
could into the herd.

"How foolish!" exclaimed Henry. "Either they are wasting their shots or if
they don't waste them they are killing far more buffaloes than they can
use!"

The boys withdrew into a thicket, as they did not wish to be seen by the
Spaniards, and watched closely. The soldiers continued to reload and fire
and uttered shouts of joy whenever a buffalo fell. Transported by
excitement they scattered, and one man ran down near Paul and Henry,
detaching himself unconsciously from the rest of his comrades.

This Spaniard was young and athletic, and he fired at a huge bull. Had he
been an experienced hunter, he would have known better, as the bull was
too big and tough to eat, and he was also one of the savage guardians of
the herd. Moreover, the Spaniards were armed mostly with muskets, a weapon
far inferior to the Kentucky rifle.

This great bull stung in the flank, but stung only, uttered a roar of
pain, and, sharp horns down, charged directly upon the young Spaniard. He
was a terrifying sight as he tore up the grass of the prairie, his red
eyes flaming. The Spaniard, appalled, dropped his musket and ran for the
woods, the great beast thundering at his heels, and his hot breath, in
fancy at least, upon his back. Both Paul and Henry at that instant
recognized him. It was one of the unfortunate sentinels. Luiz.

"I'll save him," said Henry, "but keep back, Paul! Don't let him see you!"

The Spaniard was about to reach the edge of the wood, but another jump
would bring the raging buffalo upon him. His foot caught among some roots
and with a despairing cry he fell upon his face. But as he struck the
ground there was a sharp, lashing report, far different from the dull boom
of a musket, and the great animal suddenly ploughed forward on his head.
So violent was his plunge, as he was stricken in mid-charge, that his neck
was broken, and, after his crashing fall, he lay quite still.

The young Spaniard, Luiz, sprang to his feet unharmed, and he was
confronted by a figure that startled him, the figure of a very tall and
powerful youth, clad wholly in deerskin, leaning on a long, slender
barreled Kentucky rifle, and looking at him contemplatively. So sudden was
his appearance and so fixed his gaze that Luiz, although joyful over his
escape from death, was startled and awed. His adventure of a few nights
before when he was seized, bound, and gagged by unseen but powerful hands
had left him shaken, and now his brain was whirling.

The young Spaniard stared at the figure, which neither moved nor spoke,
but which returned his gaze with a fixed look. Was it a spirit, or was it
really one of the Americans? But whatever it was, it had, beyond a doubt,
saved his life, and deep down in his Spanish heart he was not ungrateful.

"Thanks, Señor!" he stammered. "Your shot--it came just in time!"

The apparition spoke, but only a few words.

"We are your friends, not your enemies, don't forget," it said, and the
startled Luiz rubbed his eyes. The figure of the great youth was gone. It
had been there and then it was not there, and only some bushes, waving
slightly, told where it had been. He regained his musket, and, still
bewildered, rejoined his comrades to tell them a story that they did not
more than half believe.

Henry, laughing a little, returned to Paul. It had been a simple trick. He
had merely darted away among the bushes, while Luiz was still in a daze.

"I did not want to see the man killed," he said, "and maybe we have sowed
a good seed, that will grow up in time, and produce something."

"It may be," added Paul.

They went a little farther into the forest and watched the Spaniards
finish their hunt, gather up as much of their game as they could carry,
and depart. When they were well out of sight, Henry and Paul went to a
slain cow that the soldiers had neglected, cut out some of the choicest
portions, and took the way to their own camp.

"I think the Spaniards are likely to be disturbed over what has happened,"
said Henry.

In fact, the shiftless one, who was the scout the following night,
returned with a story that the Spanish camp was greatly agitated. Braxton
Wyatt and Alvarez were positive that the five were still lingering
somewhere near, but the uneducated soldiers were not sure that a spirit
was not lurking in the wilderness. It might be a beneficent spirit, as it
had saved Luiz, but, on the other hand, it had taken away the American
prisoner, and they were afraid of the unknown and mysterious. These vast,
dark woods were so different from the open and sunny plains of Spain,
where a man knew what to expect, that they were inspired with awe.

Yet Alvarez would not move, so Shif'less Sol reported. He seemed to be
still waiting for something, and on the following night Henry, Paul, and
Shif'less Sol went forth to watch the Spanish camp again.

"I've a feelin' in me," said the shiftless one, "that somethin' is goin'
to happen to-night. I often have these feelin's, omens some people call
'em, min'-readin' other people say. I notice that I gena'lly have 'em jest
about when all the circumstances show that things are comm' to a head,
jest ez ef Paul here wuz to feel along about 6 or 7 o'clock in the
afternoon that sundown couldn't be fur away. You can't beat it. Now when
I've gone fifteen or eighteen hours without food I have a feelin'--an'
it's a strong one, too--that I'm goin' to be hungry, an' I'm sca'cely ever
mistook, jest ez I've got a feelin' when the skies are filled with big
black clouds that it's liable to rain purty soon. I tell you, Paul, it's a
great thing to have this here power you call second sight."

The three walked steadily on in Indian file through the forest, their
trained feet making no sound among the trunks and brushes. The night was
dark, just suited to their purpose, and clouds floated up to dim the
skies. No stars came out, and the moon was hidden. By and bye the wind
rose, and dashes of rain were whipped into their faces.

But the three did not mind. Such things as these had become trifles to
them long since. Henry led with sure step, Shif'less Sol came next, and
Paul brought up the rear. Henry stopped after a while, and sank down
among the bushes. The other two did likewise, and, after a little pause in
which they heard nothing, they began to creep forward, taking the utmost
care to make not even the slightest sound. They saw presently through the
trees and bushes a faint red shade that grew fast to a glow and then to a
glare.

Henry stopped, sank lower, and beckoned to his comrades. They crept to his
side and looked over a steep little cliff directly upon the Spanish camp.
Most of the soldiers were grouped about a large camp fire, and Francisco
Alvarez was among them in a place of honor.

Hidden in the deep shrubbery the three occupied points of vantage, and,
while secure from observation themselves, they could easily see all that
passed in the glade. Several tents had been set, although the flaps were
wide open and within one of these sat Francisco Alvarez in all the
gorgeous attire of a Spanish officer, most fastidious in his taste. The
gold on his uniform glittered, the lace on his cuffs was snowy and fresh,
and the polished hilt of his small sword gleamed in the firelight. He had
the air of one who expected distinguished guests.

"Now I wonder what has become of Braxton Wyatt," whispered Paul. Nowhere
could he see a sign of the renegade.

"He is coming," whispered Henry, who had what Shif'less Sol would have
called an intuition.

Two of the Spaniards heaped more wood upon the fire. The logs crackled
and blazed merrily, casting long tongues of flame across the glade, and
sending a grateful heat into the veins of the warm-blooded Southerners.
The flurries of rain ceased, and the skies brightened a little. A star or
two peeped out.

"Ah!" said Henry in the lowest of whispers, "here they come!"

The bushes at the far side of the glade parted and three figures came into
the open. They took but two or three steps forward and then stopped full
in the blaze of the firelight, where every feature showed like carving in
the red glow.

The hidden watchers recognized at once the three who had come. They were
Braxton Wyatt, Yellow Panther the Miami chief, and Red Eagle the Shawnee
chief. Paul repressed a little cry of amazement that he should see the two
Indian leaders so far from the territory of their tribes. They must intend
much to come such a journey.

Braxton Wyatt stepped back a little, as if having performed his function
of guide he would now remain awhile in the background, but the two great
chiefs stood motionless, side by side, magnificent specimens of savage
life, bronze of skin, tall of figure, powerful of chest, thin, eagle-like
faces, and defiant scalp-locks waving above. The imaginative Paul, seeing
how well they fitted into the wilderness scene, was forced to admire. The
firelight flickered and blazed over them, but they were immovable in all
their savage dignity. Henry put his hand upon Paul's shoulder, and pressed
gently. It was an intimation to look with all his eyes and listen with
all attention. But Paul did not need the hint.

Francisco Alvarez also was impressed. He loved the towns and luxury, but
he had acuteness and perception, and he knew that these were strong men of
their kind, men with whom he must deal according to the courtesy of the
woods. He rose from his tent, bowed to them, and walked forward. He
himself was a splendid figure in his gorgeous uniform, and his carriage
was marked by dignity.

"Now see them salute," whispered the shiftless one in Paul's ear.

Braxton Wyatt stepped forward again, produced a pipe with a beautifully
carved horn handle, and filled it carefully with tobacco, which he lighted
with a coal from the fire. Then he handed it to Red Eagle, who was the
older of the chiefs, and Red Eagle gravely took a half dozen whiffs. Then
he passed it to Yellow Panther, who did likewise, and the chief in his
turn handed it to the Spanish commander. Alvarez smoked gravely for a half
minute, and then Braxton Wyatt took the pipe.

"Now for the big confab," whispered Sol.

Fine buffalo robes were spread before the fire, and the three leaders and
Braxton Wyatt sat upon them. All others kept at a respectful distance. The
four began to talk and, although only an occasional word reached the
watching three, they knew too well their subject of converse. It was the
great conspiracy to draw the Spanish from Louisiana into an attack upon
the infant settlements, upon the ground that they were or would be
interlopers. It was cannon that the assailants needed to smash the block
houses, and cannon in abundance could be brought on the great rivers from
New Orleans.

The watchers presently saw Braxton Wyatt take a small parcel from the
inside of his deerskin hunting shirt. He unfolded the parcel and the
watchers could see that it consisted of large pieces of the finest, tanned
deerskin.

"Maps," said Paul intuitively. "That scoundrel, Braxton Wyatt, has made
them for the aid of the Spanish, and to disclose all our weak points!"

The fire blazed higher and they could see that on the white deerskin were
drawn lines in colored pigment, and the rest they guessed. It was true
enough. Braxton Wyatt, no mean draughtsman, had drawn, with the most
elaborate care and attention to detail, maps on a large scale of every one
of the infant settlements. There was nothing about Wareville in particular
that he did not show, and he also designated all the rivers, hills, and
valleys as far as they were known. With such aid a Spanish force, backed
by cannon and the warriors, must triumph over every post in Kentucky.

"I never thought of this," whispered Paul. Henry merely pressed his
shoulder again to indicate that they were ready to deal with it, if man
could.

The three watchers remained there more than an hour, and Alvarez, Wyatt,
and the chiefs still discussed the maps with every appearance of
agreement, bending their heads over them, and now and then disclosing
eager faces, as they lifted them in the firelight.

"Alvarez wants to help them," whispered Paul. "He hates us, and, if he
can, he will commit the Governor of Louisiana to the Indian alliance."

"Beyond a doubt," replied Henry, "and so it's not worth while for us to
wait here any longer."

They slid away in the dark and returned to their own camp. There Long Jim
and Tom Ross were placidly awaiting them, and they were not at all
surprised at the news. Then the five held another of their conferences.

"I think it likely," said Paul, "that Alvarez will go back at once to New
Orleans. He will tell the Governor there that armed bands of Americans are
trespassing upon Spanish territory and that they must be driven off. He
will come back with cannon and a powerful force to do the driving. That
means war, of course, and an attack upon us in Kentucky. How will the
Governor of New Orleans know whether the fighting is on Spanish territory
or not? And even if Alvarez overstepped the limits he could say that he
was attacked first."

"Of course," said Henry, "and it means that we must follow Alvarez all the
way to New Orleans if necessary, and it may be that we shall have to carry
the message of the Kentuckians to Bernardo Galvez, the Spanish Governor
General himself."

"We're ready," said Shif'less Sol lazily. "I wouldn't mind seein' that
furrin town. I saw a town once when I wuz a little boy. It wuz Baltimore,
an' a pow'ful big place it wuz, most nigh set my head to swimmin'. I
heard tell that ez many ez eight or ten thousand people lived thar. Sounds
impossible but some o' 'em swore it wuz true."

"We'll prepare at once for the journey," said Henry.

All set to work.




CHAPTER IV

TAKING A "GALLEON"


Henry and Shif'less Sol spied upon the Spanish camp again the next day,
and returned with news that the two chiefs had departed, but that Braxton
Wyatt had remained, evidently intending to accompany Alvarez to New
Orleans, where they were sure the Spanish leader now intended going.

"I think, too," said Henry, "that they will break up camp in the morning
and march. I believe that they came up on the Mississippi, and will return
the same way."

"Then they have boats," said Paul in dismay, "and we have none."

"But we can get one," said Henry significantly.

"If you want a thing, jest go an' git it," said Shif'less Sol. "I remember
once when I wuz a leetle bit o' a boy back in the East, I hankered
terribly after some hickory nuts that I knowed wuz in a grove about a mile
from our house. I suffered days an' days o' anguish fur them hickory nuts,
wishin' mighty bad all the time that I had 'em. At the end o' two weeks I
walked over an' got 'em, an' my sufferin' stopped off short."

"That's just what we mean to do about our boat, step over and get it,"
said Henry laughing. But he did not divulge his plan and the others were
content to wait for the event.

As Henry had predicted, the Spanish camp broke up the following morning,
and Alvarez and his force took up a march almost due eastward. They
traveled in an easy fashion, and showed no signs of apprehension, Alvarez
deeming that fifty well-armed men were not in any danger from wandering
tribes. He did not know that five resolute borderers were following
closely behind him, even looking into his camp at night, and knowing every
important thing that he did. Braxton Wyatt may have suspected it, but he
said nothing, aware that it could not be prevented.

The five were well prepared. They carried a large supply of ammunition, a
blanket each, and jerked meat. If their food supplies gave out there was
the forest swarming with game, and they knew that it swarmed in the same
fashion all the way down to New Orleans. They would camp at sunset three
or four miles from the Spaniards, keeping watch the night through, and in
the morning it was easy enough to take up the trail of Alvarez and his
men, which, to their experienced eyes, was like a high road leading
through the forest.

One evening just as the sun was setting Henry parted some twining bushes
and looked over a cliff. The others came to his side and they, too, looked
as he was looking.

At their very feet lay the mighty Mississippi. They had seen it before,
but it was never so impressive as now. Great at any time it was in spring
flood, rolling a vast, yellow current down toward the Gulf. The waters
overflowed on the low, eastern shore, and it was so far across that they
could not see the further bank in the shadowed evening. The setting sun,
nevertheless, lighted up the middle of the current with blood-red gleams,
and the five gazed with a certain awe at the mighty stream, as it flowed
ever onward. It was the highly imaginative Paul who was impressed the
most.

"We know where it goes to," he said, "but I wonder where it comes from."

Henry waved his hand vaguely toward the North.

"Up there somewhere," he said, "a thousand miles from here, or maybe two
thousand. Nobody can tell."

Paul did not say anything more, but continued to gaze at the vast, yellow
current of the Mississippi, coming out of the unknown regions of the far
north and flowing into lands of the far south, almost as mysterious and,
vague, once belonging to France but now owning the lordship of Spain. It
was the homely language of Shif'less Sol that recalled him from his
dreams.

