"Nor are you more surprised, Senor, at my presence, than was I a moment back to stumble upon you when I supposed our party alone here in this wilderness. Who did you say held dominion over this country?"

"His most gracious Christian Majesty, Charles the Third, of Spain," he replied shortly. "As his officer, I require that you give proper heed and direct answer to my questioning. Who are you, and where are you going?"

The man's domineering manner amused me, yet I replied civilly to his words.

"A wandering hunter, Senor, from the Illinois country, homeward bound.

I was not aware this territory had fallen into Spanish hands, supposing it still to be under French control. You are then a soldier of Spain?"

"Ay," he returned ungraciously, eying me in his irritating way, "of the battalion of Grenada."

He was evidently in doubt whether to believe my word, and I rejoiced to mark such indecision, accepting it as proof he had not gained a glimpse of De Noyan, for whom he was in eager search.

"It may be, fellow," he consented to say at last, "you speak truth, and it may be your tongue is false as h.e.l.l. These are times of grave suspicion, yet there are means of discovery open to men of action. I just noted the position of your camp yonder, and have sufficient men within easy reach of my voice to make it mine if need arise. So I warn you to deal fairly, or accept the consequences. The Marquis de Serrato is not one given to speaking twice in such quest. I have a soft tongue in ladies' bowers, but my hand is hard enough in camp and field."

He uttered these words in fierce threat, his one evil eye glaring full at me as though to terrify. Before I could answer, he shot forth a question, direct as a bullet from a gun.

"I beheld the flap of a dress yonder amid those trees; what means it?

Women are not common in these parts--have you one in your company?"

"We have, my lord," I replied, holding myself to calmness, striving to speak with apparent respect for his rank. "We are four, altogether; one has his wife along to cook for us."

"You are voyaging from New Orleans?"

"Nay; from the savannahs of Red River, where we enjoyed a good season of sport."

"You are French?"

"A natural guess, yet a wrong one, Senor. I am of English blood."

"_Saprista_! 't is a beast of a nation! I like not that such as you should be here. I will call some of my men and visit your camp." He spoke sternly, taking a step backward as if about to seek his companions. "The tale you tell may be true enough, yet these are troublous days along the river, and my orders are strict against permitting any to pa.s.s unsearched."

My hands clinched hard around the gun-barrel for a swing, while I braced my body for a leap forward, yet held back from such desperate action, making hazard of one more effort to draw him out.

"I have met soldiers of Spain before, my lord," I said, speaking the words with deference, yet managing to inject sufficient tinge of sarcasm to the tone, "yet never previously found them so fearful of a stray hunter's camp as not to dare approach it without a guard of armed men. My companions yonder are asleep, excepting the woman; we are only three, and of peaceful life. You would discover nothing except warm welcome at our fire."

I caught the quick responsive smile lighting his hard, thin face, observing how suddenly awakened pride and contempt combined to curl his upturned moustache.

"Ah!" he exclaimed gayly, with a derisive wave of the hand, "so you suppose it is from fear I proposed calling others to accompany me!

_Caramba_! 'tis well you put your suspicion in no stronger words. But stay; I trust not altogether the truth of your tale. Saints' love! a soldier can place faith only in what he sees--yet your face is frank and simple enough, and, as you say, there are but three of you, besides the woman. I did mark that much from yonder tree. It will be small risk to one of my experience in arms, and my men sleep in weariness.

Lead on, fellow, yet do not forget I wear this sword for use, not show."

With muttered thanksgiving at my possessing so honest a countenance, and a blessing on the Spaniard's pride, I turned back, beginning to retrace my steps along the narrow ridge, never deigning to glance across my shoulder, yet confident he was close behind. Every additional step I inveigled him from his camp was to my advantage, nor would I permit him to feel suspicion on my part, as fearlessness was certain to beget confidence, and my final plan of action was already made. We thus pa.s.sed the spot where I had climbed the steep bank, and were, to the best of my memory, some twenty yards beyond the hiding-place of my boat, when the ridge widened, a thick fringe of low-growing trees completely shutting out all view of the water. It was a likely spot enough, having firm ground under-foot, with sufficient room for a royal struggle, and here I determined to try a pa.s.sage-at-arms with my burly antagonist. It was useless to hope for surprise. He was an old soldier d.o.g.g.i.ng my steps, doubtless eying my every motion, his own hand hard gripping his sword hilt, ready to cut me down did slightest need arise. No; it must be foot to foot, eye to eye, a club of steel against the dancing blade; yet I felt the strange contest would not prove unfair, for he was a man not as agile as in years agone, while his armor of proof, valuable as it might be in the turning of a sword thrust, would be more burden than protection against my rifle-stock.

