CHAPTER

      I At Old Fort Armstrong
     II On Furlough
    III History of the Beaucaires
     IV The End of the Game
      V Kirby Shows His Hand
     VI Into the Black Water
    VII Picking Up the Threads
   VIII I Decide My Duty
     IX The Home of Judge Beaucaire
      X A Girl at Bay
     XI To Save a “Nigger”
    XII We Capture a Keel-Boat
   XIII Seeking the Underground
    XIV The Dawn of Deeper Interest
     XV The Cabin of Amos Shrunk
    XVI The Trail of the Raiders
   XVII We Face Disaster
  XVIII The Loss of Rene
    XIX On Board the Adventurer
     XX The Story of Elsie dark
    XXI The Landing at Yellow Banks
   XXII My Friend, the Deputy Sheriff
  XXIII A New Job
   XXIV Kirby and I Meet
    XXV The Fugitives
   XXVI The Island in the Swamp
  XXVII We Choose Our Course
 XXVIII A Field of Massacre
   XXIX The Valley of the Bureau
    XXX We Accept a Refugee
   XXXI The Valley of the Shadow
  XXXII The Trail to Ottawa

The Devil’s Own

CHAPTER I

AT OLD FORT ARMSTRONG

It was the early springtime, and my history tells me the year was 1832, although now that seems so far away I almost hesitate to write the date.  It appears surprising that through the haze of all those intervening years—­intensely active years with me—­I should now be able to recall so clearly the scene of that far-off morning of my youth, and depict in memory each minor detail.  Yet, as you read on, and realize yourself the stirring events resulting from that idle moment, you may be able to comprehend the deep impression left upon my mind, which no cycle of time could ever erase.

I was barely twenty then, a strong, almost headstrong boy, and the far wilderness was still very new to me, although for two years past I had held army commission and been assigned to duty in frontier forts.  Yet never previously had I been stationed at quite so isolated an outpost of civilization as was this combination of rock and log defense erected at the southern extremity of Rock Island, fairly marooned amid the sweep of the great river, with Indian-haunted land stretching for leagues on every side.  A mere handful of troops was quartered there, technically two companies of infantry, yet numbering barely enough for one; and this in spite of rumors daily drifting to us that the Sacs and Foxes, with their main village just below, were already becoming restless and warlike, inflamed by the slow approach of white settlers into the valley of the Rock.  Indeed, so short was the garrison of officers, that the harassed commander had ventured to retain me for field service, in spite of the fact that I was detailed to staff duty, had borne dispatches up the Mississippi from General Gaines, and expected to return again by the first boat.