The Free Rangers by Joseph A. Altsheler

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THE
FREE RANGERS

[Illustration]

JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

_The_
FREE RANGERS

_The_
FREE RANGERS

A STORY OF EARLY DAYS
ALONG THE MISSISSIPPI

BY

JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

AUTHOR OF "THE YOUNG TRAILERS," "THE FOREST RUNNERS," ETC.

[Illustration]

APPLETON-CENTURY-CROFTS, INC.

NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

_All rights reserved. This book, or parts
thereof, must not be reproduced in any
form without permission of the publishers._

Copyright, 1936, by Sallie B. Altsheler
Printed in the United States of America

"THE FREE RANGERS," WHILE AN INDEPENDENT
STORY IN ITSELF, CONTINUES THE FORTUNES OF THE
TWO BOYS AND THEIR COMRADES WHO WERE THE
CENTRAL CHARACTERS IN "THE YOUNG TRAILERS,"
"THE FOREST RUNNERS," "THE KEEPERS OF THE
TRAIL" AND "THE EYES of THE WOODS."

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. THE CALL 1

II. A FOREST ENVOY 17

III. AN INVISIBLE CHASE 39

IV. TAKING A "GALLEON" 54

V. ON THE GREAT RIVER 74

VI. BATTLE AND STORM 96

VII. THE LONE VOYAGER 115

VIII. THE CHATEAU OF BEAULIEU 133

IX. PAUL AND THE SPANIARD 153

X. A BARBARIC ORDEAL 171

XI. THE SPANIARD'S OFFER 181

XII. THE SHADOW IN THE FOREST 196

XIII. THE WHITE STALLION 214

XIV. NEW ORLEANS 230

XV. BEFORE BERNARDO GALVEZ 251

XVI. IN PRISON 271

XVII. THE FLAW IN THE ARMOR 285

XVIII. NORTHWARD WITH THE FLEET 302

XIX. THE BATTLE OF THE BANK 322

XX. THE BATTLE OF THE BAYOU 334

XXI. THE DEFENSE OF THE FIVE 349

XXII. THE CHOSEN TASK 361

THE FREE RANGERS

CHAPTER I

THE CALL

The wilderness rolled away to north and to south, and also it rolled away
to east and to west, an unbroken sweep of dark, glossy green. Straight up
stood the mighty trunks, but the leaves rippled and sang low when a gentle
south wind breathed upon them. It was the forest as God made it, the
magnificent valley of North America, upon whose edges the white man had
just begun to nibble.

A young man, stepping lightly, came into a little glade. He was white, but
he brought with him no alien air. He was in full harmony with the primeval
woods, a part of them, one in whose ears the soft song of the leaves was a
familiar and loved tune. He was lean, but tall, and he walked with a
wonderful swinging gait that betokened a frame wrought to the strength of
steel by exercise, wind, weather, and life always in the open. Though his
face was browned by sun and storm his hair was yellow and his eyes blue.
He was dressed wholly in deerskin and he carried over his shoulder the
long slender rifle of the border. At his belt swung hatchet and knife.

There was a touch to the young man that separated him from the ordinary
woods rover. He held himself erect with a certain pride of manner. The
stock of his rifle, an unusually fine piece, was carved in an ornate and
beautiful way. The deerskin of his attire had been tanned with uncommon
care, and his moccasins were sewn thickly with little beads of yellow and
blue and red and green. Every piece of clothing was scrupulously clean,
and his arms were polished and bright.

The shiftless one--who so little deserved his name--paused a moment in the
glade and, dropping the stock of his rifle to the ground, leaned upon the
muzzle. He listened, although he expected to hear nothing save the song of
the leaves, and that alone he heard. A faint smile passed over the face of
Shif'less Sol. He was satisfied. All was happening as he had planned. Then
he swung the rifle back to his shoulder, and walked to the crest of a hill
near by.

The summit was bare and the shiftless one saw far. It was a splendid
rolling country, covered with forests of oak and elm, beech, hickory and
maple. Here and there faint threads of silver showed where rivers or
brooks flowed, and he drew a long deep breath. The measure of line and
verse he knew not, but deep in his being Nature had kindled the true fire
of poetry, and now his pleasure was so keen and sharp that a throb of
emotion stirred in his throat. It was a grand country and, if reserved for
any one, it must be reserved for his race and his people. Shif'less Sol
was resolved upon that purpose and to it he was ready to devote body and
life.

