The Free Rangers by Joseph A. Altsheler

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"Alvarez must have a place, a plantation, I believe they call it, near
here," said Paul intuitively, "and he's going to stop at it. As he wants
to get Spain into a war with us he could plot a lot of mischief in a house
of his own away from New Orleans."

"Of course, that's it," said Henry with conviction. "Now if we could only
capture Braxton Wyatt and then carry off the fellow and his maps and plans
with us, it would be a great stroke. It might make Alvarez quit his wicked
plot."

Henry and Shif'less Sol slept briefly, and rising before daylight, went
forth to investigate again. When they arrived at the edge of the bayou,
they saw that the work of removal had been resumed already. All the boats
had been tied up securely, and a mongrel lot of new men had joined the
Spanish force, shiftless and half-civilized Houma and Natchez Indians,
coal black negroes, some from the West Indies and some from Africa,
Acadians, and fierce-looking adventurers from Europe. Most of them seemed
to be laborers, however, and they worked with the arms and baggage taken
from the boats. Among these laborers were several stalwart negro women
with blazing red handkerchiefs tied around their heads.

Alvarez came off one of the boats, followed by Braxton Wyatt. The Spanish
commander had attired himself with great care, and he was a really
splendid figure in his glittering uniform and plumed hat. His gold-hilted
small sword swung by his side. He bore himself as a lord proprietor, and
in fact he was such at this moment. He was about to go, surrounded by his
retainers, to his own house on a huge grant of land made to him by the
Spanish King--Spanish kings granted lands very freely in America to
favorites, and the relatives of favorites.

Braxton Wyatt also showed pride. Was he not the most trusted friend of an
able man who was dreaming a great dream, a dream that would come true? The
last remnants of his border attire had disappeared and he, too, was
dressed wholly as a Spanish officer, though by no means so splendidly as
his chief.

Alvarez addressed a few words to a man in civilian attire, evidently his
overseer, a dark, heavy West India Spaniard who carried a pistol in his
sash, and then advanced through the rabble, which quickly fell back on
either side to let him pass.

Horses were in waiting for Alvarez, Wyatt, and several others, and
mounting, they rode off, Henry and Shif'less Sol watching from the bush as
well as they could, and following. The way of the officers led through a
great plantation but partially redeemed from the ancient forest. Cane and
grain fields were on either side of the path, and presently they
approached a large house of only one story, built of wood, and surrounded
by a wide veranda supported with posts at regular intervals. This house
was built around a court in the center of which was a clear pool.

Henry and the shiftless one saw Alvarez and his company dismount and enter
the house. They noticed others who approached on foot, but who did not
enter, obviously men who did not dare to enter unless asked. Among them
was a thin, middle-aged Natchez Indian, whose extraordinary, feline face
had won for him the name of The Cat. Henry particularly observed this man,
whose manner was in accordance with his appearance and name. Like those
they had seen in the canoes he had a hangdog, shiftless look, different
from the bold warrior of the more northerly forests.

The two did not remain long. So many people were about that they were
likely to be seen, and they returned through the forest to the cypress
cove in which "The Galleon" lay hidden. Here, it was agreed that they
should go forth later in the day on another tour of inspection,
re-inforced by Tom Ross, while Long Jim and Paul should remain to guard
the boat and their precious stores.

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 pass 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 snatching at the first weapon
that lay near, he sprang to the bank, rushing to the assistance 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 snatched 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:

"Hooray, Paul! That wuz somethin' like! He thought he wuz goin' to murder
you, but he ain't!"

Alvarez, furious, rushed in and Paul, keen of eye and alert of muscle,
fought on the defensive. Lucky for him now that he remembered all the
lessons taught to him by the old soldier of the great French and Indian
war, and lucky for him, too, that he had lived such a temperate life!
Steel met steel and the ringing sound filled the little glade. The others
were silent, leaning a little forward, lips slightly apart. A new element
of uncertainty had come into the combat, and even Braxton Wyatt shared in
the excitement that had been aroused by it.

Alvarez uttered a cry of satisfaction and then stepped back. Paul stood
still while the blood came slowly from a cut across his left arm and dyed
his sleeve. He had thrown out the arm just in time to ward off a thrust at
his heart, but he received a slash in its place. The pain was considerable
but Paul scarcely felt it; his mind was too intent on the crisis, and his
head was yet clear and cool.

"Never you mind, Paul! Never you mind!" cried Long Jim. "'Twas only a
lucky sweep uv his! you'll git him yet."

Paul gave his informal second a smile of confidence, for second he was
with his encouraging tongue, even though bound and helpless otherwise.

Paul suddenly rushed in, struck swiftly, and, although the blow was
parried, he thrust again so quickly that his blade passed inside the guard
of Alvarez, pierced through his doublet, and wounded him in the side. Mad
with pain and rage Alvarez struck furiously, but Paul caught the blow so
skillfully that the Spaniard's sword broke in his hand.

Long Jim shouted with delight.

"You've beat him, Paul! you've beat him!" he cried. "Go in now and trim
his mustache right off his face!"

Braxton Wyatt struck him a blow on the cheek.

"Shut up, will you!" he cried.

Paul, sword in hand, turned away. He would not cut down an unarmed man,
and some strain of chivalry hidden beneath the Spaniard's ambition and
cruelty recognized the boy's nobility. He stepped aside and rebuked
Braxton Wyatt for striking Long Jim. Then he took off his doublet and one
of the men bound up his wound, which was painful but not at all dangerous.
His heart was full of rage and chagrin, but he did not show either.

"You have done well with the sword," he said to Paul, "I admit it, and I
am in a position to know. But you must surrender it, and come as my
prisoner. Your sword can be no defense against the bullets of my
soldiers."

Paul yielded his weapon. It would have been folly to resist when the
soldiers stood close by, loaded guns in hand, but he felt, nevertheless, a
deep satisfaction. He had performed a deed of valor, worthy of Shif'less
Sol or Henry, and he proudly took his place by the side of the other
prisoner, Long Jim. The wound in his arm had already stopped bleeding.

"I didn't know it was in you, Paul," whispered Long Jim, "but I never had
anything in my life do me more good. A lot uv wicked hopes wuz
disapp'inted when you give him that slash in the side, an' then broke his
sword."

"I did better than I expected," replied Paul briefly, "but the result is
not likely to endear us to Captain Alvarez."

"Ef I'd been keepin' the right kind uv a watch," said Long Jim, "this
wouldn't have happened. We could a' got 'The Gall-yun' out in the stream
an' away."

"No, Jim," replied Paul, "it was no fault of yours. Cunning was at work.
They had located us in some manner and they prepared a surprise."

Alvarez and Braxton Wyatt went on ahead. Paul and Jim followed in the
midst of a strong guard of soldiers. The road led again through corn and
grain fields where cultivation was making a struggle against the
luxuriance of a semi-tropical wilderness, although with small success, as
yet.

A stooping figure with a hideous, feline face shambled up by the side of
Paul, and purposely struck his elbow against the wound upon his arm. It
was The Cat, but Paul, whose arms had been left unbound, whirled, without
hesitation, and struck the Natchez in the face.

The Cat staggered but he promptly drew a knife and Paul might have been
slain, but a soldier knocked the knife from the Indian's hand and rebuked
him severely. The soldier was Luiz, a Spaniard of height and strength. He
had fared badly at the hands of the five, but his life had also been saved
by one of them, and he was not ungrateful. He did not mean that these two
prisoners should be treated any worse than the captain ordered. He
compelled The Cat to fall back, and he smiled pleasantly at Paul and Long
Jim.

"I'll take it that we've got one friend in this crowd," said Long Jim.

"Yes," said Paul, "and we'll need all we can get. Alvarez seems to have a
big place here, a sort of feudal estate."

It seemed to Paul that he had come into another world; the difference
between this and Kentucky was so enormous. There, in the little
settlements, every man spoke his mind and the life was all freedom. Here,
fear and suspicion abounded, there were degrees of importance, and Alvarez
was an autocrat who could make or mar as he pleased. It was an atmosphere
heavy to Paul's lungs, and, like Long Jim, he longed for the great forests
of the Ohio River country. Behind the chateau were some low, heavy out
buildings of logs, and Paul and Long Jim were thrust into one of these,
the door being fastened behind them with a huge padlock. Alvarez detailed
Luiz, who seemed to rank a little above his fellows, and three others to
keep watch and then, feeling that he held his prisoners securely, the
commander went into the chateau. But he stopped at the door and ordered
that a gold coin and as much rum as he could drink should be given to The
Cat.

"It was due to his wonderful instinct and cunning," he said, "that we
captured these fellows and recovered my boat. It was an important
achievement."

Braxton Wyatt looked with intense interest at the chateau, which was
unlike anything that he had ever seen before. It was a strange compound of
luxury and roughness. The walls were of wood, often ill-hewn, but several
pieces of beautifully-woven tapestry hung upon them. Some of the floors
were entirely bare, others were covered partly by Eastern rugs. Carved and
curved weapons of many lands adorned the walls, and in one room were a
mandolin and guitar.

Alvarez led the way to an inner court or patio, waving back all except
Braxton Wyatt. The patio was large, with little beds of flowers in the
corners, and a pool of pure, fresh water in the center. The pool was fed
by a little stream that ran from a brook near the chateau, and it was
drained by a similar stream.

The patio was enclosed by a narrow, interior veranda, and the veranda held
deep cane chairs, one of which Alvarez took, waving Braxton Wyatt to
another.

The Spanish commander with a great air of relief and luxury leaned back in
his cane chair. He loved the south and the sunshine to which he was born,
and, although bold and hardy, he had little liking for the great, cold
forests of the North. He clapped his hand and a servant brought glasses
and wine. Alvarez filled the glasses himself and handed the first
courteously to Wyatt.

"Drink," he said, "I am glad that expedition is over. The Governor General
wished me to go, to explore, to make treaties, and to secure our title,
but the wilderness, though interesting, grows monotonous."

"It is comfortable here," said Braxton Wyatt, stretching himself in the
great cane chair. He was entirely recovered from his own wound and he
appreciated the luxury of the place.

"Yes, it is indeed grateful to the tired body and limbs. I could feel a
complete sense of rest and victory, if it were not for the sting of the
wound that boy gave me. Who could have thought that I should be defeated
with the sword by a boy from the woods of Kaintock?"

The Spaniard frowned and narrowed his cruel blue eyes. Braxton Wyatt
murmured some words of sympathy, but in his heart he was not sorry because
of the incident. He thought that Alvarez at times had patronized him too
much, had assumed too lofty an air, and he was willing to see him suffer
mortification. Moreover, he could use the hurt pride of Alvarez as an
additional incitement against the five whom he hated.

"You told me once," said Alvarez "that the three comrades of the two, the
three whom we have not captured, are much to be dreaded, and we have had
proof of it?"

"It is so."

"But what can they do now?"

"But little," answered the renegade. "It was farther north in the great
wilderness, where they are so much at home, that they could do us harm.
Here within the fringe of the French and Spanish settlements, they will be
hampered too much."

"Yes, I should think so," said Alvarez thoughtfully. "As you perhaps
surmise, I am going to stay here indefinitely, Wyatt. This place of mine,
Beaulieu, I call it, is at a suitable distance from New Orleans and I am
an absolute monarch while I remain. Here, on the border, I am as a
military commander, practically lord of life and death, and on one excuse
or another I can hold the troops as long as I please."

"Which seems to me to be very convenient for all our plans," said Braxton
Wyatt.

The Spaniard smiled, but speedily contracted his brows again. The cut that
Paul had given him was hurting.

"I should like to punish that boy in some spectacular manner," he said. "I
should want him to be humiliated in the presence of others as I was."

Suddenly he raised his head, which he had bent in thought, and his lips
curled in laughter under his yellow mustache.

"I have it!" he exclaimed. "An idea! Since young Kaintock can use the
sword I shall give him a chance to do it again! Oh, I shall give him every
opportunity!"

Then he leaned over and spoke in lower tones to Braxton Wyatt. The
renegade's eyes lighted up with delight.

"The very thing!" he exclaimed. "I'd have it done at once!"

Paul and Long Jim Hart meanwhile were resting in their log prison. Jim's
arms had been unbound and, after rubbing them freely, he said that the
circulation was restored. Then the two turned their attention to their
prison. Paul surmised that it had been built as a tool house or store
house, but at present it was empty save for himself and his comrade, Long
Jim.

The only light came from two little windows made merely by cutting out a
section of log and quite too small to admit a human body. They tried the
door but it was so strong that they could not shake it. Then Long Jim lay
calmly down on the floor.

"Paul," he said, "I don't believe I wuz ever fastened up in sech a little
place ez this afore. Ef I stretch out my legs my feet will hit the wall
over thar, an' the place is so close an' hot I don't breathe good."

"We'll have to stand it for a while," said Paul philosophically.

"That's so," said Long Jim, "I don't s'pose they mean to murder us ez
we're not at real war with the Spaniards, so I wonder what they mean to
do."

Paul shook his head. But he understood better than Long Jim the dangers of
their situation. He knew the temper and character of Alvarez, and he knew,
too, that at this distant chateau he was omnipotent. Alvarez was bent on
making war upon the settlers in Kentucky, and nothing would stop him.

"Henry an' Sol an' Tom are free," said Long Jim. "They'll git us out,
shore."

They remained a long time undisturbed, and the air in the room was so
close and hot that both became languorous and sleepy. Nor was there any
sound except the droning of some flies overhead and this added to the
heaviness. Paul finally rose and gazed through the little windows, but he
saw only an empty field and the edge of the forest. Save for this glimpse
of green they were completely cut off from the world. He sat down again on
the floor and composed his figure as comfortably as he could.

"How long do you think we hev been in here, Paul?" asked Long Jim.

"About four hours."

"Four hours! why, I thought it wuz four months. Paul, I don't believe I
could stand this more'n a week, no matter ef they fed me upon the finest
things in the land. At the end uv a week I'd turn right over an' die, an'
when they examined me to see the cause uv my death, they'd find that my
heart wuz broke in two, right squar' down the middle."

"They say that some wild animals die in captivity, and you might call it
of a broken heart."

"I'm one uv them kind. I like lots uv room. I want it to be clean woods
an' prairie runnin' a thousan' miles from me in every direction. An' I
don't want too many people trampin' 'roun' in them woods either, save
Injuns to keep you lookin' lively, an' mebbe twenty or thirty white men
purty well scattered. I reckon I'd call that my estate, Paul, an' I'd want
it swarmin' with b'ars an' buffaler an' deer, an' all kinds uv big an'
little game. Then I'd want a couple uv good rifles, one to take the place
uv tother when it went bad, an' a couple uv huts p'raps three or four
hundred miles apart to sleep in, when the weather wuz too tarnation bad,
lots uv ammunition an', Paul, I'd be happy on that thar estate uv mine."

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