"It's purty big out thar, an' looks ez if you couldn't tamper with
it--this here river stands no foolin'--but do you know, Paul, water's
pow'ful friendly. It's always travelin' about, always on the move. Land
stands still, it's always thar, an' never sees nothin' new, but water
jest keeps a' movin', seein' new countries, here to-day, somewhar else
to-morrow, lavin' new banks, breathin' new air, floatin' peacefully on to
new people, gatherin' in their talk an' ways.

"Jest think! This river comes out o' we don't know whar, sees all the
wilderness, whispers to the bars and buffaloes an' Injun tribes ez it goes
by, takes a look at us standin' here on the bank, an', after wonderin'
what we're about, slips on down hundreds o' miles to Louisianny, gazin' at
the French thar on the bank at New Orleans, an' then shoots out into the
sea."

"Thar to be lost," said the unpoetical Long Jim.

"Not to be lost, never to be lost, Jim," said Shif'less Sol earnestly.
"That Missip. water is still thar in the sea, an' it goes slippin' an'
slidin' along with the salt clean to all them old continents. It takes a
look in at England, that's fightin' us in the East, an' if the English
could understand the water's language it might tell 'em a lot o' things
that wuz wuth their knowin'. An' then it goes on to Spain an' France an'
Germany, whar they talk all them useless tongues, an' after a while it
takes a whirl clean 'roun' Africa an' Asia, an' sees goodness knows what,
an' then goes slippin' off to see islands in oceans that I ain't ever
heard tell on. Jumpin' Jehoshaphat but ain't that a movin' an' stirrin'
life fur ye!"

Sol drew a deep breath and Paul looked at him with shining eyes.

"You've said a good deal of what I was thinking, Sol," he said, "but for
which I couldn't find words."

"We're likely to travel with the river for a while," said Tom Ross, "an'
we must purvide a way."

"We'll do it soon," said Henry.

They camped that night in a dense grove near the bank but they built no
fire. After midnight Henry and Shif'less Sol slipped away and went
northward.

"'Bout four miles on we'll strike them Spaniards," said the shiftless one.

It was a close calculation, as at the end of the four miles they saw the
light of a fire flaring through the trees and bushes and knew that they
had come upon Alvarez and his men. Their camp lay on rather low ground
beside a little bay of the Mississippi, and the keen eyes of the two
woodsmen saw at once that the force of Alvarez had been increased.

"He's got about seventy men whar he had about fifty afore," said Shif'less
Sol as they crept nearer.

"They came on boats as I thought," replied Henry, "and he left a
detachment here with the boats, while he went across country. Maybe he was
on an exploring expedition or something of that kind, when Braxton Wyatt
overtook him with his proposition."

Sol looked at Henry and Henry looked at Sol. A ray of moonlight fell upon
their tanned and stern faces. Then as they looked a twinkle appeared in
the eye of each. The twinkle deepened and the two broke simultaneously
into a soundless laugh.

"We want one of those boats," said Henry.

"We shorely do," said Shif'less Sol.

"We need it in the course of our duty," said Henry.

"We jest can't git along without it," said Shif'less Sol.

"It will be much easier floating down the middle of the Mississippi in a
boat than it will be walking along the bank all the way."

"It will shorely save the feet, an' give a feller time to think, while the
current's doin' the work. It jest suits a lazy man like me."

Again they broke simultaneously into a laugh that contained no sound, but
which was full of mirth.

"It's taking what doesn't belong to us, and we are not at war with the
Spanish," said Henry.

"They tried to hold Paul a prisoner, and they're not at war with us,"
rejoined Sol. "We've got a right to hit back. Besides, we're doin' it to
save a war, and we're only borrowin' their boat fur their own good."

The two, without further ado, made a circuit around the Spanish camp,
coming down on the northern side. There fortunately for them the trees and
bushes were thick to the water's edge, and the shore was very low. In
fact, the river, owing to the flood, overlapped the bushes.

They redoubled their caution, using every art and device of woodcraft to
approach without noise. They could see the flare of the camp fire beyond
the bushes, and now and then they caught sight of a sentinel's head. They
felt amply justified in this attempt, for Alvarez had not only held Paul a
prisoner, but was plotting with the Indian chiefs to slay all the white
people in Kentucky.

"Here are the boats," whispered Henry.

There they were, eight in number, large, strong boats, every one with
several pairs of oars, and tied with ropes to the bushes.

The eyes of Shif'less Sol watered as he gazed.

"They look pow'ful good to a lazy man," he said, "I could shorely sleep
mighty comf'table in one o' them while Jim Hart wuz pullin' at the oars."

"I think the small one at the end nearest to us would just suit our
party," said Henry; "although it has more, it could be handled easily with
a single pair of oars."

"Shorely!" said Shif'less Sol, "but how to git away with it is now the
question."

It was indeed a problem, vexing and likewise dangerous. A sentinel, musket
on shoulder, walked up and down in front of the Spanish navy, and he
seemed to be very wide awake. Moreover, two men slept in each boat.

"We must get that sentinel somehow," said Henry, "not to hurt him, but to
see that he doesn't talk for the next half hour or so."

"What's your idea?" asked the shiftless one.

Henry whispered to him rapidly and Sol grinned with satisfaction.

"Good enough," said the shiftless one. "It'll work," and he crept away
from Henry deep in the bushes a little west of the sentinel. A moment or
two later the Spaniard on watch was startled by a sharp, warning hiss
from the edge of the thicket. He knew very well what made it--a
rattlesnake, a thing that he loathed and feared. He certainly did not want
such a deadly reptile sliding through the grass on his feet, and, clubbing
his musket, he walked forward, looking intently for the venomous thing. He
did not see it at first and all his faculties became absorbed in the
search. Holding the clubbed musket ready for an instant blow he peered
into the grass and short bushes. He was a Spaniard not without courage,
but he was oppressed by the night, the wilderness, the huge river flowing
by, and his feeling that he was far, very far, from Spain. Under the
circumstances, the poisonous hiss inspired him with an intense dread and
he was eager to slay. He leaned a little farther, swinging the musket butt
back and forth, ready for a quick blow when he should see the target.

He did not hear a light step behind him, but he did feel a powerful arm
grasp him around the waist, pinning his own arms to his side, while a hand
was clasped over his mouth, checking the ready cry that could not pass his
lips. Then before his starting eyes a figure rose out of the bushes whence
the hiss had come. It was not that of a rattlesnake, but that of a man, a
tall man with powerful shoulders, blue eyes, and yellow hair, undoubtedly
one of the ferocious Americans.

The sentinel felt that his hour had come, and he began to patter his
prayers in his throat, but the two Americans, the one before him, and the
one who had grasped him from behind, did not slay him at once. Instead
they said words together in their harsh tongue. Then they tore pieces from
the sentinel's clothing, made a wad of it and pressed it into his mouth.
They also tied a strip from the same clothing over his mouth and behind
his head, and, still despoiling his clothing, they bound him hand and foot
and laid him in the bushes, where he was invisible to his comrades and
could only see a sky in which a few dim stars danced. But on the whole he
was glad. They had not killed him as he had expected, and the gag in his
mouth was soft. Moreover, his comrades would surely find him in time and
release him.

Henry and Shif'less Sol turned away and smiled again at each other.

"Not much trouble, that," whispered the shiftless one. "He wuz shorely a
skeered Spaniard ef I kin read a man's face. Guess he wuz glad to get off
ez easy ez he did. Now fur the boat!"

"Here we are," said Henry. "We must pitch out the two men sleeping in
it--you take one and I'll take the other--and then we must seize the oars
and pull like mad, because the whole camp will be up."

The boat was tied with a rope to a stout sapling and two Spanish soldiers
slumbered in great peace inside. The oars lay beside them. Henry cut the
rope with one sweep of his long-bladed hunting-knife, and then he and
Shif'less Sol sprang into the boat. Each seized a man by the shoulders and
lifted him in his powerful arms. It was a chance that one of the sleepers
was Luiz, and, when he was snatched suddenly from blissful dreams to
somber fact, he opened his eyes to see bending over him the same grave,
tanned being who had rescued him from the raging buffalo.

But it was not a beneficent spirit, because Luiz was tossed bodily the
next moment into three feet of muddy water. He uttered a cry of terror and
despair as he went down, and another Spaniard uttered a similar cry at the
same moment. Both cries were cut off short by mouthfuls of the
Mississippi, but the two Spaniards came up a moment later, and began to
wade hastily to the shore. Each cast a frightened glance behind him, and
saw their boat disappearing on the river's bosom, carrying the two evil
spirits with it.

"I shorely enjoyed that," said Shif'less Sol, as the oars bent beneath his
powerful stroke. "That Spaniard's face as he woke up an' found hisself
whirled out into the Mississippi wuz the funniest thing I ever seed, an' I
had the fun, too, without hurting him. It ain't often, Paul, that you kin
do what you need to do an' be full o' laugh, too, an' so when the time
comes I make the most o' it."

"It was worth seeing," said Henry, "and we've been in great luck, too.
There, hear 'em! They've got the water out of their mouths and are giving
tongue again! Pull, Sol! Pull!"

Loud shouts came from the sentinels who had risen from their bath and it
was followed by cries in the Spanish camp. Torches flared, there was the
sound of running footsteps, and dusky figures appeared at the river's
bank.

"Pull, Sol! Pull!" exhorted Henry again. "We're not yet out of range!"

Shots were fired and bullets pattered on the water but none reached the
boat. They heard angry cries, imprecations, and they saw one figure
apparently giving commands, which they were sure was that of Francisco
Alvarez.

"Now if they had our Kentucky rifles and real marksmen," said Shif'less
Sol, "they could pick you an' me off without any trouble. Thar's light
enough. But with them old bell-mouthed muskets they can't do much. No,
Henry, we're bold pirates on the high seas an' we've been an' took a
Spanish gall-yun--ain't that what they call their treasure ships? 'Pears
to me, Henry, I kinder like bein' a pirate, 'specially when you do the
takin', an' ain't took yourself."

"That's so," laughed Henry, "but we'd better keep pulling, Sol, with all
our might. They're sure to pursue, and, as they have plenty of men for the
oars we need all the start that we can get."

They were well out in the middle of the stream now, and the deep, powerful
current of the Mississippi was aiding them greatly, but both glanced back.
The shore was lined with men and another volley was fired. All the bullets
fell short, and Shif'less Sol laughed contemptuously.

"Now they are beginnin' the pursuit," he said.

Four boats had been cut loose, and, filled with Spaniards, they were
pushed from the bank. Henry turned the prow of their own boat until it
bore in a slanting direction toward the eastern shore.

"What's your plan?" asked the shiftless one.

"The river, you know, has overflowed on the eastern shore over there for
three or four miles; we must lose ourselves in the forest on that side."

"An' let 'em pass us?"

"That's just it. We want 'em to go on ahead of us to Louisiana, while we
follow. Besides we've got to pick up Paul and Jim and Tom."

Shouts arose from the pursuers and more shots were fired, but they were
still beyond the range of the Spanish muskets and the two were untouched.
They were not even alarmed.

"There's a lot of confusion in the boats," said Henry, who looked back
again with a critical eye, "and as they don't pull together they're not
gaining. The night is also growing darker and that helps us, too. Keep it
up, Sol!"

"All right," said the shiftless one, increasing his stroke. "It's fine to
be a pirate, Henry. Wonder why I never tried it afore! But I believe I'll
always be a pirate at night when you've got more chance to git away."

"You're right as usual, Sol," said Henry as he, too, increased his stroke.

They pulled away for some time without further words, and the pursuers,
also, settled into silence save for an encouraging shout now and then to
the rowers. Henry thought that he discerned both Alvarez and Braxton
Wyatt in the foremost boat and he could imagine the rage and chagrin of
both.

"I believe they're gaining," he said presently to Sol.

"Yes," replied the shiftless one, "that big boat thar is creepin' up."

"Crack!" came a report and a bullet embedded itself in the stout wood of
their own boat. Both recognized the report. It was not that of a Spanish
musket, but the lashing fire of a Kentucky rifle like their own.

"That was Braxton Wyatt," said Henry. "I thought I could make him out in
that boat. He's got a rifle that reaches and he's a danger."

"Why don't you talk back?" asked Shif'less Sol.

"I will," replied Henry. "We're not at war with Spain, but we are surely
at war with Braxton Wyatt. I think the second man in the boat is Braxton.
Hold her steady just a second, Sol."

Henry shipped his oars, knelt a moment, and up went the long, slender
barrel of his Kentucky rifle. As he looked down the sight he was sure that
the man at whom he was aiming was Braxton Wyatt, and he was sure,
moreover, that he would not miss. But a feeling for which he could not
account made him deflect slightly the muzzle of his weapon.

Braxton Wyatt richly deserved death for crimes already done and he would
be, as long as he lived, a deadly menace to the border. But Henry felt
that he could not be both judge and executioner. He and Braxton Wyatt had
been young boys together. So, when he deflected the muzzle of his rifle,
it was to turn the bullet from his heart to his arm.

The rifle flashed, the sharp report echoed over the flowing waters, and a
cry of pain came from the pursuing boat, which quickly slackened its
speed.

"I hit him in the arm only," said Henry.

Shif'less Sol glanced at his comrade and he understood, but he made no
criticism.

"Ef you've stung him in the arm," he said, "it ain't likely that he kin
use that rifle o' his ag'in, an' I notice, too, since you shot that them
oarsmen ain't burnin' up with zeal. Now you row, Henry, while I plunk a
bullet in among 'em, an' they'll burn less than ever."

Shif'less Sol fired. He did not shoot to kill, but his bullet whistled
unpleasantly near the heads of the rowers, and, as he had predicted, they
rapidly lost zeal. The captured boat slid swiftly ahead.

"Here we are among the trees," said Henry. "Now, Sol, keep on rowing and
I'll look out that we don't run into anything."

The swollen waters rose far up on the trunks of the trees, which grew
thickly here, and Sol rowed slowly, making no noise save a slight ripple,
while Henry pushed the prow of the boat away from the trunks and the
bushes. It was very dark here and in a few minutes the pursuing boats were
shut out of sight.

"Thar ain't eyes enough in that Spanish camp to find us now," said
Shif'less Sol.

But they rowed deeper and deeper into the forest, and then, in a cluster
of trees where they could not be seen ten feet away, they stopped and
listened. Not a sound but the lapping of the water came to their ears.

"We'll take a good rest and then row Northward, still keeping in the
forest," said Henry.

They shipped their oars and drew long, deep breaths of relief and
satisfaction.

"Henry," said Shif'less Sol presently in a tone of great exultation, "have
you noticed that this is a shore enough gall-yun that we've took? We
didn't know it, but we jest boarded and sailed away with a real treasure
ship. Look!"

He opened a locker and took out two fine ornamented guns.

"What are these?" he said.

"Why, those are fowling pieces," replied Henry, "and they are of the very
best English make. We'll certainly borrow those, Sol."

"Yes, an' this end o' the locker is full o' powder an' shot fur 'em.
Thar's no lack o' ammunition, an' look here, Henry, at these!"