Yet the wilderness seemed to tell only of peace. The low song of the
leaves was soothing and all innocence. The shiftless one was far beyond
the farthest outpost of his kind, beyond the broad yellow current of the
Mississippi, deep in the heart of the primeval forest. He might travel
full three hundred miles to the eastward and find no white cabin, while to
westward his own kind were almost a world away. On all sides stretched the
vast maze of forest and river, through which roamed only wild animals and
wilder man.

Shif'less Sol, from his post on the hill, examined the whole circle of the
forest long and carefully. He seemed intent upon some unusual object. It
was shown in the concentration of his look and the thoughtful pucker of
his forehead. It was not game, because in a glade to windward, at the foot
of the hill, five buffaloes grazed undisturbed and now and then uttered
short, panting grunts to show their satisfaction. Presently a splendid
stag, walking through the woods as if he were sole proprietor, scented the
strange human odor, and threw up his head in alarm. But the figure on the
hill, the like of which the deer had never seen before, did not stir or
take notice, and His Lordship the Stag raised his head higher to see. The
figure still did not stir, and, his alarm dying, the stag walked
disdainfully away among the trees.

Birds, the scarlet tanager, the blue bird, the cat bird, the jay and
others of their kin settled on the trees near the young man with the
yellow hair, and gazed at him with curiosity and without fear. A rabbit
peeped up now and then, but beyond the new presence the wilderness was
undisturbed, and it became obvious to the animal tribe that the stranger
meant no harm. Nor did the shiftless one himself discern any alien note.
The sky, a solid curve of blue, bore nowhere a trace of smoke. It was
undarkened and unstained, the same lonely brightness that had dawned every
morning for untold thousands of years.

Shif'less Sol showed no disappointment. Again all seemed to be happening
as he wished. Presently he left the hill and, face toward the south, began
to walk swiftly and silently down the rows of trees. There was but little
undergrowth, nothing to check his speed, and he strode on and on. After a
while he came to a brook running through low soft soil and then he did a
strange thing, the very act that a white man travelling through the
dangerous forest would have avoided. He planted one foot in the yielding
soil near the water's edge, and then stepping across, planted the other in
exactly the same way on the far side.

When another yard brought him to hard ground he stopped and looked back
with satisfaction. On either side of the brook remained the firm deep
impression of a human foot, of a white foot, the toes being turned
outward. No wilderness rover could mistake it, and yet it was hundreds of
miles to the nearest settlement of Shif'less Sol's kind.

He took another look at the footsteps, smiled again and resumed his
journey. The character of the country did not change. Still the low
rolling hills, still the splendid forests of oak and elm, beech, maple and
hickory, and of all their noble kin, still the little brooks of clear
water, still the deer and the buffalo, grazing in the glades, and taking
but little notice of the strange human figure as it passed. Presently, the
shiftless one stopped again and he did another thing, yet stranger than
the pressing-in of the foot-prints beside the little stream. He drew the
hatchet from his belt and cut a chip out of the bark of a hickory. A
hundred yards further on he did the same thing, and, at three hundred
yards or so, he cut the chip for the third time. He looked well at the
marks, saw that they were clear, distinct and unmistakable, and then the
peculiar little smile of satisfaction would pass again over his face.

But these stops were only momentary. Save for them he never ceased his
rapid course, and always it led straight toward the south. When the sun
was squarely overhead, pouring down a flood of golden beams, he paused in
the shade of a mighty oak, and took food from his belt. He might have
eaten there in silence and obscurity, but once more the shiftless one
showed a singular lack of caution and woodcraft. He drew together dry
sticks, ignited a fire with flint and steel, and cooked deer meat over it.
He let the fire burn high, and a thin column of dark smoke rose far up
into the blue. Any savage, roaming the wilderness, might see it, but the
shiftless one was reckless. He let the fire burn on, after his food was
cooked, while the column of smoke grew thicker and mounted higher, and ate
the savory steaks, lying comfortably between two upthrust roots. Now and
then he uttered a little sigh of satisfaction, because he had travelled
far and hard, and he was hungry. Food meant new strength.

But he was not as reckless as he seemed. Nothing that passed in the forest
within the range of eyesight escaped his notice. He heard the leaf, when
it fell close by, and the light tread of a deer passing. He remained a
full hour between the roots, a long time for one who might have a purpose,
and, after he rose, he did not scatter the fire and trample upon the
brands after the wilderness custom when one was ready to depart. The
flames had died down, but he let the coals smoulder on, and, hundreds of
yards away, he could still see their smoke. Now, he sought the softest
parts of the earth and trod there deliberately, leaving many footprints.
Again he cut little chips from the trees as he passed, but never ceased
his swift and silent journey to the south. The hours fled by, and a dark
shade appeared in the east. It deepened into dusk, and spread steadily
toward the zenith. The sun, a golden ball, sank behind a hill in the
west, and then the shiftless one stopped.