"Senor," I said, in studied courtesy, stopping suddenly and confronting him, "I have hunted across this wilderness more than one season, and dislike greatly being estopped now by Spanish decree. Nor do I comprehend your right in this matter. Have you warrant for opposing our peaceful pa.s.sage to the Ohio?"

He stared at me in undisguised amazement at my boldness, a grim smile on his hard, set face.

"Ay! I have, fellow," he finally retorted angrily, tapping his hilt.

"'Tis in this scabbard at my side."

"Then draw it, Senor," I exclaimed, throwing forward my long rifle menacingly. "And may G.o.d stand with the better man."

I have a conception that at the moment he believed he was being fronted by a crazed man, yet there was in my face an expression quickly teaching him otherwise, and, with a swift twist, he flashed his sword forth into the sunlight, standing on guard.

"_Por Baco_!" he growled savagely, "you must be little better than a fool to hoist that club. It will give me pleasure to teach you better manners toward a grandee of Spain."

"Grandee, or not," I retorted, angered at his implied contempt, "I may teach you a trick, Senor, with that same club, never learned in your Spanish fencing-schools."

It was swift, intense fighting from the word, he proving past-master of his weapon, yet my stiff rifle-barrel was no mean defence against his lighter blade, with a reach preventing his point touching my body, and sufficient weight to bear down the thin, murderous steel whenever the two came into contact. It had been long practice with me, having picked up the pretty trick from a French zouave when I was a boy, so I swung the iron as if it were a single-stick; and, in truth, I know of no better fence against the stroke of a straight sword, although fencing-masters, I have heard, make light of it. Nevertheless it was new experience to this Spaniard, and it did me good to note how it angered the fellow to be held back by such a weapon. He made such stress to press in behind my guard that he began to pant like a man running a hard race. Nor did I venture to strike a blow in return, for, in simple truth, this soldier kept me busier with parry and feint than any swordsman before, while he tried every trick of his trade, not a few of them strange to me. So I bided my time, confident he must make an opening for fit return if he kept up such furious attack, and thus, with retreat and advance, hack and guard, thrust and parry, we tramped up a wide bit of ground, while there was no sound of the struggle, except our hard breathing, with now and then a fierce curse from him as his flashing steel nicked on my gun-barrel, or flew off into thin air just as he thought to send its deadly point home.

Such fighting is wearing even to seasoned nerves, and the dazzle of the sun bothered my eyes, yet he had pressed me back scarcely more than a couple of yards when his dancing blade slipped stealthily up my brown barrel, suddenly nipping the loose sleeve of my doublet. As it p.r.i.c.ked into the cloth, sc.r.a.ping the skin of my forearm, I let the fellow have the end of the muzzle full in the side. It was not the best spot for such a thrust, nor could I give it proper force, yet I think it cracked a rib, from the way the Spaniard drew back, and the sudden pallor of his face; indeed, so ghastly white he got, I thought him done for, and lowered my barrel carelessly. He was more of a man than I had reckoned on, or else his pride made him averse to accepting defeat, for with one quick spring, like a wounded tiger, he was inside my guard, his ugly point rasping into me just beneath the shoulder. Saint Andrew! It was an awkward touch, especially as the tough steel held, the punctured flesh burning like fire; but fortunately the fellow was in too great pain himself to press his advantage, and, as we clinched and went down together, I chanced to be on top, throttling him with right good-will.

That which followed was but a small matter, yet I left him there, waiting the discovery of his comrades, in as comfortable a posture as possible, confident he could give no alarm. That Spaniard was a brave man, and I have ever had respect for such.

CHAPTER XVI

WE CHANGE OUR COURSE

My attempt to recross the river proved difficult. I had lost no small amount of blood from my wound, which, besides weakening me, had so stiffened my right shoulder as to render any strain upon the oars a constant pain. Yet the excitement nerved me to the effort, and, crushing down weakness by sheer force of will, I drove the heavy boat straight through the low, overhanging bushes on to the soft mud of the bank. Before I could arise to my feet Madame was standing beside the dripping prow, her great eyes staring at the blood stains discoloring my doublet.