He took out of another locker three beautiful rapiers with polished hilts
and decorated scabbards.

"Spaniards like sech tools ez these," continued the shiftless one, "an'
they're mighty purty to look at, but ez fur me give me my good old
Kentucky rifle. At a hundred yards what chance would them things have
ag'in me?"

"We'll borrow them, too," said Henry. "We may have a use for them later
on. They're weapons that never have to be reloaded."

Sol drew forth one of the small swords and held it up. A shaft of
moonlight fell across the blade, and showed the keen edge.

"They're such fine weepins they must hev belonged to that thar Spanish
commander hisself," he said. "After all, a thing like this mightn't be bad
when you come to it right close. Mebbe Paul could handle it. You know Mr.
Pennypacker used to teach him how to swing the sword. This is how it goes:
Ah, ha! Sa ha! touched you thar! How's that my hearty!"

Shif'less Sol lunged at the night air, slashed, cut, swept his sword
around in circles, and then laughed again. But none of his exclamations
was uttered above a whisper. Henry was forced to smile.

"Put it down, Sol," he said, "and let's see what else we've got. It may be
that we've taken Alvarez's own private boat."

Sol opened the locker again, and held up a curiously shaped stone jug,
which he contemplated for a few moments. Then he took out the stopper,
smelled the contents, and looked appreciatively at his comrade.

"Henry," he said, "I'm going to risk it."

"It's no risk."

Sol turned the jug up to his lips, took a mouthful, which he held for a
moment or two, and then swallowed. After waiting a half minute he uttered
a deep sigh of content, and rubbed his chest.

"It tasted good all the way down, Henry," he said. "Here's something writ
over the label, but I guess it's Spanish, another o' them useless
tongues, an' so it tells nothin'."

"Put it back," said Henry. "It's some of those fancy liquors, but we'll
keep it for times when we're wet or cold or tired out."

"All right," said Sol, "an' here's three more little jugs like it."

"What else do you find?" asked Henry.

"Oh, look at these, will you!" exclaimed Sol, holding up two splendid
double barreled duelling pistols of Spanish make.

"Now I'm sure that this is the boat of Alvarez himself," said Henry. "Such
fine things as these could belong only to the Commander. Those are
duelling pistols, Sol, but they can be made mighty useful, too, for our
defense in case of a pinch. We'll keep them, too."

The shiftless one put them back and opening another locker uttered a
little cry of delight.

"A hull carpenter shop!" he exclaimed. "Jest look, Henry! A fine axe,
hammers an' hatchets, an' saws an' augers an' a lot o' other things
pow'ful useful to fellers like us that have to cut an' bore their own way
out here in the woods. This is shorely one o' them gall-yuns that Paul
tells us about, an' I guess we're about ez highfalutin' an lucky pirates
ez any o' them."

"You're right, Sol," said Henry. "This boat is a great find, and it's
lawful prize as they began the war upon us by seizing Paul. Keep on
looking, Sol."

"Here's some beautiful blankets," continued the shiftless one. "Guess they
were made to trade with the Injuns. But it's more'n likely that this here
most gorg-y-us one will, on occasions, shelter, warm, purtect an'
otherwise care fur the deservin' body o' one Solomon Hyde, a highly
valooable citizen o' the new country they call Kentucky. An' say, Henry,
what do you call this?"

His voice took a rapidly rising inflection, as he held up a glittering
garment, puffed with magnificent lace.

"That," said Henry, "is what they call a doublet, and I should say that it
is the finest one belonging to Captain Alvarez. Oh, won't he be angry!"

Sol slipped off his hunting shirt, and slipped on the doublet.

"It's a little tight in the shoulders," he said, "but I could wear it in a
pinch, that is, I guess I'd hev to wear it in a pinch. Say, Henry, ain't I
a beauty?"

He stood up in the boat and turned slowly around and around, his arms
extended and the doublet glittering. Henry leaned against the side of the
boat and laughed.

"It doesn't suit you, Sol," he replied, "you're a fine looking man, but
it's in your own way, not the Spanish way."

Sol took off the garment, folded it up carefully, and put it back in the
locker.

"Anyway, I'm goin' to claim it," he said. "I want it to make Jim Hart
jealous. An', Henry, thar's a lot more things here, a little tent all
rolled up, some bottles o' medicine, some more clothes, two big bottles
o' brandy, and a whole lot o' house-keepin' truck, like pins an' needles
an' thread, an' them things that kin be pow'ful useful to us on a long
journey. An' jumpin' Jehoshaphat, Henry, here's a little bag o' silver an'
gold!"

"Put that back!" said Henry hastily. "Put it back, Sol! Their goods we'll
borrow as fair spoil, but we won't touch their money. Put it back and none
of us will ever take that bag out again."

"You're right, Henry," said Sol soberly. "I wouldn't handle a single coin
in that bag thar. Here she goes right under the bottom o' everything in
this locker, an' thar she'll stay. But, Henry, our gall-yun is the biggest
find we ever made in our lives. I never dreamed o' travelin' in sech style
an' comfort down the Mississippi."

"Do you think it's going to grow lighter?" asked Henry.

"No," replied Sol decidedly. "It's been a shy kind o' moon to-night, an'
it's a gittin' so much shyer that it's plumb afraid to show its face. In
three minutes it will hide behind a big cloud that's edgin' up over thar,
an' we won't see it no more to-night."

"Then we'll pull down to the edge of the woods and see if the Spaniards
have given up the chase."

"An' be keerful not to run into any snags or sech like. We don't want to
wreck a magnificent gall-yun like this when we've got her."

They had been lying in the flooded forest about two hours, and now they
pulled very cautiously toward the main stream. It was a large boat for
two men, however strong, to handle, but they got through without colliding
with snag or tree trunk, or making any noise that could be heard a dozen
yards away.




CHAPTER V

ON THE GREAT RIVER


They remained just within the edge of the forest, but, despite the lack of
moonlight, they could see far over the surface of the river. It seemed to
be an absolutely clean sweep of waters, as free from boats as if man had
never come, but, after long looking, Henry thought that he could detect a
half dozen specks moving southward. It was only for a moment, and then the
specks were gone.

"I'm sure it was the Spanish boats," said Henry, "and I think they've
given up the hunt."

"More'n likely," said Sol, "an' I guess it's about time fur us to pull
across an' pick up Paul an' Tom an' Jim. They'll wonder what hez become o'
us. An' say, Henry, won't they be s'prised to see us come proudly sailin'
into port in our gran' big gall-yun, all loaded down with arms an'
supplies an' treasures that we hev captured?"

Sol spoke in a tone of deep content, and Henry replied in the same tone:

"If they don't they've changed mightily since we left 'em."

Both, in truth, were pervaded with satisfaction. They felt that they had
never done a better night's work. They had a splendid boat filled with the
most useful supplies. As Sol truthfully said, it was one thing to walk a
thousand miles through the woods to New Orleans and another to float down
on the current in a comfortable boat. They had cause for their deep
satisfaction.

They pulled with strong, steady strokes across the Mississippi, taking a
diagonal course, and they stopped now and then to look for a possible
enemy. But they saw nothing, and at last their boat touched the western
shore. Here Sol uttered their favorite signal, the cry of the wolf, and it
was quickly answered from the brush.

"They're all right," said Henry, and presently they heard the light
footsteps of the three coming fast.

"Here, Paul, here we are!" called out Sol a few moments later, "an' min',
Paul, that your moccasins are clean. We don't allow no dirty footsteps on
this magnificent, silver-plated gall-yun o' ours, an' ez fur Jim Hart, ef
the Mississippi wuzn't so muddy I'd make him take a bath afore he come
aboard."

Henry and the shiftless one certainly enjoyed the surprise of their
comrades who stood staring.

"I suppose you cut her out, took her from the Spaniards?" said Paul.

"We shorely did," replied Sol, "an', Paul, she's a shore enough gall-yun,
one o' the kind you told us them Spaniards had, 'cause she's full o' good
things. Jest come on board an' look."

The three were quickly on the boat and they followed Sol with surprise and
delight, as he showed them their new treasures one by one.

"You've named her right, Sol," said Paul. "She is a galleon to us, sure
enough, and that's what we'll call her, 'The Galleon.' When we have time,
Sol, you and I will cut that name on her with our knives."

They tied their boat to a sapling and kept the oars and themselves aboard.
Tom Ross volunteered to keep the watch for the few hours that were left of
the night. The others disposed themselves comfortably in the boat, wrapped
their bodies in the beautiful new Spanish blankets, and were soon sound
asleep.

Tom sat in the prow of the boat, his rifle across his knees, and his keen
hunting knife by his side. At the first sign of danger from shore he could
cut the rope with a single slash of his knife and push the boat far out
into the current.

But there was no indication of danger nor did the indefinable sixth sense,
that came of long habit and training, warn him of any. Instead, it
remained a peaceful night, though dark, and Tom looked contemplatively at
his comrades. He was the oldest of the little party and a man of few
words, but he was deeply attached to his four faithful comrades. Silently
he gave thanks that his lot was cast with those whom he liked so well.

The night passed away and up came a beautiful dawn of rose and gold. Tom
Ross awakened his comrades.

"The day is here," he said, "an' we must be up an' doin' ef we're goin' to
keep on the trail o' them Spanish fellers."

"All right," said Shif'less Sol, opening his eyes. "Jim Hart, is my
breakfus ready? Ef so, you kin jest bring it to me while I'm layin' here
an' I'll eat it in bed."

"Your breakfus ready!" replied Jim Hart indignantly. "What sort uv
nonsense are you talkin' now, Sol Hyde?"

"Why, ain't you the ship's cook?" said Sol in a hurt tone, "an' oughtn't
you to be proud o' bein' head cook on a splendiferous new gall-yun like
this? I'd a-thought, Jim, you'd be so full o' enthusiasm over bein'
promoted that you'd have had ready fur us the grandest breakfus that wuz
ever cooked by a mortal man fur mortal men. It wuz sech a fine chance fur
you."

"I think we can risk a fire," said Henry. "The Spaniards are far out of
sight, and warm food will be good for us."

After they had eaten, Henry poured a few drops of the Spanish liquor for
each in a small silver cup that he found in one of the lockers.

"That will hearten us up," he said, but directly after they drank it Paul,
who had been making an exploration of his own on the boat, uttered a cry
of joy.

"Coffee!" he said, as he dragged a bag from under a seat, "and here is a
pot to boil it in."

"More treasures," said Sol gleefully. "That wuz shorely a good night's
work you an' me done, Henry!"

There was nothing to do but boil a pot of the coffee then and there, and
each had a long, delicious drink. Coffee and tea were so rare in the
wilderness that they were valued like precious treasures. Then they packed
their things and started, pulling out into the middle of the stream and
giving the current only a little assistance with the oars.

"One thing is shore," said Shif'less Sol, lolling luxuriously on a locker,
"that Spanish gang can't git away from us. All we've got to do is to float
along ez easy ez you please, an' we'll find 'em right in the middle o' the
road."

"It does beat walkin'," said Jim Hart, with equal content, "but this is
shorely a pow'ful big river. I never seed so much muddy water afore in my
life."

"It's a good river, a kind river," said Paul, "because it's taking us
right to its bosom, and carrying us on where we want to go with but little
trouble to us."

It was to Paul, the most imaginative of them all, to whom the mighty river
made the greatest appeal. It seemed beneficent and kindly to him, a friend
in need. Nature, Paul thought, had often come to their assistance,
watching over them, as it were, and helping them when they were weakest.
And, in truth, what they saw that morning was enough to inspire a bold
young wilderness rover.

The river turned from yellow to a lighter tint in the brilliant sunlight.
Little waves raised by the wind ran across the slowly-flowing current. As
far as they could see the stream extended to eastward, carried by the
flood deep into the forest. The air was crisp, with the sparkle of spring,
and all the adventurers rejoiced.

Now and then great flocks of wild fowl, ducks and geese, flew over the
river, and they were so little used to man that more than once they passed
close to the boat.

"The Spaniards are too far away to hear," said Henry, "and the next time
any wild ducks come near I'm going to try one of these fowling pieces. We
need fresh ducks, anyway."

He took out a fowling piece, loaded it carefully with the powder and shot
that the locker furnished in abundance and waited his time. By and by a
flock of wild ducks flew near and Henry fired into the midst of them.
Three lay floating on the water after the shot, and when they took them in
Long Jim Hart, a master on all such subjects, pronounced them to be of a
highly edible variety.

Paul, meanwhile, took out one of the small swords and examined it
critically.

"It is certainly a fine one," he said, "I suppose it's what they call a
Toledo blade in Spain, the finest that they make."

"Could you do much with it, Paul?" asked Shif'less Sol.

"I could," replied Paul confidently. "Mr. Pennypacker served in the great
French war. He was at the taking of Quebec, and he learned the use of the
sword from good masters. He's taught me all the tricks."

"Maybe, then," said Sol laughing, "you'll have to fight Alvarez with one
o' them stickers. Ef sech a combat is on it'll fall to you, Paul. The rest
of us are handier with rifle an' knife."

"It's never likely to happen," said Paul.

The morning passed peacefully on, and the glory of the heavens was
undimmed. The river was a vast, murmuring stream, and the five voyagers
felt that, for the present, their task was an easy one. A single man at
the oars was sufficient to keep the boat moving as fast as they wished,
and the rest occupied themselves with details that might provide for a
future need.

Paul brought out one of the beautiful small swords again, and fenced
vigorously with an imaginary antagonist. Jim Hart took a captured needle
and thread and began to mend a rent in his attire. Henry lifted the folded
tent from the locker and looked carefully at the cloth.

"I think that with this and a pole or two we might fix up a sail if we
needed it," he said. "We don't know anything about sails, but we can learn
by trying."

Tom Ross was at the oars, but Shif'less Sol lay back on a locker, closed
his eyes, and said:

"Jest wake me up, when we git to New Or-lee-yuns. I could lay here an'
sleep forever, the boat rockin' me to sleep like a cradle."

They saw nothing of the Spanish force, but they knew that such a flotilla
could not evade them. Having no reason to hide, the Spaniards would not
seek to conceal so many boats in the flooded forest. Hence the five felt
perfectly easy on that point. About noon they ran their own boat among the
trees until they reached dry land. Here they lighted a fire and cooked
their ducks, which they found delicious, and then resumed their leisurely
journey.

The afternoon was as peaceful as the morning, but it seemed to the
sensitive imagination of Paul that the wilderness aspect of everything was
deepening. The great flooded river broadened until the line of water and
horizon met, and Paul could easily fancy that they were floating on a
boundless sea. An uncommonly red sun was setting and here and there the
bubbles were touched with fire. Far in the west dark shadows were stealing
up.

"Look," Henry suddenly exclaimed, "I think that the Spanish have gone into
camp for the night!"

He pointed down the stream and toward the western shore, where a thin
spire of smoke was rising.

"It's that, certain," said Tom Ross, "an' I guess we'd better make fur
camp, too."

