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.