When the three had gone, Long Jim sat on the edge of the boat and looked around at the sluggish waters of the bayou, the sad cypresses, and the drooping live oaks. An ugly water snake twined its slimy length just within the edge of the bayou, and the odor of the still forest about them was heavy and oppressive.

Long Jim took a long, comprehensive look, and then heaved a deep sigh.

"What's the matter?" asked Paul.

"I don't think the country and the climate agree with me," replied Long Jim lugubriously. "I wuz never so fur south afore, an' I'm a delicate plant, I am. I need the snow and the north wind to keep me fresh an'

bloomin'. All this gits on me. My lungs don't feel clean. I'm longin' fur them big, fine woods up in our country, whar you may run agin a b'ar, but whar you ain't likely to step on a snake afore you see it."

"Give me the temperate climate, too," said Paul, "but we've come on a great errand, Jim, and we've come a long way. It's good, too, to see new things."

"So it is, but I don't like to set here waitin' in this swamp. Think I'll stretch my legs a little on the bank thar, ef it's firm enough to hold me up, though I do have an abidin' distrust uv most uv the land hereabouts."

Jim leaped upon the bank which upheld him, and stretched his long legs with obvious relief.

"A boat's mighty easy," he said, "but now an' then walkin's good."

He strode up and down two or three times and then he stopped. He had heard a sound, faint, it is true, but enough to arrest the attention of Long Jim. Then he went on with a look of disgust. It was surely one of those snakes again!

He was about to pa.s.s a great cypress when a pair of long, brown arms reached out and grasped him by the throat. Long Jim was a strong man and, despite his early advantage, it would have gone hard with the owner of the arms, none other than The Cat himself, but three or four men, springing from the covert, threw themselves upon him.

Paul heard the first sounds of the contest and sprang up. He saw Long Jim struggling in the grasp of many hands, and s.n.a.t.c.hing at the first weapon that lay near, he sprang to the bank, rushing to the a.s.sistance of his comrade.

A shout of derisive laughter greeted Paul. Long Jim had been thrown down and held fast and the lad was confronted by none other than Alvarez himself, while Braxton Wyatt, smiling in malignant triumph, stood just behind him.

"Well, my young man of Kaintock," said Francisco Alvarez in his precise English, "we have taken you and at least one of your brother thieves. In good time we'll have the others, too. It was an evil day when you ventured on my plantation so near such a wonderful tracker as The Cat. Why, he detected them instinctively when your comrades ventured near us!"

The eyes of the stooping Natchez Indian flashed at the compliment but, in a moment, he resumed his immobility. All the blood rushed to Paul's face, and he could not contain his anger.

"Thief! how dare you call me a thief!" he said.

"This is my boat before me," replied Alvarez. "You stole it."

"Not so," replied Paul. "We captured it. You seized and held me a prisoner when I came to your camp on a friendly mission, and we took it in fair reprisal and for a good purpose. Moreover, you are plotting with that vile renegade there to destroy our people in Kentucky!"

"You are a thief," repeated Francisco Alvarez calmly, "you stole my boat.

Why, the very sword that you hold in your hand is mine, stolen from me."

Paul glanced down. In his haste and excitement he had s.n.a.t.c.hed up one of the beautiful small swords when he leaped from the boat, but he had been unconscious of it. He was yet free and he held a sword in his hand. One of the men who was holding Jim Hart suddenly kicked him to make him keep quiet, and Paul's wrath blazed up under the double incentive of the blow and the sneering face of Francisco Alvarez.

The lad rushed forward, sword in hand, and one of the soldiers raised his musket. Alvarez pushed the weapon down.

"Since this young rebel wants to fight, and has a stolen sword of mine in his hand," he said, "he can fight with me. I will give him that honor."

So speaking Alvarez drew his own sword and held up the blade to the light until it glittered. A shout of approval arose from the soldiers, but Long Jim cried out:

"It ain't fair! It ain't right to take one uv your kind uv weepins an'

attack him! It's murder! Let me loose an' I'll fight you with rifles."

"Have you got that ruffian securely bound?" asked Alvarez.

"Yes," replied one of his men.

"Then I'll teach this youth a lesson, as I said."

Paul had stopped in his rush, and suddenly he became cool and collected.

"Don't you be afraid for me, Jim," he said. "I can take care of myself, and I'll fight him."

Alvarez laughed derisively and the others echoed the laugh of their master, but Paul held up his own sword, also, until it glittered in the light. Every nerve and muscle became taut, and the blood went back from his brain, leaving it cool and clear.

"Come on," he said to Alvarez. "I'm ready."

They stood in a level glade, and the two faced each other, the sunshine lighting up all the area enclosed by the cypresses. Around them stood Braxton Wyatt and the followers of Alvarez.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote B: It is probable that the bluff, indicated by Paul, is the one on which the present city of Memphis stands.]

CHAPTER IX

PAUL AND THE SPANIARD

Francisco Alvarez never suffered from the vice of humility. While he was planning to make himself Governor General of Louisiana he thought also that the selection was a most admirable one. Nor would he have condescended now to cross a blade with this boy from the backwoods, but his pride had been bitterly hurt by the deeds of Paul and his comrades.

Such presumption must be punished, and the punishment must be of a humiliating kind.

The Spaniard took the point of his sword between his thumb and forefinger and bent the blade a little. The steel was flexible and true. Then he put himself on guard, and physically he was a splendid figure of a man, tall, compact, and obviously skilled with his weapon.

Long Jim Hart writhed again in his bonds. His heart yearned over Paul, his young comrade.

"Stop it! stop it!" he cried. "It's murder, I say, fur a man used to them weepins to set upon a boy."

"Shall we gag this fellow, Captain?" asked Braxton Wyatt, who enjoyed the scene.

"No," replied Alvarez, scornfully. "Let him make as much noise as he pleases."

Paul heard Long Jim's second protest, but now he did not answer. He was intently watching Alvarez. He had read the look in the eye of the Spanish leader, and he knew that Alvarez not only intended to punish him, but also to make that process as mortifying as possible. But Paul was yet unafraid.

Although not as large and powerful as Henry, he was nevertheless a very strong youth, used to the open air and exercise, and wonderfully flexible and alert. He held the sword lightly but firmly with the point well forward, ready for any movement by his antagonist.

Alvarez came a step nearer. His sword flashed, but Paul dextrously caught the stroke upon his own weapon, and the blade glanced off, ringing.

Alvarez was surprised. He had seen from Paul's position and the manner in which he held his weapon that he knew something about the sword, but he was not prepared for such a skillful parry.

"Good, Paul! Good!" cried Long Jim, a sudden hope bounding up in his heart. "Go in! Trim him! Slice off his mustache for him!"

Alvarez was stung by the taunt. Braxton Wyatt made an angry movement toward Long Jim, but the Spaniard again waved him back. His own pride would not permit him to silence the taunter in such a way. No, he would silence him in another manner. But the cry of Long Jim had its effect upon Paul, too. It aroused him to a supreme effort. He leaped forward suddenly, thrust quick as lightning, and then leaped away. The Spaniard had parried, but the blade nevertheless cut the cloth of his brilliant coat, making a long gash. The cut was not in the flesh, only in the cloth, but Alvarez was stung by it and the sting became the more bitter when Long Jim cried out: