Chapter X. A Barbaric Ordeal

The Free Rangers

by Joseph A. Altsheler

When Paul awoke the next morning just after daylight, he did not
feel very good. Accustomed all his life to fresh air and infinite
spaces, the close, hot little log house oppressed him. His head felt
heavy and his lungs choked. Jim felt likewise and made audible
complaint, but the door was soon opened, and again it was Luiz and a
comrade with food.

"Luiz, you ain't no beauty an' you can't talk a real decent
language," said Long Jim, "but I'm pow'ful glad to see you."

The words were foreign to Luiz, but he understood Long Jim's
tone. He smiled and showed his white teeth, but when his glance fell
upon Paul he became sad. Then he looked quickly away. He did not
wish either Paul or his comrade to read anything in that glance.
Luiz did not have a bad heart and he was troubled.

When they had eaten their breakfast, Luiz put his hand on Paul's
shoulder, and pointed to the door, beckoning also to Long Jim. His
manner indicated plainly that they were to leave the prison.

"All right, pardner," said Long Jim. "You won't have to git no
pole to pry me out uv this place."

Luiz led the way and the two followed gladly. The air was
crisper and fresher than usual, and to both of them it felt divine.
They inhaled deep breaths, and thought that the world had never
looked so beautiful. What a golden sunrise! What a blue sky! What
magnificent green woods off there under the horizon! They felt
strength and courage rushing back in a flood.

"Which way now, Mr. Spaniard?" said Long Jim. "Has your captain
repented, an' does he want to give us the finest rooms in his house?
I can't say that we liked the tavern he made us stop at last
night."

Luiz shook his head, either to signify that he did not
understand or that there was no reply, and led the way down a narrow
path shut in on either side with magnolias and cypresses. The little
group of soldiers enclosed Paul and Long Jim, but all their glances
were for the boy, none for the man.

The enclosed path led on for two or three hundred yards. Paul
now and then caught glimpses through the trees of the chateau or a
passing face, and he heard a low murmur that seemed to be the hum of
many voices.

The path ended presently at a gate in a high board wall, and
both gate and wall were thick and strong. Here a Spaniard dressed
like a minor officer was waiting, and began to unlock the gate.

"Now what under the sun can they be about?" asked Long Jim, to
whom all this seemed very strange. "Are they goin' to tie us up in a
pen?"

The heavy gate was unlocked and swung open a foot or so. Two
soldiers suddenly seized Long Jim and pulled him back, while another
thrust Paul into the open space. The officer put in his hand a sword
- the very one with which he had wounded Alvarez, Paul's fingers
closing mechanically over the hilt. Then they shoved Paul inside,
and quickly closed and locked the gate behind him. But the last look
that Luiz had bent upon the boy was one of pity and sympathy.

Paul staggered with the force of the push that the men had given
him, and for a moment or two he was dazed, but eye and brain alike
cleared as a great shout arose. Then he beheld an extraordinary
scene.

The boy stood within a ring fence enclosing a circular space
perhaps thirty yards across, free from grass, and trodden hard. The
fence was of boards only about half way around, the rest of it being
made of strong parallel bars about two feet apart and fastened to
posts. At the far side a rude log stable seemed to open into it.
The place might have been intended as a breaking ground for horses
but Paul did not have time to think.

Facing him, just outside the fence and sitting on a hastily
constructed wooden seat was Francisco Alvarez, still in his finest
uniform. Beside him was Braxton Wyatt, also in a Spanish uniform,
and all about them on either side, wherever the fence was made of
parallel bars and open to see, clustered the mob, soldiers, laborers,
servants, white faces, black faces, yellow faces, brown faces,
straight hair, curly hair, and kinky hair, French, Spaniards,
Portuguese, Indians, negroes, and many mixtures, every one eager and
tense, and every eye bent upon Paul who stood, back to the gate,
holding the sword in his hand, but unconscious that he held it.

