aw him, too," replied the shiftless one. "O' course he's escaped the
bullets so fur. It's jest his luck."

"I think he knows we're here," said Henry, "and he's leading the attack on
us. But we'll never yield this ground and Paul to such a fellow."

"No!" said the others with one voice.

The clouds and vapors closed in again. The darkness rolled up in wave
after wave, and the renegade, leading on outlaw and red man, pressed the
attack; but the four met them with courage and spirit unshaken.

The clouds and vapors rolled over attack and defense, but through the
darkness fire answered fire. After a while the forest and the bayou, which
had witnessed such a desperate display of human energy, sank into darkness
and silence. The clouds, now in the zenith, began to give forth rain, but
it was a gentle, beneficent rain, and it fell silently on the faces of the
living and the dead alike.

CHAPTER XXII

THE CHOSEN TASK

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 loss 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 at 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