They pulled toward the eastern shore, in order that the river might be
between them and the Spaniards during the night and soon reached a grove
which stood many feet deep in the water. As they passed under the shelter
of the boughs they took another long look toward the spire of smoke.
Henry, who had the keenest eyes of all, was able to make out the dim
outline of boats tied to the bank, and any lingering doubt that the
Spaniards might not be there was dispelled.

"When they start in the morning we'll start, too," said Henry.

Then they pushed their boat further back into the grove. Night was coming
fast. The sun sank in the bosom of the river, the water turned from yellow
to red and then to black, and the earth lay in darkness.

"I think we'd better tie up here and eat cold food," said Henry.

"An' then sleep," said Shif'less Sol. "That wuz a mighty comf'table
Spanish blanket I had last night an', Jim Hart, I want to tell you that if
you move 'roun' to-night, while you're watchin', please step awful easy,
an' be keerful not to wake me 'cause I'm a light sleeper. I don't like to
be waked up either early or late in the night. Tain't good fur the health.
Makes a feller grow old afore his time."

"Sol," said Henry, who was captain by fitness and universal consent,
"you'll take the watch until about one o'clock in the morning and then
Paul will relieve you."

Jim Hart doubled up his long form with silent laughter, and smote his knee
violently with the palm of his right hand.

"Oh, yes, Sol Hyde," he said, "I'll step lightly, that is, ef I happen to
be walkin' 'roun' in my sleep, an' I'll take care not to wake you too
suddenly, Sol Hyde. I wouldn't do it for anything. I don't want to stunt
your growth, an' you already sech a feeble, delicate sort o' creetur, not
able to take nourishment 'ceptin' from a spoon."

"Thar ain't no reward in this world fur a good man," said the shiftless
one in a resigned tone.

They ate quickly, and, as usual, those who did not have to watch wrapped
themselves in their blankets and with equal quickness fell asleep.
Shif'less Sol took his place in the prow of the boat, and his attitude was
much like that of Tom Ross the night before, only lazier and more
graceful. Sol was a fine figure of a young man, drooped in a luxurious and
reclining attitude, his shoulder against the side of the boat, and a roll
of two blankets against his back. His eyes were half closed, and a stray
observer, had there been any, might have thought that he was either asleep
or dreaming.

But the shiftless one, fit son of the wilderness, was never more awake in
his life. The eyes, looking from under the lowered lids, pierced the
forest like those of a cat. He saw and noted every tree trunk within the
range of human vision, and no piece of floating debris on the surface of
the flooded river escaped his attention. His sharp ears heard, too, every
sound in the grove, the rustle of a stray breeze through the new leaves,
or the splash of a fish, as it leaped from the water and sank back again.

The hours dragged after one another, one by one, but Shif'less Sol was not
unhappy. He was really quite willing to keep the watch, and, as Tom Ross
had done, he regarded his sleeping comrades with pride, and all the warmth
of good fellowship.

The night was dark, like its predecessor. The moon's rays fell only in
uneven streaks, and revealed a singular scene, a forest standing knee
deep, as it were, in water.

Shif'less Sol presently took one of the blankets and wrapped it around his
shoulders. A cold damp pervaded the atmosphere, and a fog began to rise
from the river. The shiftless one was a cautious man and he knew the
danger of chills and fever. His comrades were already well wrapped, but he
stepped softly over and drew Paul's blanket a little closer around his
neck. Then he resumed his seat, maintaining his silence.

Shif'less Sol did not like the rising of the river fog. It was thick and
cold, it might be unhealthy, and it hid the view. His circle of vision
steadily narrowed. Tree trunks became ghostly, and then were gone. The
water, seen through the fog, had a pallid, unpleasant color. Eye became of
little use, and it was ear upon which the sentinel must depend.

Shif'less Sol judged that it was about midnight, and he became troubled.
The sixth sense, that comes of acute natural perceptions fortified by long
habit, was giving him warning. It seemed to him that he felt the approach
of something. He raised himself up a little higher and stared anxiously
into the thick mass of white fog. He could make out nothing but a little
patch of water and a few ghostly tree trunks near by. Even the stern of
the boat was half hidden by the fog.

"Wa'al," thought the shiftless one philosophically, "ef it's hard fur me
to find anything it'll be hard fur anything to find us."

But his troubled mind would not be quiet. Philosophy was not a sufficient
reply to the warning of the sixth sense, and, leaning far over the edge of
the boat, he listened with ears long trained to every sound of the
wilderness. He heard only the stray murmur of the wind among the
leaves--and was that a ripple in the water? He strained his ears and
decided that it was either a ripple or the splash of a fish, and he sank
back again in his seat.

Although he had resumed his old position, the shiftless one was not
satisfied. The feeling of apprehension, like a mysterious mental signal,
was not effaced. That thick, whitish fog was surcharged with an alien
quality, and slowly he raised himself up once more. Hark! was it the
ripple again? He rose half to his feet, and instantly his eye caught a
glimpse of something brown upon the edge of the boat. It was a human hand,
the brown, powerful hand of a savage.

The glance of Shif'less Sol followed the hand and saw a brown face
emerging from the water and fog. Quick as a flash he fired. There was a
terrible, unearthly cry, the hand slipped from the boat and the head sank
from view.

"Up! up! boys!" cried Sol in thunderous tones. "We're attacked by swimmin'
savages!"

He snatched up one of the double-barreled pistols and fired at another
head on the water. The others were awake in an instant and rose up, rifles
in hand. But they saw only a splash of blood on the stream that was gone
in a moment, then the thick, whitish fog closed in again, and after that
silence! But they knew Sol too well to doubt him, and the momentary red
splash would have converted even the ignorant.

"Lie low!" exclaimed Henry. "Everybody down behind the sides of the boat!
They may fire at any time!"

The boat was built of thick timber, through which no bullet of that time
could go, and they crouched down, merely peeping over the edges and
presenting scarcely any target. They had their own rifles and the extra
fowling pieces and pistols were made ready, also.

But nothing came from the great pall of whitish fog, and the silence was
chilly and heavy. It was the most uncanny thing in all Paul's experience.
Beyond a doubt they were surrounded by savage enemies, but from which side
they would come, and when, nobody could tell until they were at the very
side of the boat.

"How many did you see, Sol?" whispered Henry.

"Only two, but one of 'em won't ever attack us again."

"The others must be near by in their canoes, and the swimmers may have
been scouts and skirmishers. They know where we are, but we don't know
where they are."

"That's so," said Shif'less Sol, "an' it gives 'em an advantage."

"Which, perhaps, we can take from 'em by moving our own boat."

Henry was about to put his plan into action, but they heard a light splash
in the water to the west, and another to the north. Spots of piercing red
light appeared in the fog, and many rifles cracked. Fortunately, all had
thrown themselves down, and the bullets spent themselves in the wood of
the boat's side. Henry and Sol and Tom fired back at the flashes, but more
rifle shots came out of the fog, and those on the boat had no way of
telling whether any of their bullets had hit.

"I think we'd better hold our fire," whispered Henry between rifle shots.
"It's wasting bullets to shoot at a fog."

The others nodded and waited. A long cry, quavering at first, and then
rising to a fierce top note to die away later in a ferocious, wolfish
whine came through the fog. It was uttered by many throats, and in the
uncanny, whitish gloom it seemed to be on all sides of them. Then shouts
and shots both ceased and the heavy silence came again.

"Now is our time," whispered Henry. "Paul, steer southward. Jim, you and
Tom row, and Sol and I will be ready with the guns. Keep your heads down
as low as you can."

Jim Hart and Tom Ross took the oars, pulling them through the water with
extreme caution and slowness. All knew that sharp ears were listening in
the flooded forest, and the splash of oars would bring the war canoes at
once. But they were determined that the fog which was such a help to
their enemies should be an equal help to them also.

Slowly the heavy boat crept through the water. Paul, at the tiller,
steered with judgment and craft, and his was no light task. Now and then
low boughs were lapped in the water and bushes submerged to their tops
grew in the way. To become tangled in them might be fatal and to scrape
against them would be a signal to their enemies, but Paul steered clear
every time.

They had gone perhaps fifty yards when Henry gave a signal to stop and Jim
and Tom rested on their oars. Then they heard a burst of firing behind
them, and a smile of saturnine triumph spread slowly but completely over
the face of Shif'less Sol.

"They're shootin' at the place whar we wuz, an' whar we ain't now," he
whispered to Henry.

"Yes," Henry whispered back, "they haven't found out yet that we've left,
but they are likely to do it pretty soon. I hope now that this fog will
hang on just as thick as it can. Start up again, boys."

"'Twould be funny," whispered Sol, "ef the savages should find us an'
chase us right into the bosoms o' the Spaniards."

"Yes," replied Henry, "and for that reason I think we'd better bend around
a circle and then go up stream. I'll tell Paul to steer that way."

They went on again, creeping through the white darkness; fifty yards or so
at a time, and then a pause to listen. Henry judged that they were about a
half mile from their original anchorage, when the solemn note of an owl
arose, to be answered by a similar note from another point.

"They've discovered our departure," he whispered, "and they're telling it
to each other. I imagine that their war canoes will now come in a kind of
half circle toward the center of the river. They'll guess that we won't
retreat toward the land, because then we might be hemmed in."

"No doubt of it," replied Sol, "and I think we'd better pull off toward
the north now. Mebbe we kin give 'em the slip."

Henry gave the word and Paul steered the boat in the chosen course. The
forest grew thinner, showing that they were approaching the true stream,
but the fog held fast. After a hundred yards or so they stopped again, and
then they distinctly heard the sound of paddles to their right. It was not
a great splash, but they knew it well. Paul, at the tiller, fancied that
he could see the faces of the savages bending over their paddles. They
were eager, he knew, for their prey, and either chance or instinct had
brought them through the white pall in the right course.

The uncertainty, the fog, and the great mysterious river weighed upon
Paul. He wished, for a moment, that the vapors might lift, and then they
could fight their enemies face to face. He glanced at his own comrades and
they had taken on an unearthly look. Their forms became gigantic and
unreal in the white darkness. As Henry leaned forward to listen better
his figure was distorted like that of a misshapen giant.

"Steer straight toward the north, Paul," he whispered. "We must shake them
off somehow or other."

Silently the boat slid through the water but they heard again those signal
cries, the hoots of the owl and now they were much nearer.

"They must have guessed our course," whispered Henry, "or perhaps they
have heard the splash of an oar now and then. Stop, boys, and let's see if
we can hear their canoes."

Their boat lay under the thick, spreading boughs of some oaks. Paul could
see the branches and twigs showing overhead through the white fog like
lace work, but everything else was invisible twenty feet away. All heard,
however, now and then the faint splash, splash of paddles, perhaps a
hundred yards distant. Henry tried to tell from the sounds how many war
canoes might be in the party, and he hazarded a wild guess of twenty. As
he listened, the splash grew a little louder. Obviously the canoes were
keeping on the right course. Shif'less Sol wet his finger and held it up.
When he took it down he whispered in some alarm to Henry:

"The wind has begun to blow, an' it's shore to rise. It'll blow the fog
away, an' we'll lay in plain sight o' all o' them savages."

Henry's instinct for generalship rose at once and he saw a plan.

"We must keep on for midstream," he said. "We know what direction that
is, and, out in open water, we'd have one advantage even over their
numbers. Theirs are only light canoes, while ours is a big strong boat
that will shelter us from any bullet. Pull away, boys! I'll help Sol keep
up the watch."

The boat once more resumed its progress toward the main current. The wind,
as Sol had predicted, rapidly grew stronger. The deep curtain of fog began
to thin and lighten. Suddenly a canoe appeared through it and then a
second.

A bullet, fired from the first canoe, whizzed dangerously near the head of
Shif'less Sol. He replied instantly, but the light was so uncertain and
tricky that he missed the savage at whom he had aimed. The heavy bullet
instead ploughed through the side and bottom of the bark canoe, which
rapidly filled and sank, leaving its occupants struggling in the water. A
bullet had come from the second canoe, also, but it flew wild, and then
the whitish fog, thick and impenetrable, caught by a contrary current of
wind, closed in again.

"Did you hit anything, Sol?" asked Henry.

"Only a canoe, but I busted it all up, an' they're swimmin' from tree to
tree until they get to the bank."

"Now, boys, pull with all your might!" exclaimed Henry, "and, Paul, you
steer us clear of trees, brush, logs, and snags. They know where we are
and we must get out into the stream, where there's a chance for our
escape."

Then ensued a flight and running combat in a tricky fog that lifted and
closed down over and over again. Henry put down his oars presently and
took up his rifle, but Jim Hart and Tom Ross continued to pull, and Paul
kept a steady hand on the tiller.

Paul's task was the most trying of all. Highly sensitive and imaginative,
this battle rolling along in alternate dusky light and white obscurity,
was to him uncanny and unreal. He saw pink dots of rifle fire in the fog,
he caught glimpses now and then of brown, savage faces or the prow of a
canoe, and then the heavy fog would come down like a blanket again,
shutting out everything.

Paul's hand trembled. Every nerve in him was jumping, but he resolutely
steered the boat while the others rowed and fought. Once he barely grazed
a snag and he shivered, knowing how one of these terrible obstructions
could rip the bottom out of a boat. But soon the trees and bushes almost
disappeared. They were coming into open water. The fog, too, ceased to
close down, and the wind began to blow steadily out of the north. Banks
and streamers of white vapor rolled away toward the south. In a few
minutes it would all be gone. Out of the mists behind them rose the shapes
of war canoes not far away, and the fierce triumphant yell that swept far
over the river sent a chill to Paul's very marrow. Once again rose the
rifle fire, and it was now a rapid and steady crackle, but the bullets
thudded in vain on the thick sides of "The Galleon."

All except Paul now pulled desperately for the middle of the stream, while
he, bending as low as he could, still kept a steady hand on the tiller.
The triumphant shout behind them rose again, and the great stream gave it
back in a weird echo. Paul suddenly uttered a gasp of despair. Directly in
front of them, not thirty yards away, was a large war canoe, crowded with
a dozen savages while behind them came the horde.

"What is it, Paul?" asked Henry.

"A big canoe in front of us full of warriors. We're cut off! No, we're
not! I have it! Bend low! bend low, you fellows, and pull with all the
might that's in you!"

Paul had an inspiration, and his blood was leaping. The rifle shots still
rattled behind them, but, as usual, the bullets buried themselves in the
wood with a sigh, doing no harm. Four pairs of powerful arms and four
powerful shoulders bent suddenly to their task with new strength and
vigor. Paul's words had been electric, thrilling, and every one felt their
impulse instantly. The prow of the heavy boat cut swiftly through the
water, and Paul bent still lower to escape the rifle-shots. No need for
him to choose his course now! The boat was already sent upon its errand.

A wild shout of alarm rose from the war canoe, and the next instant the
prow of "The Galleon" struck it squarely in the middle. There were more
shouts of alarm or pain, a crunching, ripping and breaking of wood, and
then "The Galleon," after its momentary check, went on. The war canoe had
been cut in two, and its late occupants were swimming for their lives.
Not in vain had Paul read in an old Roman history of the battles between
the fleets when galley cut down galley.