What was this mummery? Why was he a spectacle for that mob? All
the blood rushed to Paul's head and the little pulses in his temples
began to beat like hammers. He looked at Alvarez, but the Spaniard
had turned his face into a stony mask, and he could read no meaning
there. Then he looked at Braxton Wyatt, and the renegade's
countenance plainly expressed malignity and triumph. The great shout
that greeted the entrance of Paul died away to a silence so heavy
that it seemed ominous. Then Francisco Alvarez looked toward the
wooden building, at the far side of the ring, and raised his hand. A
gate there was thrown open, and a man, sword in hand, strolled lazily
out. Again a tremendous shout arose, and the mob pressed closer to
the bars, those in front sitting on the grass and those behind
standing up in order that they might look over them.

Francisco Alvarez raised his hand a second time, and instantly
there was silence once more. He was like a feudal lord dispensing
justice in the open air before all his retainers.

"Kaintock," he called in a loud voice, "since you are so expert
with the sword, we give you another chance to display your skill.
Defend yourself from this champion."

Again the approving shout of the mob arose, and Paul looked
across the ring, where the swordsman had come forth.

The man was of great size, and his whole appearance reminded
Paul of the ancient gladiators of whom he had read. He seemed to be
a West Indian of Spanish descent, very dark and with immense
shoulders. He wore a red shirt, which added to his strange and
savage appearance. He carried in his hand a long sword, much longer
than Paul's and when he faced the lad he suddenly grasped the hilt of
his weapon in both hands and twirled it about until it made a
glittering circle. The crowd set up a shout, but Paul felt chilled
through and through.

"I have no quarrel with this man," he called to Alvarez, "and I
will not fight him."

"You have no choice," replied Alvarez, and the more savage in
the crowd, who wished to see barbaric sport, shouted their approval.
But some were silent. Long Jim struggled with four men, and
exclaimed, "It's murder! He's only a boy!" But the four held him
fast.

The swordsman, grinning in the certainty of easy triumph,
advanced upon Paul.

Now Paul understood. He was there to furnish sport, terrible,
deadly sport, and he must fight if he would save himself. As Alvarez
truly said, no choice was left to him. If he sprang for the barrier
they would thrust him back, and that was not a thing to be
endured.

Francisco Alvarez, spurred on by the sting of his wound, and
urged, too, by Braxton Wyatt, who was mad for the deed the moment he
heard of it, had done this wicked thing. The strain of cruelty in
his nature, inherited perhaps, from far-off ancestors who had looked
upon pitiless games in the arena in the Roman cities in Spain, was
completely in control.

"It is better than I thought," he said to Braxton Wyatt. "The
ring serves the purpose well. We shall have some royal sport if
Kaintock will but fight."

"He will fight," said Braxton Wyatt.

The swordsman advanced upon Paul and thrust with his shining
blade. Paul felt intuitively that he was a master of the weapon,
reinforced, too, by enormous strength. He, a boy, would have but
little chance. Yet he parried the thrust and replied with one of his
own that flashed dangerously near the man's side. The crowd again
shouted approval, but as before some were silent Long Jim made
another effort to drag himself loose, but he could not. The men held
him. Nevertheless, he repeated his cry: "It's murder! He's only a
boy!"

The rapid interchange of thrust and parry followed, and the
swordsman grew angry. He was there not only to furnish sport, but to
have it also for himself. He did not like to be held back by one
over whom he had thought victory so easy. Suddenly he exerted his
full strength and broke through Paul's guard. The lad felt his left
shoulder and arm seared as if by a great flame, and, with a cry that
he could not repress, he dropped back.

The swordsman, too, stepped back, sure now of his triumph. The
shout came from the crowd once more, but only from a part of it, and
brave, faithful Long Jim closed his eyes that he might not see what
would follow.

The elated swordsman held up his weapon as one would a banner.
It was a broad blade like a cutlass and it glittered in the brilliant
sunlight. The next moment there was the sound of a shot, the man
uttered a cry of pain, although himself untouched, and the sword,
broken in several pieces, fell to the ground. It had been shot from
his hand with a rifle bullet.

Long Jim, opening his eyes, uttered a cry of joy and Henry Ware,
smoking rifle in hand, pressed his way through the crowd, which he
had entered unnoticed in the excitement.

