“I can breathe better here,” said Henry.  “I know that I shall never be fond of towns.”

But the imaginative Paul shuddered.

“Look,” he said, “the gallows!”

He pointed to the huge gallows that stood in the Place d’Armes, ready for frequent use.  The moonlight had now grown dim.  In its wavering beams the gallows rose to immense proportions and seemed also to take on the semblance of life.  It reached out its long wooden arm as if to grasp Paul and with another shudder he turned his back to it.

The two continued down one side of the Place d’Armes in the shade of magnolias and cypresses that drooped over the wooden fence.  As they passed they heard the sound of a shot.

“Somebody in the city fighting with a rifle or pistol instead of a knife,” said Paul.

But Henry stood motionless and silent for a moment or two.  He had distinctly felt the rush of air on his face as a bullet passed by.  He was seeking to see whence the shot had come and he thought he caught a glimpse of a figure among the cypresses.

“No, Paul,” he exclaimed, “that shot was aimed at me!”

He sprang over the wooden fence and was followed by Paul.  They searched diligently among the trees but found nothing.  Then they looked at each other, and each read the same opinion in the other’s eyes.

“It was either Braxton Wyatt or somebody else in the service of Alvarez,” said Henry.

“Yes,” said Paul, nodding assent, “and I think that ‘The Galleon’ is a much safer place for us at night than the City of New Orleans.”

“That is true,” said Henry, “and it is not worth while for us to make a complaint about being shot at.  We cannot prove anything, and New Orleans is too turbulent a place to pay attention to a stray rifle or pistol shot at night.”

They were back at the boat in a few minutes.  Shif’less Sol and Long Jim still slept soundly, but Tom Ross was awake.  They told him briefly what had occurred, and Tom shook his head sagely.

“Better stay on the boat ez long ez we kin keep it,” he said.  “Ez fur me, I’d rather be shot at by Injuns in the woods uv Kentucky than be hevin’ white men drawin’ beads on me here in a town.  It looks more nateral.  Uv course it wuz Braxton Wyatt or some other tool uv that wicked Spaniard, Alvarez.”

Early the next morning the five, after hiring the same watchman to care again for their boat, went to the house of the Governor General, the large, low building at the corner of Toulouse Street and Rue de la Levee.  Early as they were they were not the first to arrive.

A tall man, neatly dressed in a fine brown suit with fine, snow-white, puffed linen, silver-buckled shoes, and hair, tied in a powdered queue, stood on the veranda.  He had a frank, open face, and the rive knew at once that he was an American.  Had not his appearance proclaimed his nationality, his speech would have done it for him.