He ascended a low hill again, and took a long scrutinizing look around the
whole horizon. But his gaze was not apprehensive. On the contrary, it was
expectant, and his face seemed to show a slight disappointment when the
wilderness merely presented its wonted aspect. Then he built another fire,
not choosing a secluded glade, but the top of the hill, the most exposed
spot that he could find, and, after he had eaten his supper, he sat beside
it, the expectant air still on his face.

Nothing came. But the shiftless one sat long. He raked up dead leaves of
last year's winter and made a pillow, against which he reclined
luxuriously. Shif'less Sol was one who drew mental and physical comfort
from every favoring circumstance, and the leaves felt very soft to his
head and shoulders. He was not in the least lonesome, although the night
had fully come, and heavy darkness lay like a black robe over the forest.
He stretched out his moccasined toes to the fire, closed his eyes for a
moment or two, and a dreamy look of satisfaction rested on his face. It
seemed to the shiftless one that he lay in the very lap of luxury, in the
very best of worlds.

But when he opened his eyes again he continued to watch the forest, or
rather he watched with his ears now, as he lay close to the earth, and his
hearing, at all times, was so acute that it seemed to border upon instinct
or divination. But no sound save the usual ones of the forest and the
night came to him, and he remained quite still, thinking.

Shif'less Sol Hyde was in an exalted mood, and the flickering firelight
showed a face refined and ennobled by a great purpose. Leading a life that
made him think little of hardship and danger he thought nothing at all of
them now, but he felt instead a great buoyancy, and a hope equally great.

He lay awake a full three hours after the dark had come, and he rose only
twice from his reclining position, each time merely to replenish the fire
which remained a red core in the circling blackness. Always he was
listening and always he heard nothing but the usual sounds of the forest
and the night. The darkness grew denser and heavier, but after a while it
began to thin and lighten. The sky became clear, and the great stars swam
in the dusky blue. Then Shif'less Sol fell asleep, head on the leaves,
feet to the fire, and slept soundly all through the night.

He was up at dawn, cooked his breakfast, and then, after another long and
searching examination of the surrounding forest, departed, leaving the
coals of the fire to smoulder, and tell as they might that some one had
passed. Shif'less Sol throughout that morning repeated the tactics of the
preceding day, leaving footprints that would last, and cutting pieces of
bark from the trees with his sharp hatchet. At the noon hour he stopped,
according to custom, and, just when he had lighted his fire, he uttered a
low cry of pleasure.

The shiftless one was gazing back upon his own trail, and the singular
look of exaltation upon his face deepened. He rose to his feet and stood,
very erect, in the attitude of one who welcomes. No undergrowth was here,
and he could see far down the aisles of trunks.

A figure, so distant that only a keen eye would notice it, was
approaching. It came on swiftly and silently, much after the manner of the
shiftless one himself, elastic, and instinct with strength.

The figure was that of a boy in years, but of a man in size, surpassing
Shif'less Sol himself in height, yellow haired, blue-eyed, and dressed,
too, in the neatest of forest garb. His whole appearance was uncommon,
likely anywhere to attract attention and admiration. The shiftless one
drew a long breath of mingled welcome and approval.

"I knew that he would be first," he murmured.

Then he sat down and began to broil a juicy deer steak on the end of a
sharpened stick.

Henry Ware came into the little glade. He had seen the fire afar and he
knew who waited. All was plain to him like the print of a book, and,
without a word, he dropped down on the other side of the fire facing
Shif'less Sol. The two nodded, but their eyes spoke far more. Sol held out
the steak, now crisp and brown and full of savor, and Henry began to eat.
Sol quickly broiled another for himself, and joined him in the pleasant
task, over which they were silent for a little while.

"I was on the Ohio," said Henry at last, "when the trapper brought me
your message, but I started at once."

"O' course," said Shif'less Sol, "I never doubted it for a minute. I
reckon that you've come about seven hundred miles."

"Nearer eight," said Henry, "but I'm fresh and strong, and we need all our
strength, Sol, because it's a great task that lies before us."

"It shorely is," said Sol, "an' that's why I sent the message. I don't
want to brag, Henry, but we've done a big thing or two before, an' maybe
we kin do a bigger now."

