Chapter XXII. The Chosen Task

The Free Rangers

by Joseph A. Altsheler

Adam Colfax had gone through the battle unharmed, but that
terrible night left new gray in his hair. He was a religious man,
and, when the rifle fire died down in the forest and then went out,
he uttered a devout prayer of thankfulness. He and his train, on the
whole, had come through better than he had expected. There had been
moments in the bayou when he thought no mortal strength or skill
could break the chain that bound them. But the savage army and navy
had been beaten off, and the core of his fleet was saved. He could
still go on to Pittsburgh with his precious cargo.

The trumpet was sounded again, and the boats, drawing together,
began to count their losses. It was a long sad count, but those who
survived were elated over their great victory.

It was then that Adam Colfax discovered the absence of the five
who had helped him so much. Some one had seen them spring ashore to
protect the escape of the skirmishers, and he ordered the fleet once
toward the land to save them, or, if too late, to bring their bodies
to the boat.

A dozen boats swung in toward the bank and that of Adam Colfax
was foremost. He was not conscious of the gentle rain, save that it
felt cooling and pleasant on his face after the heat and smoke of the
battle. Yet the brain of the stern New Hampshire man was still
fevered, too. The battle had ceased, but the roar of the
cannon-shots and the crash of the rifles yet echoed in his ears. The
black forest that came down to the water's edge, was full of mystery
and terror, and his was no timid heart. Smoke of the battle drifted
among the trees or over the river, and the rain did not drive it all
away. In the far distance low thunder muttered, and now and then
flashes of heat lightning drew a belt of coppery red along the dark
horizon.

Adam Colfax, stern man that he was, shuddered. But he would not
flinch. He was the first to spring ashore. The forest assumed its
most somber aspect. The trees were weird and ghostly, and there was
no sound at all but the gentle drip, drip of the rain. Here the
vapors and mists seemed to be imprisoned by the boughs and foliage,
and the odors were heavy and acrid.

He had landed upon a little neck of land, and some one remarked:
"It was here that the Kentuckians landed." But there was no sound
in the forest and the scouts had reported already that the enemy had
gone away. A great fear gripped at the heart of Adam Colfax. "They
are all dead," he thought.

Men brought torches, as they no longer had any fear of
sharpshooters; and Adam Colfax, followed by twenty others, entered
the forest. The wind rose slightly and whipped the rain in his face,
but he stepped into the deepest shadow, and, taking a torch from one
of the men, held it aloft with his own hand. The light fell upon a
little open space and, despite himself, Adam Colfax uttered a cry.

A figure lay outstretched under the shelter of arching boughs
and bushes, and four more beside it were still and silent, leaning
against a fallen log. There was such an absolute lack of motion,
that Colfax at first thought that the soul of every one was sped.

"Good God! Dead! All dead!" he exclaimed.

But a great figure quickly uprose.

"No," said Henry Ware, a fine smile passing over his boyish
face. "We beat them off, and we're just resting and waiting. Only
Paul is seriously hurt, and so far we've been afraid to move him."

Shif'less Sol, Jim Hart, and Tom Ross rose, too, and shook the
raindrops from their clothes.

"We didn't have good shelter here," said Shif'less Sol, "but I
think the rain and its coolness have helped Paul."

Adam Colfax bent over the boy and, in the dawning light, made a
critical examination.

"He will live," he said. "We'd have come to your relief long
ago, had we known you were here."

"It was Braxton Wyatt who led the last attack against us," said
Henry, "and as usual, he has had the good luck to escape. At least,
we can't find his body here, and I haven't the slightest doubt that
he's living to do more mischief and that we'll meet him again."

It was true, and a diligent search revealed no trace of Wyatt.
He had escaped, fleeing North after the battle, to rejoin his old
friends, the Shawnees and Miamis.

Paul was lifted gently, after receiving treatment from the
surgeon of the fleet, and carried to a boat, where he regained
consciousness. His wound was severe, but his blood was so healthy
that he would recover, according to the surgeon, with great
rapidity.

When all five were together, Adam Colfax said to them
collectively:

"You did the most of all to save the fleet."

That was enough reward for them.

The body of Father Montigny was buried in the forest, and a
little wooden cross was put at his head. Christian burial was given
to the body of Alvarez, too, and the supply fleet prepared for a new
start.

* * * * The fleet, two weeks later, was making
its slow progress northward on the Mississippi. The great river was
in an uncommonly friendly mood. Its usual yellow seemed silver in
the brilliant morning light. Heavy masses of green fringed either
low shore, and keen pleasant odors came from the wilderness.

Oliver Pollock, hearing of the battle of the bayou, had sent a
second detachment from New Orleans to replace the men and boats lost
and the ammunition shot away by the first, and now, stronger than
ever, it continued under the brave and skillful leadership of Adam
Colfax, on its great mission.

The five sat in the end of one of the largest boats, under the
shade of a sail. Paul's strength was fast coming back; he would not
suffer the slightest harm, and they were happy.

"This is jest the life fur a lazy man like me," said Shif'less
Sol. "Nothin' to do but go on an' on, with people to wait on you, an'
say you hey already done your part."

"We have had a wonderful escape," said Paul.

The face of the shiftless one became grave, even reverent.

"So we hev, Paul," he said. "Seems to me sometimes that we wuz
spared fur a purpose. We wouldn't hev come alive, every one of us,
through all that, ef it hadn't been intended that we should go on
with the work that we are doin', helpin' and defendin' our people the
best we kin. I think we've been chose."

"I think so, too," said Paul, "and here and now we should devote
ourselves to it, as long as it is needed. I want to do so. Are the
rest of you willing?"

"I am," said Henry with emphasis.

"And I!" said the shiftless one.

"And I!" said Tom Ross.

"And I!" said Long Jim.

"Amen!" said Paul.

THE END