"You are hurt!" she exclaimed, her lips white with apprehension. "I beg you tell me, is it a serious wound?"

"Nay, the merest scratch, Madame," I answered hastily, for it added to my pain to mark such anxiety in her face. "Not worthy your thought, but I will ask you to call the others at once, and have them load everything into the boat without delay. I will await you here, as I find myself weak from loss of blood."

She stood gazing intently at me, as if she read my most secret thoughts; and no doubt my face was sufficiently white to alarm her, yet I smiled back into her eyes, and she turned away, running lightly up the bank. Nor was she long away, or noisy in her mission, scarcely a minute having elapsed before the three came trooping down to the water-side, their hands laden with camp utensils, De Noyan wide awake enough, and filled with intense interest in my adventures, but the Puritan yet c.o.c.k-eyed from sleep, stumbling as he walked like a man in a dream.

"Take the oars, both of you," I said quietly, totally ignoring the question in the eyes of the Chevalier. "I have tasted a sword point, and am weakened from loss of blood. Pull up the stream, and be swift and quiet about it."

"Hast thou been smitten of the Philistine, friend Benteen?" loudly questioned Cairnes, stumbling noisily across the seats.

"Time enough to tell my story when we are beyond danger," I returned tartly, annoyed by his awkwardness. "If you utter another word before we are around yonder headland, I will have De Noyan hoist you overboard."

I saw him glance askance at the unconscious Chevalier as if mentally calculating his ability to perform the feat. Then his glinting gray eyes swept the sodden sh.o.r.e as though vaguely wondering what it was we fled from in such unseemly haste. Nor did I long withdraw my own anxious gaze from that north bank, until we rounded the bend in the stream, and were safely removed from view of any one below. I was able to mark no sign of life along the ridge, my faith reviving that the Spanish sailors yet slept soundly, while as to their irate commander, I had trussed him with a thoroughness which left me confident. Feeling rea.s.sured I finally yielded to Eloise's entreaties, laying bare my breast and permitting Madame to wash away the clotted blood and apply such bandages as might easily be procured. She was extremely gentle about it; but I marvelled somewhat at the trembling of her white fingers and the pallor of her face, for it was not a bad wound, De Noyan hesitating not to make light of it, although he acknowledged it was a strong wrist which drove the tuck in. Anyway, what with the reaction and the loss of blood, I lay back quite spent, telling over briefly those incidents that had occurred to me while they slept.

"And now," I said, addressing the Puritan, who was seated at the bow-oar, where I could see nothing of him except the bobbing of his red crop, "how do you know this stream makes a circuit and approaches the mouth of the Ohio? It beareth a little to the west of north here."

"It was the Spanish captain camping here as I pa.s.sed down," he answered, speaking abominably through his nose. "They called him Castellane, a little fellow, with pop-eyes, who pretended to light his pipe from my hair. He pointed it out upon a map some black-frocked papist had drawn. It was plain enough to the eye, but 'tis likely they lied, for they were all sp.a.w.ns of Satan."

"True or false," I commented coolly, "we seem likely to find out. I have also heard somewhere--no doubt in the Illinois country--about a northern trend to this stream, and one thing is certain, there is no hope for us otherwise; there can be no running those guard-lines back yonder."

"Do you mean we push on up this river?" broke in De Noyan, who had managed to make something out of our conversation, especially as the Puritan ill.u.s.trated his knowledge by rudely tracing with a stumped forefinger a map on the board where he sat. "_Sacre_! 'tis the dirtiest red slough ever I navigated. Why not try the other thing? A brush with those gentlemen below would be more to my taste."

"Ay, Master Benteen," boomed Cairnes with pious emphasis, reading the meaning of the other through his French gestures. "Methinks the Lord of Hosts would a.s.suredly strengthen the hearts of His servants for such a fray. How many, friend, do you suppose they number, those unwashed sons of Belial?"

"I can only guess. There were twelve oars in the boat pa.s.sing us on the lower river, while four others sat with guns in their hands; besides these are the Marquis de Serrato and the Capuchin priest, making a total of eighteen, all of whom we must reckon upon as being fighting men at a pinch."