tory has
accepted without question the testimony of the Spanish records. The
man who alone could tell the strange story was in old age impelled to
do so by a feeling of sacred duty to the dead; and his papers,
disarranged, ill-written, already yellowed by years, have fallen to my
keeping. I submit them without comment or change, save only as to the
subdivision into chapters, with an occasional substitution for some
old-time phrase of its more modern equivalent. He who calls himself
"Geoffrey Benteen, Gentleman Adventurer," shall tell his own tale.

R. P.

Prisoners of Chance

CHAPTER I

THE REQUEST FOR AID

I am Geoffrey Benteen, Gentleman Adventurer, with much experience upon
the border, where I have passed my life. My father was that Robert
Benteen, merchant in furs, the first of the English race to make
permanent settlement in New Orleans. Here he established a highly
profitable trade with the Indians, his bateaux voyaging as far
northward as the falls of the Ohio, while his influence among the
tribesmen extended to the eastern mountains. My mother was of Spanish
blood, a native of Saint Augustine, so I grew up fairly proficient in
three languages, and to them I later added an odd medley of tribal
tongues which often stood me in excellent stead amid the vicissitudes
of the frontier. The early death of my mother compelled me to become
companion to my father in his wanderings, so that before I was
seventeen the dim forest trails, the sombre rivers, and the dark lodges
of savages had grown as familiar to me as were the streets and houses
of my native town. Hence it happened, that when my father fell the
victim of a treacherous blow, although he left to my care considerable
property and a widely scattered trade, I could not easily content
myself with the sameness of New Orleans; there I felt almost a
stranger, ever hungering for the woods and the free life of the
mountains.

Yet I held myself to the work in hand until successful in straightening
out the tangled threads, and might have remained engaged in peaceful
traffic until the end of life, had it not been for a misunderstanding
with her who held my heart in captivity to her slightest whim. It
matters little now the cause of the quarrel, or where rested the
greater blame; enough that its occurrence drove me forth reckless of
everything, desirous only to leave all of my own race, and seek amid
savage environment and excitement forgetfulness of