Prisoners of Chance

"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 passed 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 spawns 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 illustrated 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 assuredly 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 passing 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."

"Faith, merely enough to make the affair of interest," muttered De Noyan, as I explained my words to him. "Hardly enough even by your count, as the officer nurses a cracked rib, while the priest would prove of small moment when it came to blows. I am for bearing down upon the knaves in sudden onset; it will require but a crack or two ere the villains let us by."

"May the God of Battles place me within fair stroke of that accursed gray-backed emissary of Rome," snorted the Puritan, his red hair erect. "I promise, Master Benteen, to smite as did David at Goliath."