Henry, although he did not look up, knew at once what had happened, and he
could not restrain admiration and praise.

"Good for you, Paul!" he cried. "You took us right over the war canoe and
that's what's likely to save us!"

Henry was right. The other canoes, appalled by the disaster, and busy,
too, in picking up the derelicts, hung back. Henry and Shif'less Sol took
advantage of the opportunity, and sent bullet after bullet among them,
aiming more particularly at the light bark canoes. Three filled and began
to sink and their occupants had to be rescued. The utmost confusion and
consternation reigned in the savage fleet, and the distance between it and
"The Galleon" widened rapidly as the latter bore in a diagonal course
across the Mississippi.

"They've had all they want," said Henry, as he laid down his rifle and
took up the oars again, "but it's this big heavy boat that's saved us.
She's been a regular floating fort."

"We took our gall-yun just in time," said Shif'less Sol jubilantly, "an'
she is shore the greatest warship that ever floated on these waters. Oh,
she's a fine boat, a beautiful boat, the reg'lar King o' the seas!"

"Queen, you mean," said Paul, who felt the reaction.

"No, King it is," replied Sol stoutly. "A boat that carries travelers may
be a she, but shorely one that fights like this is a he."

The fog was gone, save for occasional wisps of white mist, but the day had
not yet come, and the night was by no means light. When they looked back
again they could not see any of the Indian canoes. Apparently they had
retreated into the flooded forest. Henry and Sol held a consultation.

"It's hard to pull up stream," said Henry, "and we'd exhaust ourselves
doing it. Besides, if the Indians chose to renew the pursuit, that would
cut us off from our own purpose. We must drop down the river toward the
Spanish camp."

"You're always right, Henry," said the shiftless one with conviction. "The
Spaniards o' course, know nothin' about our fight, ez they wuz much too
fur off to hear the shots, an', ez we go down that way, the savages likely
will think that we belong to the party, which is too strong for them to
attack. This must be some band that Braxton Wyatt don't know nothin'
about. Maybe it's a gang o' southern Indians that's come away up here in
canoes."

The boat swung close to the western shore, which was overhung throughout
by heavy forests, and then dropped silently down until it came within two
miles of the Spanish camp. There, in a particularly dark cove, they tied
up to a tree, and drew mighty breaths of relief. Both Henry and Paul felt
an intense gladness. Despite all the dangers and hardships through which
they had gone, they were but boys.




CHAPTER VI

BATTLE AND STORM


It was yet dark, in fact much darker than it had been just after the fog
lifted, and the dawn was a full three hours away. Although the flooded
area of forest on the western shore was much less than on the eastern, it
was sufficient to furnish ample concealment for the boat, and, when they
tied up amid dense foliage, they could not see the main stream behind
them.

Jim Hart laid down his oars, stood up, and carefully cracked his joints.

"I _am_ tired," he said. "Never wuz I so tired afore in my life."

"But, Jim," said Shif'less Sol, "Think what a pow'ful lively naval battle
you hev been through. Ef you ever git a wife--which I doubt, 'cause you
ain't beautiful, Jim--you kin tell her how once you rowed right over a
great Injun warship. Mebbe, Jim, she'll believe all them fancy details
you'll stick on to it."

"I know I ain't beautiful," said Long Jim thoughtfully, "an' I don't know
ez I want to be, but ef any woman wuz to marry me she'd most likely
believe whatever I told her, bein' ez I hev a truthful countenance, but
ez fur you, Sol, anybody kin tell by lookin' at you that ef you wuz to
ketch in this river a little cat-fish six inches long you'd tell them that
didn't know that it wuz a whale."

"Seems to me," said Tom Ross, "that I wuz waked up kinder suddint a few
hours ago. I wuz in the middle uv a most bee-yu-ti-ful nap, and I know
right whar I stopped it. I'm goin' back an' pick up that nap at the exact
place whar I left off."

Without another word he pulled his blanket over him and stretched himself
on a seat. In a minute or two he was sound asleep. Tom Ross was a veteran
campaigner. He not only knew what to do, but he could and would do it.

"Paul, you and Jim follow him," said Henry, "I'll keep what's left of the
watch with Sol."

Jim was treading the easy path of slumber in five minutes, but it took
Paul at least ten to pass through the gates. Henry and Sol sat in the
boat, silent but watchful.

"We're between two fires," whispered Henry at last. "I don't think that
war party will give up just yet, and maybe we'd better stick here in the
woods for a while, on the chance that they think we belong to the Spanish
force and have rejoined it."

"We've got to stay in hidin' fur a spell, that's shore," said Shif'less
Sol. "We might stick here all day. We kin overtake the Spaniards any time,
cause we have only one road to foller an' that's the river."

Henry nodded and they settled back to the watch and silence. Their three
comrades stretched on seats, lockers, or the boat's bottom, slept
soundly, and they could hear their regular breathing. But they heard
nothing else save the light lapping of the water against the tree trunks.

Dawn came, golden and beautiful. Tom Ross opened his eyes.

"Anything happened?" he asked.

"No," replied Henry, "and we are not going to move yet. Sleep on."

Tom closed his eyes again, and in a minute was back in the pleasant land
of slumber. The other two did not awake and Henry and Sol still did not
stir. From the leafy arbor in which "The Galleon" was moored, they were
intently watching the surface of the river. An hour passed and the sun
rose higher and higher, flooding the surface of the great stream with
golden beams.

"Do you see anything, Henry?" asked Sol.

"Yes, I think there's a canoe among the trees on the opposite shore."

"I reckoned that I saw it, too, but I wuzn't certain. Must be a scout
canoe."

"Do you see anything to the southward, Sol?"

"I reckoned that I saw somethin' thar, too, an' I took it fur smoke."

"The Spanish camp, of course."

"O' course."

"And I think the Indians are spying upon it. They are quite sure now that
we were a part of the Spanish force."

"They think they know it, an' they'll hang 'roun' until to-night, when
they're more'n likely to shoot into the Spanish camp."

"Which won't hurt us, Sol."

"Not a leetle bit. We kin sing all the time, 'dog eat dog, go it one, go
it tother.'"

"Instead of singing," said Henry smiling, "we can put in most of the time
sleeping."

"Both please me," said Shif'less Sol, rubbing his hands gleefully.

Everything befell as they thought it would. Other canoes appeared at the
edge of the wood on the far shore, but on every occasion further down the
river. There was no doubt in the minds of the watchful observers aboard
"The Galleon" that they were spying upon the Spanish camp and meditated an
attack at night. It was equally certain that the Spaniards knew nothing of
the Indians' presence. All the five were now awake and they rejoiced at
the prospect.

"I see an easy day comin' to me," said Shif'less Sol luxuriously. "'Tain't
often that a lazy man like me kin hev sech a good time an' I'm goin' to
make the most o' it."

"I think," said Henry, "that while the Indians are busy with the Spaniards
we'd better try to fix up that sail. We don't need a tent and we do need a
sail. Some time or other, when we get in a pinch, the sail might do the
pulling, leaving the rowers free to use their rifles."

"Jest ez I might hev expected," said Sol in a tone of disgust. "All ready
for rest, fixed fur it most bee-yu-ti-ful-ly, an' told instead that I
must go to work. This world shorely ain't kind to a good man."

Once more the staunch ship, "The Galleon," proved herself to be a treasure
house. They found in the lockers plenty of rope and stout cord, and they
cut in the forest a stout young sapling which they made of the right
length, peeled off the bark, and adjusted in rude fashion, as a mast. They
also made a boom and then rigged a single sail, somewhat after the fashion
of the cat-boat of the present day.

This would have been an impossible task to them, had not "The Galleon"
been so well provided with axes, saws, hammers, other valuable tools, and
cord and nails. The mast could be taken down in an emergency, but they
were all of the opinion that the sail would draw, and draw well. It might
not always be easy to control it, but "The Galleon" was built in Spanish
fashion, heavy, deep, and square, and it would take a great deal to make
her capsize.

While the others worked one watched, and the boats of the Indians were
seen again at the edge of the far forest. The last time they saw them they
were so far down that they were almost opposite the point where the
Spaniards lay, which indicated two things to them, first the certainty
that Alvarez had not moved, and second that "The Galleon" and her crew
were absolutely safe for the time being, where they lay.

"I suppose that Alvarez is in no hurry and decided to take a day of rest,"
said Henry.

They finished their own labors late in the afternoon and contemplated the
mast and sail with pride.

"Now that it's done, I'm glad that it hez been done," said Shif'less Sol.
"It'll save me a lot o' work hereafter. It would be jest like you fellers
to make me git callous spots all over the inside o' my hands, when the
hide on Jim Hart's is already so thick it wouldn't hurt him to do all his
rowin' an' mine, too."

"I jest love to see you work, Sol," said Long Jim Hart. "I can't enjoy my
rest real good, 'less at the same time I'm layin' on my back watchin' you
heavin' away."

Nevertheless, all took a long rest though maintaining a vigilant watch,
and, with pleasure, they saw a dark night come on. When the twilight was
completely gone they steered once more for the main stream, not using
their sail yet, because of the boughs and bushes.

"We've got to keep in the edge of the forest," whispered Henry, and in
that manner they crept cautiously southward. After a while they stopped
suddenly and all exclaimed together. They distinctly heard the sound of
rifle shots straight toward the south and perhaps a mile away.

"The savages hev attacked," said Shif'less Sol in a whisper. "Go it,
Spaniard, go it, Injun, one may lick and tother may lick, but whether one
may lick tother or tother lick which. I don't care."

They pulled a little nearer to the last line of trees in the water and
there off to the south they saw the little pinkish dots that marked the
rifle and musket fire. It was too far away for them to see anything else,
but they heard distinctly the intermittent crackle of the shots.

"Neither will win," said Henry. "The Spaniards are too strong to be
defeated, but they won't venture the unknown terrors of the river at
night. The Indians, who are in their canoes, will draw off when they find
they are not doing much harm."

"Wish we could put up that sail," said Shif'less Sol, who was still at the
oars. "I'm shore gittin' a callous lump in the pa'm o' my hand."

"It wouldn't do, Sol," said Henry. "We're going to run past a battle, and
we mean to lie as low as possible."

Paul again steered, Henry sat, rifle in hand, and the others rowed. They
took a diagonal course across the stream once more, but this time toward
the eastern shore. They advanced slowly, hugging the dark. Fortunately
there was no moon and the dusk came close up to the boat.

"That's a right noisy fight," said Shif'less Sol, looking toward the
south, where pink and red spots of flame still appeared in the dark and
the rattling fire of rifle and musket grew louder.

"More noise than anything else," said Tom Ross, "but it keeps 'em pow'ful
busy an' that's a good thing fur us."

They were now near the flooded forest on the eastern shore, and they moved
slowly along in its shadow, still watching the distant battle. It
lightened a little, the rim of a moon came out, and they saw toward the
western bank the dark silhouettes of canoes moving back and forth on the
water. Flashes came from the canoes and returning flashes came from the
bank.

"Go it, Spaniard, go it, Injun, go it, one, go it, tother," muttered
Shif'less Sol again.

"The Galleon" slowly passed by in the darkness. The pink and red dots went
out and the sound of the rifle fire died behind hem. They could neither
see nor hear anything more of the battle, and all were of the opinion that
it would soon cease by a sort of mutual agreement of the contestants.

Paul once more turned the head of the boat toward the middle of the
stream, and she swung gaily into the current, where her speed soon
increased greatly.

"We can fix up our mast and hoist our sail now," said Henry. "Since there
is nobody to look, it won't hurt us to make speed for a while."

It required some time and exertion to put the mast in place and then they
unfurled the sail. They were rather clumsy about it from lack of
experience, but the tent cloth filled with the north wind, and "The
Galleon" leaped forward in the water, her broad nose parting the stream
swiftly, while the youthful hearts of Henry and Paul swelled with
exultation.

Shif'less Sol drew in his oars and bestowed upon the sail a look of deep
approval.

"That's the most glorious sight that hez met the eyes o' a tired man in a
year," he said. "Blow, Mr. Wind, blow! an' let me rest."

The others also rested, but Sol and Henry put all their attention upon the
boom and sail. They did not intend to be wrecked by ignorance or any
sudden flaw in the wind. The breeze, however, was steady and strong, and
"The Galleon" continued to move gallantly before it.

They sailed for three or four hours and during the latter part of the time
they coasted along the western bank. There they came to the mouth of a
small river, thickly lined on both shores with gigantic trees.

"I think we'd better take down our sail and run up this," said Henry. "We
can go back some distance and hide close to the bank. The Spaniards of
course will not dream of coming up it, and we can stay here until they go
by."

"A safe and pleasant haven as long as it is needed," said Paul.

They took down the sail and pulled at least a mile up the little river.
There they tied close to the bank, and, happy over their success, sought
sleep, all except the watch, the night passing without disturbance.

The day came, again unclouded and beautiful, and the five regarded it, the
boat, and themselves with a great deal of satisfaction.

"I'm thinkin' that our treasure ship, the gall-yun, ought to hev the most
credit," said Shif'less Sol. "She brought us past all them warrin' people
in great style. Without her we'd hev a hard time, follerin' the Spaniards
to New Or-lee-yuns."

After breakfast they remained awhile in the boat, content to lie still and
await events. Everywhere around them was the deep forest, oak, hickory,
chestnut, maple, elm, and all the other noble trees that flourish in the
great valley. Just above them was a low point in the hank of the little
river and they could see that it was trodden by many feet.

"Game comes down to drink thar," said Shif'less Sol.

"Lie still and let's see," said Paul. The boat was almost hidden in the
thick foliage that overhung the river, and nobody on it stirred. Two deer
presently walked gingerly to the water, drank daintily, and then walked as
gingerly away. Soon a black bear followed them and shambled to the water's
edge. He looked up and down the stream, but he saw nothing and the wind
blowing from him toward the boat brought no dread odor to his sensitive
nostrils. He drank, wrinkled his face in a comical manner, scratched
himself with his left paw, and then shambled away. Shif'less Sol laughed.

"I'd hev to be hard pushed afore I shot that feller," he said. "Ain't the
black bear a comic chap when he tries to be. I declare I hev a real feller
feelin' fur him. I couldn't ever feel that way toward a panther. They
always look mean an' they always are mean, but I could hobnob right along
with a jolly, fat black bear."

"Yes," said Paul, looking dreamily far into the future. "It's a pity they
have to go."

"Hev to go, what do you mean, Paul?" interrupted Long Jim Hart, as he
cracked a joint or two.

"Why," replied Paul, "all this country will be settled up some day, and
how can bears and panthers and buffaloes roam wild on farms?"

Long Jim looked at him with eyes slowly widening in wonder.

"Paul," he exclaimed, "you do say the beatinest things sometimes! Now what
do you mean by sayin' that all this country will be settled up? Why, thar
ain't enough people in the world fur that, an' thar won't never be."

