What had I seen behind that log that frightened me so badly?

It was Barney Redman, the leader of the Swamp Dragoons. He had thrown himself flat on his back to escape observation, and was holding in the leash a gaunt, fierce-looking hound, which sprang forward and growled savagely at me as I approached his master’s hiding-place.

Now, although the captain of the Dragoons had the reputation of being a young desperado, I was not afraid of him or his dog either, and under almost any other circumstances I would have been the last one to run from him; but on this occasion, discretion was the better part of valor.

His presence there was enough to convince me that there was trouble ahead; and I knew 169that the sooner my companions were aroused and the camp put in a state of defense, the better it would be for us.

I can not begin to tell you how astonished I was to see him there. No one except an Indian could have followed our trail through the swamp that night; not even a bloodhound, for a good portion of our way lay over a bottom covered with water to the depth of a foot, and every one knows that scent will not lie on the water.

I could not understand it at all, and neither was I allowed time to think the matter over, for Barney, finding that he was discovered, raised a yell, and followed after me with all the speed he could command.

“Stop thar, Mark Coleman,” he shouted. “We owe you a good lickin’, and we’ve follered you too fur to let you get away now. Stop thar, I say, or I’ll let this yere dog at you, an’ he’s a varmint.”

The captain of the Dragoons had got things mixed again. You will remember that when Mark first made his appearance at Dead Man’s Elbow, and discovered Luke Redman in the 170tree and General Mason’s valise hanging to the rowlock of the skiff, Barney, who was standing on the bluff, had called him Joe Coleman, and threatened to have a settlement with him at some future day, if he did not immediately go back up the bayou, where he came from.

Since then he had found out that he had made a mistake in the boy, and that it was Mark, and not Joe, who had put the authorities on his father’s track.

When he saw me looking over the log at him, he supposed that I was my brother, and the very one he wanted to be revenged upon.

“Stop thar, I tell you,” repeated Barney. “We’re goin’ to squar’ accounts with you now fur findin’ out about that money.”

As I could not see the use of allowing myself to be punished for what Mark had done, if I could help it, I did not stop. I ran faster than ever, and fear lending me wings, I made my way through the bushes at a rate of speed that the fleet-footed Herbert Dickson himself would not have been ashamed of; but before I had taken a dozen steps, a figure, which seemed to 171rise out of the ground, suddenly appeared before me, and clasped me in its arms.

“Ugh!” exclaimed a familiar voice, “you wouldn’t wrestle the other day; you wrestle now.”

Here was another fellow who took me for my brother. It was Jim, the young savage whom we heard boasting so loudly on the day we visited the Indian camp.

How he happened to be there with the Swamp Dragoons I did not stop to inquire, for he had caught me with a fair back-hold, and was trying to throw me down.

“I am not the boy you challenged to a trial of strength the other day,” said I; “but if you are determined to have a wrestle, and nothing but a wrestle will satisfy you, I think I can accommodate you.”

And I did; for in less time than it takes to tell it, that young Indian’s heels flew up and his head came in violent contact with the ground.

Having disposed of Jim, I raised my horn to my lips, and, after repeating the signals of distress, was about to take to my heels again, 172when Barney and his dog came up, both fierce for a fight.

I did not wait for them to begin, but took the initiative myself by lifting my heavy boot and hitting Barney’s four-footed friend a kick under the chin that fairly lifted him from the ground.

It was plain that he had got all he wanted, for he ran yelping into the bushes, and Barney and I were left to finish the battle alone.

The leader of the Dragoons paused for a moment when he witnessed the discomfiture of his ally, and then came on more fiercely than ever.

“Oh, ain’t I goin’ to give it to you now?” he shouted, and I knew by the way the words came out that he was almost beside himself with fury. “A fellow who hits my dog, hits me.”

About this time I became aware that there was a great uproar in the camp. I heard a crashing in the bushes, which was followed, first by Indian yells, hoarse shouts of triumph and the baying of hounds; then by a rapid shuffling of feet and the sound of fierce blows, 173all of which, told me that there was a desperate battle going on.

This continued for a moment, and then—you can imagine how the cold chills crept over me when I heard it—the report of a gun, fired twice in quick succession, rang through the swamp, accompanied by something that sounded very much like the voice of a human being in distress.

What was it? Had any of our fellows been shot by the attacking party, or had they, in their desire to prevent the rescue of Luke Redman and to save the eight thousand dollars, so far forgot their prudence as to fire upon the Swamp Dragoons?

As this thought passed through my mind, I turned my eyes for one instant toward the camp, and to my amazement and alarm, discovered that the Swamp Dragoons were not alone. I saw a mass of struggling men and boys swaying to and fro in front of the camp, and conspicuous among them were Pete and his half-breed companions.

I was not so much astonished at this, however, as I was to see Tom Mason flitting about 174here and there, swinging a riding-whip, and apparently one of the most fierce and determined of............