made light of their wounds and all felt new strength and courage
with the daylight. The five returned with the others to their boats.

"Well, Jim," said Paul to Long Jim Hart, "there's trouble to be found away
from New Orleans as well as in it. Last night was not so very peaceful,
and the woods did contain danger."

Long Jim heaved a satisfied sigh.

"Yes, Paul," he replied, "thar wuz shorely a heap uv danger stirrin' 'bout
last night, an' thar wuz lots uv chances that some uv it would come
knockin' up ag'inst me, but, Paul, I knowed it wuz thar, I knowed it wuz
in the woods in front uv us; it wuzn't settin' by my side, talkin' soft
things to me, an' sayin' it wuz my friend. No, Paul, ef I had got killed
last night I would hev knowed, ef I knowed anythin' at all, that it wuz an
honest Injun bullet that done it, one that meant to do it, an' no
foolin'."

The fleet resumed its passage up the river in its usual arrow formation,
with the five near the tip of the barb, but the bright promise of the
morning was deceitful. Toward noon the clouds of the night before that had
not retreated far, came back again, filing solemnly across the sky in a
long, somber procession. No air stirred. The wide, yellow river stretched
before them, a smooth, molten surface.

The motion of the fleet became perceptibly slower. The men in that turgid
atmosphere felt languid and inert, and their hands rested but lightly on
oar and paddle. Cheerfulness gave way to depression. The voyage was far
less easy than it had seemed a few hours before. Overhead the clouds
united and drew a leaden blanket from horizon to horizon.

"It's a storm, of course," said Henry. "Remember the one that struck us
when we were coming down the river. It's just such another."

There was a sudden rush of hot air. Dull thunder, singularly uncanny in
its low, distant note, began to grumble. Lightning of an intense coppery
color flashed again and again across the heavens. The river began to rise
in yellow waves that crumbled and rose again.

Some of the boats had sails, but these were quickly taken in--Adam Colfax
was no careless seaman. The fleet, nevertheless, began to heave on the
troubled water, break its formation, and fall into imminent danger of
frequent collision. The great river, usually so friendly, and, like a long
cord, uniting the green lands on either side, was now full of wrath and
fury. Burst after burst of wind, screaming ominously, swept over it, and
th