"Yes there will be, Jim," said Paul decisively, "although it will not
occur in your time."

"Not if I lived to be a hundred years old, Paul, or mebbe a hundred an'
twenty, 'cause I'm a pow'ful healthy man?"

"No, not if you lived to be a hundred and twenty."

Long Jim heaved a deep sigh of relief--he had the true soul of the
woodsman.

"That's mighty relievin' an' soothin'," he said. "Think uv havin' to walk
every day through cleared ground! Think uv lookin' every day fur a
bee-yu-ti-ful sky only to see cabin-smoke! Think uv drawin' your sights on
what you fust take to be a fine buffalo, an' then find out is only your
neighbor's old cow! Think uv your goin' off to a river to trap beaver, an'
findin' nothin' thar but a saw-mill! Think uv your havin' to meet mornin'
an' evenin' all kinds uv people that you don't care nothin' about! Think
uv your goin' out on a great huntin' expedition only to find all them
noble trees cut down a thousan' miles every way, an' nothin' wanderin'
around thar but old lame horses an' gruntin' pigs! I'm plum' thankful that
I'm livin' at the time I do, when thar's lots uv countries you don't know
nothin' about, an' lots uv fun guessin' what they are, an' mostly guessin'
wrong. An' I'm glad too that I didn't live in them old days that Sol tells
about, when people had to build walls around theirselves in towns, an' wuz
afraid to go out in the woods an' hunt bear an' buffalo like men!"

Jim Hart, after this speech, so long for him, stopped for want of breath,
and Shif'less Sol, regarding him with a look of deep sympathy, held out a
brown and sinewy hand.

"Jim Hart," he said, "shake. I'll be proud to hev you do it. You ain't no
beauty, Jim, an' somehow you an' me are kinder disputatious now an' then,
but you are lettin' flow at this minute a solid stream o' wisdom, a
fountain, ez Paul would say in his highfalutin' way, at which everybody
ought to drink."

Jim Hart also reached out a brown and sinewy hand and the two met in a
powerful and friendly clasp.

"I'm like Jim," continued Shif'less Sol. "'Tain't what you git that makes
you happy, but thar's a heap in bein' suited. I'm glad I'm livin' when I
am, an' whar I am. Me an' things suit each other. What Paul says may come
true, but it won't bust my heart, 'cause I won't be here to see it."

An hour or so later Henry and Sol went through the woods and watched for
the Spanish fleet. They saw it presently moving in single file down the
Mississippi, and showing, so far as they could judge, no signs of damage.

"Twas ez we guessed last night it would be, a dogfall," said Shif'less
Sol, "lots o' noise and not much done. Now that Injun crowd hez drawed off
to the east, an' I think we've seed the last o' them, while the Spaniards,
thinkin' they've had enough o' excitement, will keep straight on to New
Or-lee-yuns."

"I've no doubt you're right," said Henry, "and we'll follow to-night.
We'll let them take a good start."

They watched the little fleet until it passed out of sight down the river
and then returned to their own boat. There they devoted the day to further
preparations for a long journey. As game was close at hand in such
abundance, they shot two deer and took the meat on board. They also
undertook to provide shelter, as this was the period of the spring rains
and they did not wish to be drenched or have their stores damaged.
Fortunately they found a tarpaulin in one of the lockers and, taking this
and the two deerskins, they united all in a larger covering which they
could spread over nearly the whole boat. This all considered a highly
important task, and they meant to enlarge the tarpaulin still more as
they killed more deer. Meanwhile they let it lie in the sun, in order that
the deerskins might dry.

Their tasks occupied them until about 10 o'clock at night and then they
decided to start again, thinking that night traveling would be safer for a
day or two. They rowed down the river until they entered the Mississippi,
and then they set their sail again.

No other human beings were afloat on the river, at least not within the
range of their vision, but there was a plenty of floating trees and other
debris brought down by the spring flood. Careful steering was necessary,
but they went on without any accident. Shif'less Sol, however, gazed up at
the moon with an unquiet eye.

"She looks too soft an' fleecy," he said, speaking of the moon. "When
she's peepin' through them lacy-lookin' clouds it means that trouble is
about to stir."

"We'll keep a watch," said Henry.

They continued until midnight and Sol's troubles still kept off, but about
that time all noticed a sudden increase of the breeze, accompanied by an
equal increase of dampness.

"Something like a storm is coming and you were right, Sol," said Henry.
"Now, I wish we knew a lot about sailing."

"But as we don't," said Paul, "I think we'd better take in our sail at
once."

They quickly did so and their precaution was wise. The wind, blowing out
of the north, began to shriek, and the boat, even without the aid of a
sail, leaped forward. Driving clouds suddenly shut out the moon, and the
yellow waters of the giant stream, lashed by the wind, began to heave and
surge in waves like those of the sea. The treasure ship, "The Galleon,"
pitched and rocked like a real galleon in the long swells of the Pacific,
but the five knew that she was perfectly safe. The broad, square Spanish
boat could not be swamped.

"Thank God, we've taken in that sail," said Henry. "We're going to have a
night of it! Do you think we'd better pull for the shore?"

"Not now," replied Shif'less Sol, "the wind's risin' too fast, an' we'd
hit a tree or a snag, shore. Better keep ez nearly in the middle o' the
river ez we kin!"

The soundness of Sol's judgment became apparent at once. The shriek of the
wind rose to a scream and then a roar. The night became pitchy dark. They
could see nothing around them but a narrow circle of muddy waters heaving
violently. Under the far horizon in the south and west, low, sullen
thunder began to mutter. Suddenly the sky parted before a tremendous flash
of lightning that blazed for a moment across the heavens and then went
out, leaving the night darker than before. But in that moment they caught
a vivid glimpse of the flooded forest, the great waste of troubled waters,
and all the vast desolation about them. It was weird and uncanny to the
last degree, and despite all the dangers and hardships through which they
had passed on land, the five steadied their nerves only with supreme
efforts of the will.

"We've forgot the covering for our boat," exclaimed Henry. "Paul, keep her
steady, while the rest of you help me."

It required the strength of four to spread the tarpaulin in the wind and
make it all secure, but they were a strong four and the task was quickly
done. Meanwhile the turbulence of air and water were increasing. The waves
on the river rose higher and higher and the wind drove the foam in their
faces. The thunder, no longer a mutter, became one terrific peal after
another, and the lightning burned across the great stream in flash after
flash.

"I sp'ose it's jest the same ez bein' at sea," said Sol between crashes.
"I don't know much choice between bein' drowned in the Mississippi, which
I know is muddy, an' the sea, which they say is salt."

"No danger of either!" said Paul cheerfully, "but I'm glad this is such a
wide river. So long as we can keep the boat straight there is not much
risk of being driven into anything."

Then everyone jumped suddenly to his feet. There was a tremendous crash of
thunder louder than all the rest, and the whole river swam for a moment in
a burning glare. The lightning seemed to have struck upon the surface of
the water not far from them. Then, when the lightning and the thunder
passed, they heard only the wind and saw only the darkness.

"This ain't so easy ez it looked," said Shif'less Sol in a plaintive
tone. "It's nice ridin' on a boat, but if the lightning should strike 'The
Gall-yun,' whar are we? I'd a heap rather be on the land."

"That must have been its climax," said Paul, "and if so look out for the
rain."

Paul was right. The lightning began to decline in intensity and the
thunder sank in volume. The wind died rapidly. Yet there was no increase
of light, and presently they heard afar a rushing sound. Great drops beat
like hail upon their tarpaulin, and all except the man who was steering
snuggled to cover. The steersman happened to be Shif'less Sol this time,
and he wrapped one of the new Spanish blankets tightly around him from
heel to throat.

"Now let it come," murmured the indomitable man.

It took him at his word and it came with a sweep and a roar. The heavens
opened and a deluge fell out. The thunder and lightning ceased entirely
and from the black skies the rain poured in amazing quantities. Now and
then all except the steersman were forced to bail out the boat, but mostly
they kept to cover under their tarpaulin, which was a good one.

Shif'less Sol held the good ship "The Galleon," in the middle of the
current, and all the time he strained his eyes ahead for floating debris
and particularly for the terrible snags which were such a danger in the
early Mississippi. Keen as were his eyes, he could see little ahead of him
but the black water, now beaten into a comparatively smooth plain by the
steady rain.

Shif'less Sol had taken off his cap and the rain drove steadily on the
back of his head; but his body, thanks to the thick blanket wrapped so
tightly around his neck, remained dry.

Shif'less Sol was not uncomfortable. Neither was he alarmed or unhappy.
There was a strain of chivalry and romance in his forest-bred soul, and
the situation appealed to him. He was in a strong boat, his four faithful
comrades were with him, and he was piercing a new mystery, that of a vast
and unknown river. The spirit that has always driven on the great
explorers and adventurers thrilled in every nerve of Solomon Hyde,
nicknamed the Shiftless One, but not at all deserving the title.

The boat went steadily on in the blackness and the rain, and Sol's soul
swelled jubilantly within him. He could see perhaps thirty or forty feet
ahead of him over the smooth plain of black water, and at an equal
distance to right and left the black wall rose, also. So far as feeling
went, the land might be a thousand miles away, and he was glad of it.

"Which sea are we ploughin' through now, Paul?" he said. "Is it the
Atlantic or the Pacific or one I ain't heard tell of a-tall, a-tall? But
which ever it is, I'm Christopher Columbus the second, on my way to
discover a new continent bigger than all the others put together! Jumpin'
Jehoshaphat! but that was a narrow escape! It made my flesh creep!"

Sol had shifted the boat in her course, just in time to escape an ominous
snag, but in a moment his joyousness came back, and without giving Paul
time to answer, he continued:

"A boat goin' down stream on a river is shorely the right way o' travelin'
fur a lazy man like me. I wish it wuz all like this!"

The violence of the rain abated somewhat in an hour or so, but it
continued to come down for a long time. Far after midnight the clouds
began to part. A damp patch of sky showed, but it was clear sky
nevertheless and soon it broadened.

The flooded world rose up before the five voyagers, the vast river, still
black in the night light, floating trees, perhaps rooted up by the stream
from shores thousands of miles to the north and west, the low dim outline
of forest to right and left, and all around them an immense desolation.
Everything to other minds would have been gigantic, somber, and menacing.
Gigantic it was to the five, but neither somber nor menacing. Instead it
told them of safety and comfort and it was, at all times, full of a varied
and supreme interest.

As soon as the light was strong enough for them to find a suitable place
they pulled the boat among the trees on the western shore and tied it up
securely. Here they made a critical examination and found that none of
their precious goods had suffered a wetting. Powder, provisions, clothing,
all were dry and every one except the watch went to sleep with a sound
conscience.




CHAPTER VII

THE LONE VOYAGER


Henry Ware awoke, rubbed his eyes, and looked through the tree trunks at
the Mississippi, now wider than ever.

"What do you see, Tom?" he asked of Tom Ross, who had kept the watch.

"Nothin' but a black speck fur across thar. It come into sight only a
minute ago. Fust I thought it wuz a shadder, then I thought it wuz a
floatin' log, an' now I do believe it's a canoe. What do you make uv it,
Henry?"

Henry looked long.

"It is a canoe," said he at last, "and there's a man in it. They're
floating with the stream down our way."

"You're right," said Tom Ross, "an' ef I ain't mistook that man an' that
canoe are in trouble. Half the time he's paddlin', half the time he's
bailin' her out, an' all the time he's making a desperate effort to git to
land."

The others were now up and awake, and they gazed with intense interest.

"It's a white man in the canoe ez shore ez I'm a livin' sinner!" exclaimed
Shif'less Sol.

"And it's a question," added Henry, "whether his canoe gets to the bank or
the bottom of the river first."

"It's a white man and we must save him!" cried Paul, his generous boy's
heart stirred to the utmost.

They quickly untied their boat and pulled with great strokes toward the
sinking canoe and its lone occupant. They were alongside in a few minutes
and Henry threw a rope to the man, who caught it with a skillful hand, and
tied his frail craft stoutly to the side of the strong "Galleon." Then, as
Paul reached a friendly hand down to him he sprang on board, exclaiming at
the same time in a deep voice: "May the blessing of Heaven rest upon you,
my children."

The five were startled at the face and appearance of the man who came upon
their boat. They had never thought of encountering such a figure in the
wilderness. He was of middle age, tall, well-built, and remarkably
straight, but his shaven face was thin and ascetic, and the look in his
eyes was one of extraordinary benevolence. Moreover, it had the peculiar
quality of seeming to gaze far into the future, as it were, at something
glorious and beautiful. His dress was a strange mixture. He wore deerskin
leggins and moccasins, but his body was clothed in a long, loose garment
of black cloth and on his head was a square cap of black felt. A small
white crucifix suspended by a thin chain from his neck lay upon his breast
and gleamed upon the black cloth.

Every one of the five instantly felt veneration and respect for the
stranger and Paul murmured, "A priest." The others heard him and
understood. They were all Protestants, but in the deep wilderness
religious hatred and jealousy had little hold; upon them none at all.

"Bless you, my sons," repeated the man in his deep, benevolent voice, and
then he continued in a lighter tone, speaking almost perfect English, "I
do believe that if you had not appeared when you did I and my canoe should
have both gone to the bottom of this very deep river. I am a fair swimmer,
but I doubt if I could have gained the land."

"We are glad, father," said Paul respectfully, "that we had the privilege
to be present and help at such a time."

The priest looked at Paul and smiled. He liked his refined and sensitive
face and his correct language and accent.

"I should fancy, my young friend," he said, still smiling, "that the debt
of gratitude is wholly mine. I am Pierre Montigny, and, as you perhaps
surmise, a Frenchman and priest of the Holy Church, sent to the New World
to convert and save the heathen. I belong to the mission at New Orleans,
but I have been on a trip, to a tribe called the Osage, west of the Great
River. Last night my canoe was damaged by the fierce storm and I started
forth rather rashly this morning, not realizing the extent to which the
canoe had suffered. You have seen and taken a part in the rest."

"You were going back to New Orleans alone, and in a little canoe?" said
Paul.

"Oh, yes," replied Father Montigny, as if he were speaking of trifles. "I
always go alone, and my canoe isn't so very little, as you see. I carry in
it a change or clothing, provisions, and gifts for the Indians."

"But no arms," said Henry who had been looking into the canoe.

"No arms, of course," replied Father Montigny.

"You are a brave man! About the bravest I ever saw!" burst out Tom Ross,
he of few words.

Father Montigny merely smiled again.

"Oh, no," he said, "I have many brethren who do likewise, and there are as
many different kinds of bravery as there are different kinds of life. You,
I fancy, are brave, too, though I take it from appearances that you
sometimes fight with arms."

"We have to do it, Father Montigny," said Paul in an apologetic tone.

The priest made no further comment and, taking him to the shore, with much
difficulty they built a fire, at which they prepared him warm food while
he dried his clothing. They had no hesitation in telling him of their
errand and of the presence of Alvarez and his force on the river. Father
Montigny sighed.