He spoke the dialect of the border, he was not a man of books, but that
great look of exaltation came into his face again, and the boy on the
other side of the fire shared it.

"It seems to me, Sol," said Henry presently, "that we've been selected for
work of a certain kind. We finish one job, and then another on the same
line begins."

"Mebbe it's because we like to do it, an' are fit fur it," said Sol
philosophically. "I've noticed that a river gen'ally runs in a bed that
suits it. I don't know whether the bed is thar because the river is, or
the river is thar 'cause the bed is, but it's shore that they're both thar
together, an' you can't git aroun' that."

"There's something in what you say," said Henry.

Then they relapsed into silence, and, in a half hour, as if by mutual
consent, they rose, left the fire burning, and departed, still walking
steadily toward the south.

The country grew rougher. The hills were higher and closer together, and
the undergrowth became thick. Neither took any precautions as they passed
among the slender bushes, frequently trampling them down and leaving signs
that the blindest could not fail to see. Now and then the two looked back,
but they beheld only the forest and the forest people.

"I don't think I ever saw the game so tame before," said Henry.

"Which means," said Sol, "that the warriors ain't hunted here fur a long
time. I ain't seen a single sign o' them."

"Nor I."

They fell silent and scarcely spoke until the sun was setting again, when
they stopped for the night, choosing a conspicuous place, as Sol had done
the evening before. After supper, they sought soft places on the turf, and
lay in peace, gazing up at the great stars. Henry was the first to break
the silence.

"One is coming," he said. "I can hear the footstep. Listen!"

His ear was to the earth, and the shiftless one imitated him. At the end
of a minute he spoke.

"Yes," he said, "I hear him, too. We'll make him welcome."

He rose, put a fresh piece of wood on the fire, and smiled, as he saw the
flame leap up and crackle merrily.

"Here he is," said Henry.

The figure that emerged from the bushes was thick-set and powerful, the
strong face seamed and tanned by the wind, rain and sun of years. The man
stepped into the circle of the firelight, and held out his hand. Each
shook it with a firm and hearty clasp, and Tom Ross took his seat with
them beside the fire. They handed him food first, and then he said:

"I was away up in the Miami country, huntin' buffalo, when the word came
to me, Sol, but I quit on the minute an' started."

"I was shore you would," said the shiftless one quietly. "Buffaloes are
big game, but we're huntin' bigger now."

"I was never in this part of the country before," said Tom Ross, looking
around curiously at the ghostly tree trunks.

"I've been through here," said Henry, "and it runs on in the same way for
hundreds of miles in every direction."

"Bigger an' finer than any o' them old empires that Paul used to tell us
about," said Shif'less Sol.

"Yes," said Henry.

The three looked at one another significantly.

They wrapped themselves in their blankets by and by, and went to sleep on
the soft turf. Henry was the first to awake, just when the dawn was
turning from pink to red, and a single glance revealed to him an object on
the horizon that had not been there the night before. A man stood on the
crest of a low hill, and even at the distance, Henry recognized him. His
comrades were awaking and he turned to them.

"See!" he said, pointing with a long forefinger.

Their eyes followed, and they too recognized the man.

"He'll be here in a minute," said Shif'less Sol. "He jest eats up space."

He spoke the truth, as it seemed scarcely a minute before Long Jim Hart
entered the camp, showing no sign of fatigue. The three welcomed him and
gave him a place at their breakfast fire.

"I wuz at Marlowe," he said, "when the word reached me, but I started just
an hour later. I struck your trail, Sol, two days back, an' I traveled
nearly all last night. I saw Henry join you an' then Tom."

Shif'less Sol laughed. He had a soft, mellow laugh that crinkled up the
corners of his mouth, and made his eyes shine. There was no doubt that a
man who laughed such a laugh was enjoying himself.

"I reckon you didn't have much trouble follerin' that trail o' ourn," he
said.

Jim Hart answered the laugh with a grin.

"Not much," he replied. "It was like a wagon road through the wilderness.
The ashes uv your last camp fire weren't sca'cely cold when I passed by."

"We're all here 'cept the fifth feller," said Tom Ross.

"The fifth will come," said Henry emphatically.

"Uv course," said Tom Ross with equal emphasis.

"And when he comes," said Shif'less Sol, "we take right hold o' the big
job."

They lingered awhile over their breakfast, but saw no one approaching.
Then they took up the march again, going steadily southward in single
file, talking little, but leaving a distinct trail. They were only four,
but they were a formidable party, all strong of arm, keen of eye and ear,
skilled in the lore of the forest, and every one bore the best weapons
that the time could furnish.

