Chapter V. On the Great River

The Free Rangers

by Joseph A. Altsheler

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 hey 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 as 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 o' 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-leeyuns. 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, Sal 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 Sal 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 be-hind 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.