"It is a matter of great regret," he said, "that Louisiana has passed from
the hands of my nation into those of Spain. France is now allied with your
colonies, but Spain holds aloof. She fears you and perhaps with reason.
Every country, if its people be healthy and vigorous, must ultimately be
owned by those who live upon it."

"Do you know this Alvarez?" asked Henry.

"Yes, a man of imperious and violent temper, one who, with all his
courage, does not recognize the new forces at work in the world. He thinks
that Spain is still the greatest of nations, and that the outposts of your
race, who have reached the backwoods, are nothing. It is we who travel in
the great forests who recognize the strength of the plant that is yet so
young and tender."

The priest sighed again and a shade of emotion passed over his singularly
fine face.

"Alvarez would be glad to commit the Spanish forces in America to the
cause of your enemies," he resumed, "and he is bold enough to do any
violent deed at this distance to achieve that end. In fact, he is already
allied with the renegade and the Indians against you and began war when he
seized one of you. Perhaps it is just as well that you are going to New
Orleans, since Bernardo Galvez, the Spanish Governor, is a man of
different temper, young, enthusiastic, and ready, I think, to listen to
you."

While the priest was talking by the fireside Shif'less Sol, Long Jim, and
Tom Ross slipped away. They hauled his canoe out on dry land, and with the
tools that they had found on "The Galleon" quickly made it as good as
ever. They also quietly put some of their own stores in the canoe, and
then returned it to the water.

"O' course, he won't go comf'tably with us in our boat to New
Or-lee-yuns," said Shif'less Sol. "He'll stick to his canoe an' stop to
preach to Injuns who mebbe will torture him to death, but he has my
respeck an' ef I kin do anything fur him I want to do it."

"So would I," said Jim Hart heartily. "I'm a pow'ful good cook ez you
know, Sol, bein' ez you've et in your time more'n a hundred thousand
pounds uv my victuals, an' I'd like to cook him all the buffaler an' deer
steak he could eat between here an' New Or-lee-yuns, no matter how long he
wuz on the way."

"An' me," said Tom Ross simply, wishing to add his mite, "I'd like to be
on hand when any Injun tried to hurt him. That Injun would think he'd been
struck by seven different kinds uv lightnin', all at the same time."

The fire was built on a hillock that rose above the flood. It had been
kindled with the greatest difficulty, even by such experienced woodsmen as
the five, but, once well started, it consumed the damp brush and
spluttered and blazed merrily. Gradually a great bed of coals formed and
threw out a temperate, grateful heat. All were glad enough, after the
storm and the cold and the wet, to sit around it and to feel the glow upon
their faces. It warmed the blood.

The hill formed an island in the flood and "The Galleon" and the canoe
were tied to trees only thirty or forty feet away. Far to the west
extended the great sweep of the river and around them the flooded forest
was still dripping with the night's rain.

"I think I'm willin' to rest a while," said Shif'less Sol. "That wuz a
pow'ful lively time we had last night, but thar wuz enough o' it an' I'd
like to lay by to-day, now that our friend's canoe hez been fixed."

Father Montigny glanced up in surprise.

"My canoe repaired!" he said. "I don't understand."

"'Twas only a little job fur fellers like us," said the shiftless one.
"She's all done, an' your canoe, ez good ez new, is tied up thar alongside
o' our 'Gall-yun.'"

"You are very good to me," said the priest raising his hands slightly in
the manner of benediction, "and I suggest, since we have a comfortable
place here, that we remain on this little island until to-morrow. Do you
know what day it is?"

"No," replied Paul, "to tell you the truth, Father Montigny, we've been
through so much and we've had to think so hard of other things that we've
lost count of the days. I'd scarcely know how to guess at it."

"It's the Holy Sabbath," said Father Montigny. "You, I have no doubt,
belong to a church other than mine, but the wilderness teaches us that
we're merely traveling by different roads to the same place. We six are
alone upon this little spot of ground in a great river flowing through a
vast desolation. Surely we can be comrades, too, and give thanks together
for the mercy that is taking us through such great dangers and
hardships."

"We're like Noah and his family after the ark landed," whispered Shif'less
Sol to Henry, in a tone that was far from irreverence. But Paul said
aloud:

"I'm sure that we're all in agreement upon that point, Father Montigny. We
do not have to hasten and we'll remain here on the island in a manner
proper to the day."

Father Montigny glanced at the five in turn and the rare, beautiful smile
lighted up his face. He read every thought of theirs in their open
countenances, and he knew that they were in thorough accord with him. But
Paul, as usual, appealed to him most of all--the deeply spiritual quality
in the lad was evident to the priest and reader of men.

Father Montigny took a little leather-bound book from under his black robe
and stood up. The others stood up also. Then the priest read a prayer. It
was in Latin and the five--Paul included--did not understand a word of it,
but not a particle of its solemnity and effect was lost on that account.

It was to Paul, in many ways, the most impressive scene in which he had
ever taken part, the noble, inspired face of the priest, the solemn words,
and no other sound except the peaceful murmur made by the flowing of the
great river. They seemed as much alone on their little hill as if they
stood on a coral island in the south seas.

Nature was in unison with the rite. A brilliant sun came out, the dripping
trees dried fast, and, under the blue sky, the yellow of the river took
on a lighter hue.

After the prayer they resumed their seats by the fire, which they left at
intervals only to get something from the boat or to bring the dryest wood
that they could find for the replenishing of the fire. Paul and Shif'less
Sol went together on one of the trips for firewood.

"He is shorely a good man," said the shiftless one nodding in the
direction of the priest, "but don't you think, Paul, he's undertook a
mighty big job, tryin' to convert Injuns?"

"Undoubtedly," replied Paul, "but that is the purpose to which he has
devoted his life. He does good, but it seems a pity to me too, Sol, that
he goes on such missions. In the end he'll find martyrdom among some cruel
tribe, and he knows it."

While Father Montigny, like others of his kind, expected martyrdom and
willingly risked it, his spirits were darkened by no shadow now. Not one
of the five was more cheerful than he, and he gave them all the news at
his command.

"And I am glad," he continued, "that you are going to New Orleans. You are
really messengers of peace and, unofficial heralds though you are, you may
save more than one nation from great trouble."

The five were deeply gratified by his words. If they had needed any
encouragement in their self-chosen task they would have received it now.

"Since you are returning to New Orleans, Father Montigny," said Paul,
"why don't you go with us in our big boat? It is far safer and more
comfortable than a canoe."

Father Montigny shook his head.

"It is a kind offer," he replied, "but I cannot accept it. I leave you
to-morrow at the mouth of a river on our right as we descend. There is a
small village of peaceful Indians several miles up that stream and I wish
to stay with them a day or two. I and my canoe have traveled many
thousands of miles together and we will continue."

They would have repeated the offer, but they saw that he was not to be
moved and they talked of other things. The rest was, in truth, welcome to
all, as the labors and dangers of the night had been a severe strain upon
their nerves and strength, and they luxuriated before the fire while the
peaceful day passed. Henry noticed that the water was still rising, and
that the mass of floating debris was also increasing.

"It's been a tremendous rain," he said, "and it's extended far up. It must
have been raining on all the great rivers that run into the Mississippi on
either side, away off there in the north. It's going to be a mighty big
flood, and this hill itself will go under."

"You're right," said Shif'less Sol. "It's a mighty big river any time but
is shorely gittin' to be like a sea now."

They walked back to the little party by the fire. The day had considerable
coolness in it after the rain, and the warmth was still welcome. Little
was left for them to do and they still luxuriated in rest. Like all
woodsmen in those times who were compelled to endure long and most
strenuous periods of toil and danger, they knew how to do nothing when the
time came, and let Nature recuperate the tired faculties.

The brilliant sun shone on the river, the muddy waters were gilded with
gold. The east turned to rose, then to red, and after that came the
shadows. The mellow voice of the priest was lifted in a solemn Latin hymn.
His song carried far over the darkening waters, and Paul, under its
influence, felt more deeply than ever the immense majesty of the scene.
Red light from the sunken sun still lingered over the longest of rivers,
but the shadows now covered all the eastern shore. Through the increasing
night the firelight on the little island twinkled like a beacon, but for
the time being, they were careless who saw it.

The hymn died away in a last long echo, the red light was wholly gone,
darkness was over everything, and they prepared for a long night of sleep.
The next morning they started together, the big boat and the little canoe.
Every one of the five offered to paddle the canoe for Father Montigny as
far as they were going together, but he smilingly declined.

"No," he said, "my good canoe and I have been closely associated too long
to be separated now, nor must I be spoiled. I see that you have put fresh
stores in the canoe, and I accept them. You have good hearts, as I knew
when I first saw you."

The five would not put up their sail while they were in company, and "The
Galleon" and the canoe drifted together until they reached the mouth of
the river up which the peaceful Indian village lay. There Father Montigny
gave them his blessing and bade them farewell. They held their own boat in
the current while they watched him paddle with strong arms up the
tributary stream. He stopped at the first curve, lifted his paddle in a
last salute, which they returned with their own lifted oars, and then he
passed out of sight.

"We may never see him again," said Paul--but Paul could not read the
future.

Then they set their sail, swung into the middle of the stream and swept
forward on their great journey. But the meeting with the priest had a
strong influence upon every one of them.

"He is sure to suffer a violent death some time or other," said Paul, "and
he knows it, but it never mikes him gloomy. There are other French priests
like him, too, boys, going thousands of miles, alone and unarmed, over
this vast continent."

"'Pears to me that we are wrong when we talk about the French bein'
dancin' masters an' sech like," said Shif'less Sol. "My father fit in the
great French war up thar along the Canady line an' in Canady, an' he says
the French wuz ez good fighters ez anybody. Besides, they took naterally
to the woods, makin' fust rate scouts an' hunters, an' ef that ain't proof
o' the stuff that's in people, nothin' is."

This day upon the waters was one of unbroken peace. The flood, as Henry
had predicted, continued to rise, spreading far into the woods and out of
sight. Now and then some portion of the shore, eaten into continually by
the powerful stream, would give way and fall with a sticky sigh into the
river. Uprooted trees floated in the current or became wedged in the
forest. But the sunlight remained undimmed and they began to grow familiar
with the river. It was a friend now, bearing them whither they would go.

About noon they saw two deer marooned on an island made by the flood, and
they shot one of them for the sake of the fresh meat.

Now ensued a long journey, unbroken by danger, but full of interest. They
came near enough once or twice to ascertain that the Spanish force was
just ahead of them, but they saw no chance to secure the precious maps and
plans or interfere in any other way with the dangerous project of Alvarez,
and they waited patiently.

The flood began to subside, but it was a mighty river yet, and would still
be so when all the flood was gone. They passed the mouths of great rivers
to right and to left, but they did not know their names, nor whence they
came. The air grew much warmer and they were very glad indeed now that
they had the sail, which, allied with the current, carried them on as fast
as they wished.

Shif'less Sol lay lazily under the sail, his limbs relaxed, and his face a
picture of content.

"I could float on an' on forever," he said sleepily, "an' I don't care how
long it takes to git to New Or-lee-yuns. I think I'm goin' to like that
place. I saw a trapper once who had been thar, an' he said you could be
jest ez lazy an' sleepy ez you wished an' nobody would blame you--they
kinder look upon it ez the right thing, an' that suits me. He said them
Spaniards an' French had orange trees about. You could lay in your bed,
reach a han' out o' the window, pull an orange off the tree, suck it, an'
then go back to sleep without ever havin' disturbed the cover. I never
seed an orange, but I know it's nice."

The same day they rowed the boat a few miles up a small but deep and very
clear river that emptied into the Mississippi from the east. Their object
was to fish, the greater river itself being too muddy for the succulent
kind that they wished. The incomparable "Galleon" had also been supplied
with fishing tackle, and in a short time they caught a splendid supply of
black bass and perch, which proved to be very fine and toothsome. As their
boat floated back from the smaller stream into the Mississippi, Shif'less
Sol heaved a deep sigh.

"What's the matter, Sol?" asked Paul.

"I wuz thinkin' o' Christopher Columbus," replied Shif'less Sol. "Ef it
wuzn't that I'd be dead now, I wish I'd been with him. I do enjoy sailin'
on an' discoverin' lands an' waters that ain't yet got no name to 'em. It
looks funny to me that we wuzn't discovered sooner, when we've always been
here, but Columbus has all my respeck an' admiration 'cause he done it
when the others didn't."

"That shorely wuz a man," said Tom Ross, his eyes lighting up. "I've heard
the tale how he kep' tryin' an' tryin' to git a ship, an' couldn't, an'
at last the Spanish lady pulled off her earrings an' finger rings an'
bracelets an' said: 'Here, Chris, these, these are my jewels, take 'em,
trade 'em fur the best ship thar is in the market, an' discover Ameriky.'
An' then he got his ship, an' kep' sailin' on an' on, an' the sailors they
began to git skeered an' then more skeered. They're afraid they're goin'
to drop off on the other side uv the world an' they go to Chris an' say:
'Thar ain't no sech continent ez Ameriky an' we ain't goin' to discover
it. We're goin' to turn right 'round an' go straight back to Spain.'

"Chris says in the knowin'est manner like a father talkin' to his child.
'Thar is sech a continent ez Ameriky, an' it's a big one, too. It's layin'
over thar straight to the west, an' it's full uv big lakes an' big rivers
an' big mountains an' red Injuns that fight with bows an' arrers, and
b'ars an' buffalers an' deer an' panthers an' all things fine, jest
waitin' fur us. Thar's whar we're goin'.' And the sailors say more uppish
than ever: No, we ain't, we ain't goin' to discover Ameriky, thar ain't no
sech place, we're goin' right back to Spain.' Then a kinder funny look
comes into Chris's eye. He reaches fur his long rifle, an' he draws a bead
on the foremost uv them sailors, the feller that speaks fur 'em all, an'
he says, droppin' that fatherly manner an' speakin' up sharp an' snappy:
'I reckin we're either goin' to discover Ameriky, or go right back to
Spain, which is it?'

"An' that foremost sailor, the one that speaks fur 'em all, sees the funny
look in Chris's eye, an' he thinks, too, he kin see clean down the barrel
uv that long rifle to whar the bullet is layin', an' he answers right off:
'We're goin' to discover Ameriky'; an' shore enough they did, this fine,
big continent, full uv big lakes an' big rivers an' big mountains an' red
Injuns that fight with bows an' arrers an' b'ars and buffalers an' deer
an' panthers an' all things fine."

"I didn't know Tom Ross had sech a gift o' gab," said Shif'less Sol. "He
stirs me all up, he makes me want to hev some lady buy a ship fur me an'
start me out to discoverin' continents. Do you think, Paul, thar's any
lady who would sell her earrings an' finger rings fur me ez that Spanish
one did fur Columbus?"

"But think, Sol, what a chance you've got whether there is or not," said
Henry Ware. "America is discovered but not much of it is explored. There's
enough here to keep you roaming about for the next fifty or sixty years."