Toward noon the day grew very warm and clouds gathered in the sky. The
wind became damp.

"Rain," said Henry. "I'm sorry of that. I wish it wouldn't break before he
overtook us."

"S'pose we stop an' make ready," said Shif'less Sol. "You know we ain't
bound to be in a big hurry, an' it won't help any o' us to get a soakin'."

"You're shorely right, Sol," said Jim Hart. "We're bound to take the best
uv care uv ourselves."

They looked around with expert eyes, and quickly chose a stony outcrop or
hollow in the side of a hill, just above which grew two gigantic beeches
very close together. Then it was wonderful to see them work, so swift and
skillful were they. They cut small saplings with their hatchets, and, with
the little poles and fallen bark of last year, made a rude thatch which
helped out the thick branches of the beeches overhead. They also built up
the sides of the hollow with the same materials, and the whole was done in
less than ten minutes. Then they raked in heaps of dead leaves and sat
down upon them comfortably. Many drops of water would come through the
leaves and thatch, but such as they, hardened to the wilderness, would not
notice them.

Meanwhile the storm was gathering with the rapidity so frequent in the
great valley. All the little clouds swung together and made a big one that
covered nearly the whole sky. The air darkened rapidly. Thunder began to
growl and mutter and now and then emitted a sharp crash. Lightning cut the
heavens from zenith to horizon, and the forest would leap into the light,
standing there a moment, vivid, like tracery.

A blaze more brilliant than all the rest cleft wide the sky and, as they
looked toward the North, they saw directly in the middle of the flame a
black dot that had not been there before.

"He's coming," said Henry in the quiet tone that indicated nothing more
than a certainty fulfilled.

"Just in time to take a seat in our house," said the shiftless one.

Sol ran out and gave utterance to a long echoing cry that sounded like a
call. It was answered at once by the new black dot under the Northern
horizon, which was now growing fast in size, as it came on rapidly. It
took a human shape, and, thirty yards away, a fine, delicately-chiselled
face, the face of a scholar and dreamer, remarkable in the wilderness, was
revealed. The face belonged to a youth, tall and strong, but not so tall
and large as Henry.

"Here we are, Paul," said Shif'less Sol. "We've fixed fur you."

"And mighty glad I am to overtake you fellows," said Paul Cotter,
"particularly at this time."

He ran for the shelter just as the forest began to moan, and great drops
of rain rushed down upon them. He was inside in a moment, and each gave
his hand a firm grasp.

"We're all here now," said Henry.

"All here and ready for the great work," said Shif'less Sol, his tranquil
face illumined again with that look of supreme exaltation.

Then the storm burst. The skies opened and dropped down floods of water.
They heard it beating on the leaves and thatch overhead, and some came
through, falling upon them but they paid no heed. They sat placidly until
the rush and roar passed, and then Henry said to the others:

"We're to stick to the task that we've set ourselves through thick and
through thin, through everything?"

"Yes! Yes!"

"If one falls, the four that are left keep on?"

"Yes! yes!"

"If three fall and only two are left, these must not flinch."

"Yes! yes!"

"If four go down and only one is left, then he whoever he may be, must go
on and win alone?"

"Yes! yes!" came forth with deep emphasis.

CHAPTER II

A FOREST ENVOY

A group of men were seated in a pleasant valley, where the golden beams of
the sun sifted in myriads through the green leaves. They were about fifty
in number and all were white. Most of them were dressed in Old World
fashion, doublets, knee breeches, hose, and cocked hats. Nearly all were
dark; olive faces, black hair, and black pointed beards, but now and then
one had fair hair, and eyes of a cold, pale blue. Manner, speech, looks,
and dress, alike differentiated them from the borderers. They were not the
kind of men whom one would expect to find in these lonely woods in the
heart of North America.

The leader of the company--and obviously he was such--was one of the few
who belonged to the blonde type. His eyes were of the chilly, metallic
blue, and his hair, long and fair, curled at the ends. His dress, of some
fine, black cloth, was scrupulously neat and clean, and a silver-hilted
small sword swung it his belt. He was not more than thirty.

The fair man was leaning lazily but gracefully against the trunk of a
tree, and he talked in a manner that seemed indolent and careless, but
which was neither to a youth in buckskins who sat opposite him,
a striking contrast in appearance. This youth was undeniably of the
Anglo-Saxon type, large and well-built, with a broad, full forehead, but
with eyes set too close together. He was tanned almost to the darkness of
an Indian.

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