Francisco Alvarez sprang to his feet in anger. Not for, some
moments did he see the figure of the one who fired the shot, and even
then he did not know who it was. But Braxton Wyatt knew Henry Ware
at once, and he was resolved that he should not escape.

"Seize him! seize him!" cried the renegade. "He is the most
dangerous of them all!

But Henry offered no resistance, as the soldiers rushed toward
him, quietly surrendering his rifle. Tom Ross, who was behind him,
angrily threw back the crowd and would have fought, but Henry
said:

"Give up, Tom, it's best for the present."

Henry's eyes were upon his comrade who had been subjected to
such treatment. Paul stood erect, but there were stains on his
shoulder, and he was pale and weak.

"Look to him," said Henry threateningly to Francisco Alvarez who
was approaching. "It is an outrage of which the Governor General of
Louisiana shall know."

Alvarez flushed. He felt now slight prickings of the conscience
and of apprehension. It was indeed a wicked deed that he had done,
but he had no mind to be bearded by another from Kaintock.

"He will receive the proper attention," he said, "but you are my
prisoner, and so is this man who has just been taken with you. I
tell you, too, that I am in supreme command here, and I take the
responsibility for all my acts."

Braxton Wyatt had crowded near, but Henry and Tom refused to
notice him. Luiz went into the ring and led Paul away, binding up
his shoulder where the flesh was cut, although the hurt was not
serious.

"Take their arms and put them all in the same prison," said
Alvarez to one of his officers and the four were escorted to the log
house which Paul and Long Jim had left not long before.

"Our plan has been marked by some success after all," said
Alvarez to Braxton Wyatt. "It has drawn two more into our hands."

"There is a fifth," said Braxton Wyatt. "The one they call
Shif'less Sol, and we have not got him. As long as a single one of
them is free we are in danger."

The Spaniard laughed.

"You exaggerate their powers," he said. "We have nothing to fear
from one wandering hunter."

"But this man, Shif'less Sol, is full of cunning," said Braxton
Wyatt.

The Spaniard's only reply was to hold his head a little higher.
It was his plan now to assume his haughtiest manner. The little fear
that he had done wrong, that his act in forcing Paul into the ring
against a professional swordsman, a gladiator as it were, was
medieval, and that harm might come to him from it, clung to him. But
pride bade him never to show it.

As he and Braxton Wyatt went into the Chateau of Beaulieu, the
doors of the log prison closed upon the four comrades. Paul, under
the care of Luiz, reached it first but the others were just behind.
Paul sat on the floor and leaned against the wall. The others bent
tenderly over him. But Paul looked up at them and smiled.

"It isn't much," he said. "The sword only grazed me. My
clothing saved me from a bad cut. But I wish you boys, whatever
happens, would remember that Spaniard, Luiz. He's been kind to
me."

"We'll do it," said Henry. "I don't know what will come of all
this, Paul, but I feel sure that we'll succeed."

"Of course," said Paul, "but you came just in time, and that was
a great shot of yours."

"We were in the woods," said Henry, "and we saw the crowd
gathering. We knew some mischief was afoot, and they were so eager
on it that we came up unnoticed. I wanted Tom to stay back, but he
was afraid he would be needed."

"And Shif'less Sol?" said Paul. "Where is he?"

Henry laughed.

"The shiftless one is about the shiftiest man in the
wilderness," he replied. "Do you suppose that he would ever walk into
a trap, when there was nothing inside the trap worth the risk?
Didn't he know that Tom and I were sufficient for any task that might
be ahead of us this morning?"

Paul laughed, too, and the others were glad to see the color
coming back into his face.

"Good old Sol," he said, "I'm glad he didn't come too. He's
somewhere out there in the woods, and he's the one link between us
and Kentucky. "We'll be sure to hear from him."

They talked of their plans, but for the time, they could see no
way. Shif'less Sol might go on alone to New Orleans, but it needed
the presence of the five to be convincing.

"He wouldn't go anyhow," said Paul. "Sol would never leave us
here."

Luiz brought them food and water at noon, and then they were
left again to themselves.