r will soon be in pieces. No, I ain't hurt. Some
o' my huntin' shirt hez been shot away, but the body o' Sol Hyde is
sound an' whole, fur which I do give thanks. How are you, Henry?"

"All right. I've been grazed twice but there's no damage."

"An' you, Paul?"

"Nicked on the wrist and scared to death, but nothing more."

"An' you, Tom?"

"Nigh deef, I guess, from sech a racket, but I'm still fit fur work."

"An' you, you onery old Long Jim."

"Mighty tired, an' hungry, too, I guess, though I don't know it, but I
kin still shoot, an' I kin hit somethin' too."

"Then we've come through better than we could hev hoped," said the
shiftless one joyfully. "'Pears again that Paul was right when he said
down thar on the Missip that Providence had chose us fur a task."

"The battle is not over yet," said Henry. "If we help the fort we've got
to make a landing, or the Indians can go on with the siege almost as if
we were not here. And landing in face of the horde is no easy task."

"Ain't it likely that the people in the fort will help us?" said
Shif'less Sol.

"If I know Major Braithwaite, and I think I do," replied Henry, "they
will surely help. It was a good thing on their part to build that
bonfire as a signal and to show us the way. See how it grows!"

The fire, already great, was obviously rising higher, and its light
deepened over the river. The whole fleet was now through the pass, and
it swung for a few moments in the middle of the stream like a great bird
hovering before it decided on its flight. The light from the bonfire
fell upon it and tinged it red. Although the savage attack had not
ceased, and some of the white men were still firing, most of them lay
for a little while at rest to take fresh breath and strength for the
landing. Henry looked back at them, and spontaneously some scene from
the old Homeric battles that Paul told about came to his mind. He knew
these men as they lay panting against the sides of the boats, the light
from the bonfire tinting their faces to crimson hues. This gallant
fellow was Hector, and that was Achilles, it was Ajax who sat in the
prow there, and the wiry old fellow behind him, with the wary eyes, was
even the cunning Ulysses himself.

It was but a fleeting fancy, gone when Adam Colfax hailed them from the
deck of the _Independence_. The eyes of the Puritan still burned with
zealous fire, and those of Drouillard beside him showed the same spirit.

"What do you think o