"That's so," said the shiftless one brightening up. "What am I growlin'
about, when here's a river, mebbe ten thousand miles long that we know
next to nothin' 'bout, an' buffalers an' b'ars an' panthers an' deer to
shoot, an' red Injuns to fight ez long ez I live. After all, we're shorely
mighty lucky to live at the time we do, ez I've said before. Do you think
thar'll ever be any times hereafter as interestin' ez ourn, Paul?"

"I can't say," replied Paul with a smile, "but they're not likely to be as
interesting to us."

They went on their way, and the air became still warmer. Moreover, it
grew heavy and oppressive, and the spring rains were resumed with great
violence. They had worked meanwhile on their tarpaulin, enlarging and
strengthening it with skins which they had allowed to dry on the boat, and
they rested, sheltered and secure, as they floated along.

Although Frenchmen had gone up and down the river long before, they felt
like genuine explorers. So little was known of the mighty stream that they
regarded every stretch and turn with keen interest. It was not beautiful
now, a vast, brown flood flowing between low and changing shores, but in
its size and loneliness it had a majesty peculiarly its own.

Wild geese and wild ducks flew over the river in abundance, and they were
so little used to man that often they passed near "The Galleon." The
fowling pieces proved useful again, as the five were able to sit in
comfort on their boat and shoot geese and ducks for their needs. Some were
of kinds that they had never seen before, but all proved to be good
eating, and they were welcome.

Jim Hart also exercised his ingenuity in a very useful manner. In the prow
of the boat, but under the tarpaulin, he spread a layer of mud about two
inches thick. Protected from the rain, it soon dried, forming a hard,
impervious, brick-like covering for the bottom of the boat, and upon this
he built a small smothered fire of dry sticks, a supply of which they kept
in the boat. Here Jim, with all the skill and delicacy of a gastronomic
artist, would cook their wild ducks and wild geese, and, considering the
limited area and resources for the exercise of his favorite occupation,
he did extremely well. Nor was it any longer necessary for them to run in
to the shore and worry in the dripping forest with wet wood.

"It ain't like that stove we built the time we wuz on the ha'nted islan',"
Long Jim would say, "but it's a heap sight better than nothin."

"It shorely is," said Shif'less Sol. "You ain't much account for anything,
Jim, but you kin cook a leetle bit."

Long Jim smiled contentedly.




CHAPTER VIII

THE CHATEAU OF BEAULIEU


They noticed one day a high bluff shooting up on the eastern bank and
running along for some distance. It was clothed in dense green forest, and
it was rather a welcome break in the monotony of the low shores.

"A big city will be built there some day," said the prophetic Paul.[B]

"Now, Paul, why in tarnation do you say that?" exclaimed Tom Ross.

"Why, because it's such a good place. It's a high hill on a great river so
well suited to navigation, and it has a vast, rich country behind it."

But Tom Ross shook his head.

"Seems to me, Paul," he said, "that you're bitin' off a lot more'n you can
chaw. Things that are to happen a hundred years from now ain't never
happenin' fur me."

But Paul merely smiled and held to his opinion.

On the following day they tied up at a point, where the river began a
sharp and wide curve around a long, narrow peninsula. It was just about
dark when they stopped and, as usual, they were able to run the boat into
dense foliage at the margin, where not even the keenest eye could see it.

"We've got plenty of goose and duck left over from dinner," said Henry,
"so I'm thinking, Jim, that you'd better not light the fire on your bricks
to-night."

"All right," replied Jim, "I don't mind restin'. I feel about ez lazy ez
Sol Hyde looks."

But Henry Ware had another and more important thing in mind. His was the
keenest eye of them all, and just before landing he had noticed to the
southward and on the other side of the peninsula a faint, dark line
against the edge of the sunset. Few, even with an eye good enough to see
it, would have taken it for anything but a wisp of cloud, but the physical
sense of Henry Ware, so acute that it bordered upon intuition, was not
deceived.

"Sol," he said after they had eaten a little, "let's walk across this neck
of land and explore a bit."

"It's a dark night to be traveling," said Paul. But Henry only laughed.
Tom Ross may have had his suspicions, but he did not deem it worth while
to say anything. He knew that Henry and Shif'less Sol were quite competent
to achieve any task that they might be undertaking.

Henry and Sol strolled carelessly into the bush, but before they had gone
a dozen steps their whole manner changed. Each became eager and alert.

"What is it, Henry?" asked Shif'less Sol. "What have you seed?"

"Smoke! the smoke of a camp fire and it's on the other side of this neck.
I think it's the camp of Alvarez. He must have been going more slowly than
we thought."

"We'll soon find out," said Shif'less Sol, as they advanced.

But the task was not as easy as they had thought. The peninsula was very
low and the greater part of it had been overflowed recently. Their feet,
no matter how lightly they stepped, sank in the mire, and when they pulled
them out again the mud emitted a sticky sigh. An owl perched in a tree,
high above the marsh, began to hoot dismally, and Shif'less Sol uttered a
growl.

"I wish we had the big, dry woods o' Kentucky to go through," he whispered
to Henry. "I ain't much o' a mud-crawler."

"But as we haven't got those big, dry woods," Henry whispered back, "we'll
have to crawl, creep, or walk through the mud."

It was about two miles across the neck, and as they went very slowly for
fear of making noise, it took them a full hour to reach the other side, or
to come near enough to see what might be there. Then they found that
Henry's belief, or rather intuition, was right.

They could see quite well from the dense covert. All the Spanish boats
were tied up at the shore and two or three fires had been built for the
purposes of cooking. The soldiers in their picturesque costumes lounged
about. The hum of conversation and now and then a laugh arose.

Henry soon marked Francisco Alvarez. The Spanish leader sat on a little
heap of boughs on the highest and dryest spot in the camp, and all who
approached him did so with every sign of respect--if they spoke it was hat
in hand.

The firelight fell in a red blaze across the face of Francisco Alvarez and
revealed every feature in minute detail to the keen eyes in the covert. It
was a thin, haughty face, clear-cut and cruel, but just now it's air was
that of satisfaction, as if in the opinion of Francisco Alvarez all things
were going well with his plans. Henry believed that he could guess his
thoughts. "He thinks that the Spanish are already committed against us and
that he and Braxton Wyatt with a force of Spaniards and the tribes will
yet destroy our settlements in Kentucky."

Thinking of Braxton Wyatt he looked for him and, as he looked, the
renegade came from a point near the shore toward the commander. It was
evident that Wyatt had been faring well. His frontier dress had been
partly replaced with gay Spanish garments. He now wore a cap with a
feather in it, and a velvet doublet. He, too, had a most complacent look.

Wyatt approached Alvarez and the commander courteously invited him to a
seat on the hillock near him. When he took the seat a soldier brought the
renegade a cup of wine, and he drank, first lifting the cup toward Alvarez
as if he drank a toast to the success of the alliance. There could be no
doubt about the perfect understanding of the two; and Henry's anger rose.
It was impossible to set a limit to what a ruthless and determined man
like Francisco Alvarez might do.

Wyatt rose presently after a nod to the commander and walked among the
soldiers. He seemed to have no particular object in view and his
strollings brought him near to the edge of the swampy forest.

"Perhaps he's spying about, and will come into the woods where we are,"
whispered Henry. "Maybe he has those maps and plans upon him, and it would
be a great thing to get them. I don't believe he could make a new set
soon."

"It's a risky thing to try," said Shif'less Sol, "but ef he comes in here,
an' you think it the best thing to do, I'm ready to help."

The two crouched a little lower and remained breathless. Braxton Wyatt
strolled on. He was making a sort of vague inspection of the camp, but he
was really thinking more about the great triumph that he saw ahead. Since
he had turned renegade, leaving his own white race to join the Indians, a
thing that was sometimes done, he had been stung by many defeats and he
wished a great revenge that would pour oil upon all these wounds.

A bad nature grows worse with failure. Seeking to injure his former people
and failing at every turn, Braxton Wyatt hated them more and more all the
time. His wrath was particularly directed against the five who had been
such great instruments in sending his careful plans astray. His scheme
with the Indian league had failed chiefly through them, but he felt that
he could now come with a Spanish force that would prove irresistible. That
was why he glowed with internal warmth and pride. The settlements would be
destroyed and he, in fact, would be the destroyer.

Braxton Wyatt entered the edge of the woods, still occupied with the cruel
triumph that was to be his. He did not notice that the foliage was
gradually shutting out the firelight. Presently he saw, or believed that
he saw, a shadowy but terrible figure. It was the figure of the one whom
he dreaded most on earth.

It was but a glimpse of a form, seen through the bushes, but Wyatt's blood
turned cold in every vein. He uttered a half-choked cry, and running back
through the bushes, sprang into the firelight. Two or three Spanish
soldiers looked at him in amazement, but he was not a coward, and he had
pride of a kind. As soon as he leaped back into the firelight he felt that
he had made a fool of himself. Henry Ware could not have been there--he
and his comrades had been left behind long ago. Coming suddenly out of his
thoughts, he had been deceived in the dark by a bush and imagination had
done the rest. Yes, it was only fancy!

"A rattlesnake! I nearly trod on him," he said in broken Spanish words
that he had picked up, and then walked in as careless a manner as he could
assume toward the mound where Francisco Alvarez sat. But he could not
wholly control himself--the shock had been too great--and his body yet
trembled. He did not know it, but the pallor of his face showed through
the tan, and Alvarez noticed it.

"You have had a fright, Señor Wyatt," he said in his precise, cold
English. "What is it?"

"Not a fright," replied Wyatt in tones that he sought to make indifferent,
"but a start. I nearly trod on a rattlesnake that lay coiled ready to
strike, and I got away just in time."

The Spaniard regarded him with a penetrating look, but the chilly blue
eyes expressed nothing. Yet Francisco Alvarez thought that a bold woodsman
like Braxton Wyatt would not show so much fear after a harmless passage
with any kind of a snake.

"Do you think the five, the party that you said were so much to be
dreaded, are still following us?" he asked presently.

The pallor showed again for a moment through the tan in Braxton Wyatt's
face, but he answered again as carelessly as he could:

"It may be. I hate them, but I do not deny that they are bold and
resourceful. They have a good boat, and they may follow; but what harm
could they do?"

"As I told you, they might go before Bernardo Galvez, our Governor General
at New Orleans, and spoil the pretty plan that you and I have formed.
Galvez is--as he calls himself--a Liberal. He would help these rebels and
fight England. How can a Spaniard lend himself to the cause of Republican
rebels and injure monarchy? Cannot he foresee, cannot he look ahead a
little and tell what rebel success means? It would in the end be as great
a blow to Spain as to England. If Kaintock is permitted to grow she will
threaten Louisiana. These men in their buckskins are daring and dangerous
and we must attend to them!"

The Spaniard clenched his hands in anger, and the blue light of his eyes
was singularly cruel.

"Galvez is a fool," he continued. "He is not allowing the English to trade
at New Orleans, but he is giving the American rebels full chance. He his
allowed one, Pollock, Oliver Pollock, to establish a base there. This
Pollock has formed a company of New York, Philadelphia, and Boston
merchants, and they are sending arms and ammunition in fleets of canoes up
the Mississippi and then up the Ohio to Fort Pitt, where they are unloaded
and then taken eastward by land for the use of the rebels. A fleet of
these canoes is to start about the time we arrive in New Orleans."

"We might meet it," suggested Braxton Wyatt, "and say that it attacked
us."

The Spaniard smiled.

"The idea is not bad," he said, "and it could be done. We could sink their
whole fleet of canoes with the pretty little cannon that we carry, and we
could prove that they began the attack. But I do not choose to run the
risk of compromising myself just yet. There is a more glorious enterprise
afoot. Hark you, Señor Wyatt."

Braxton Wyatt leaned forward and listened attentively. Francisco Alvarez
had drank of wine that evening, and his blood was warm. He, too, dreamed
a great dream.

"You are a man of discretion and you have helped me. I speak to you as one
devoted to my cause. If you should but breathe what I say to another I
would first swear that it was a lie, and then deliver you to these five
gentlemen, former friends of yours, who would tear you in pieces."

Braxton Wyatt shivered again, and the Spaniard, seeing the shiver, laughed
and was convinced.

"Why should I betray you?" said the renegade. "I have no motive to do so
and every possible motive to keep faith."

"I know it," replied Alvarez, "and that is why I speak. It is to your
interest to be faithful to me and when my enterprise succeeds, as it
certainly will, you shall have your proper share of the reward. Bernardo
Galvez, as you know, is the Governor General of Louisiana, and his father
is the Viceroy of Mexico. They are powerful, very powerful, and I am only
a commander of troops under the son, but I, too, am powerful. My family is
one of the first in Spain. It sits upon the very steps of the throne and
more than once royal blood has entered our veins. I was a favorite at the
court and I have many friends there. The King might be persuaded that
Bernardo Galvez is not a fit representative of the royal interests in
Louisiana."

Francisco Alvarez leaned a little forward and his blue eyes, usually so
chill, sparkled now with fire. He was speaking of what lay next to his
heart. Braxton Wyatt, full of shrewdness and perception, understood at
once.

"Bernardo Galvez might give way as Governor General of Louisiana," said
the renegade, "to be succeeded by a better man, one who had the real
interests of Spain at heart, one who would refuse to give the slightest
aid to rebels, rebels who would strike against a throne!"

The Spaniard looked pleased.

"I see that you are a man of penetration, Señor Wyatt," he said, "and I am
fortunate in having you as a lieutenant. You have divined my thought. I
work, not for the interests of a man whose name has been mentioned by
neither of us, but for the true interests of Spain and the divine right of
kings. What is this miserable Kaintock which is springing up? We will
crush it out as you would have crushed the rattlesnake! The people of New
Orleans and Louisiana hate rebels! Why should they not? It is the rebels
who in time will take Louisiana from us if they can, not England."

Braxton Wyatt smiled. He was delighted to the very center of his cunning
heart. His plans and those of Alvarez marched well together. Each
strengthened the other.

"I am with you to the end," he said.

"The end will be a glorious triumph," said the Spaniard in emphatic tones.

Meanwhile Henry and Shif'less Sol still lay in the thicket. Their project
to seize Braxton Wyatt and strip him of the maps and plans had been
defeated. Henry knew that the renegade had caught a glimpse of him in the
dusk and among the thick bushes and he expected an immediate alarm. But
when Wyatt raised none, he and Sol lingered. They saw the renegade go to
the Spaniard's side on the little mound, and they saw the two talk long
and earnestly, but, of course, they could not understand a word of what
was said.

"They look mighty pleased with one another," whispered Shif'less Sol, "so
it's bound to mean that they're up to the worst sort o' mischief."

"Yes," replied Henry, "and that mischief is sure to be aimed at our
people."

They waited about a half hour longer and then picked their way back
through the marsh to their own side of the peninsula.

It was now very late and Paul and Jim Hart were sound asleep in the boat,
but Tom Ross was keeping vigilant guard.

"Wuz it them?" he asked.

"Yes," replied Henry. "They're camped on the other side of this neck, and
Braxton Wyatt is still with the

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