Chapter II. A Forest Envoy

The Free Rangers

by Joseph A. Altsheler

A group of men were seated in a pleasant valley, where the golden
beams of the sun sifted in myriads through the green leaves.

They were about fifty in number and all were white. Most of
them were dressed in Old World fashion, doublets, knee breeches,
hose, and cocked hats. Nearly all were dark; olive faces, black
hair, and black pointed beards, but now and then one had fair hair,
and eyes of a cold, pale blue. Manner, speech, looks, and dress,
alike differentiated them from the borderers. They were not the kind
of men whom one would expect to find in these lonely woods in the
heart of North America.

The leader of the company - and obviously he was such - was one
of the few who belonged to the blonde type. His eyes were of the
chilly, metallic blue, and his hair, long and fair, curled at the
ends. His dress, of some fine, black cloth, was scrupulously neat
and clean, and a silver-hilted small sword swung at his belt. He was
not more than thirty.

The fair man was leaning lazily but gracefully against the trunk
of a tree, and he talked in a manner that seemed indolent and
careless, but which was neither to a youth in buckskins who sat
opposite him, a striking contrast in appearance. This youth was
undeniably of the Anglo-Saxon type, large and wellbuilt, with a
broad, full forehead, but with eyes set too close together. He was
tanned almost to the darkness of an Indian.

"You tell me, Senior Wyatt," said Don Francisco Alvarez, the
leader of the Spanish band, that the new settlers in Kaintock* have
twice driven off the allied tribes, and that, if they are left alone
another year or two, they will go down so deep in the soil that they
can never be uprooted. Is it not so?"

[*An early French and Spanish name for Kentucky.]

"It is so," replied Braxton Wyatt, the renegade. The tribes
have failed twice in a great effort. Every man among these settlers
is, a daring and skillful fighter, and many of the boys -and many of
the women, too. But if white troops and cannon are sent against them
their forts must fall."

The Spaniard was idly whipping the grass stems with a little
switch. Now he narrowed his metallic, blue eyes, and gazed directly
into those of Braxton Wyatt.

"And you, Senior Wyatt?" he said, speaking his slow, precise
English. "Nothing premeditated is done without a motive. You are of
these people who live in Kaintock, their blood is your blood; why
then do you wish to have them destroyed?"

A deep flush broke its way through the brown tan on the face of
Braxton Wyatt, and his eyes fell before the cold gaze of the
Spaniard. But he raised them again in a moment. Braxton Wyatt was
not a coward, and he never permitted a guilty conscience to bother
him.

"I did belong to them," he replied, "but my tastes led me away.
I have felt that all this mighty valley should belong to the Indians
who have inhabited it so long, but, if the white people come, it
should be those who are true and loyal to their kings, not these
rebels of the colonies."

Francisco Alvarez smiled cynically, and once more surveyed
Braxton Wyatt, with a rapid, measuring glance.

"You speak my sentiments, Senior Wyatt," he said, "and you speak
them in a language that I scarcely expected."

"I had a schoolmaster even in the wilderness," said Braxton
Wyatt. "And I may tell you, too, as proof of my faith that I would
be hanged at once should I return to the settlements."

"I do not doubt your faith. I was merely curious about your
motives. I am sure also that you can be of great help to us." He
spoke in a patronizing manner, and Braxton Wyatt moved slightly in
anger, but restrained his speech.

"I may say," continued the Spaniard, "that His Excellency
Bernardo Galvez, His Most Catholic Majesty's Governor of his loyal
province of Louisiana, has been stirred by the word that comes to him
of these new settlements of the rebel Americans in the land of the
Ohio: The province of Louisiana is vast, and it may be that it
includes the country on either side of the Ohio. The French, our
predecessors, claimed it, and now that all the colonists east of the
mountains are busy fighting their king, it may be easy to take it
from them, as one would snip off a skirt with a pair of scissors.
That is why I and this faithful band are so far north in these
woods."

Braxton Wyatt nodded.

"And a wise thing, too," he said. "I am strong with the tribes.
The great chief, Yellow Panther, of the Miamis and the great chief,
Red Eagle, of the Shawnees are both my friends. I know how they
feel. The Spanish in New Orleans are far away. Their settlements do
not spread. They come rather to hunt and trade. But the Americans
push farther and farther. They build their homes and they never go
back. Do you wonder then that the warriors wish your help?"

Francisco Alvarez smiled again. It was a cold but satisfied
smile and he rubbed one white hand over the other.

"Your logic is good," he said, "and these reasons have occurred
to me, also, but my master, Bernardo Galvez, the Governor, is
troubled. We love not England and there is a party among us -a party
at present in power -which wishes to help the Americans in order that
we may damage England, but I, if I could choose the way would have no
part in it. As surely as we help the rebels we will also create
rebels against ourselves."

"You are far from New Orleans," said Braxton Wyatt, "It would
take long for a messenger to go and come, and meanwhile you could act
as you think best."

"It is so," said the Spaniard. "Our presence here is unknown to
all save the chiefs and yourself. In this wilderness, a thousand
miles from his superior, one must act according to his judgment, and
I should like to see these rebel settlements crushed."

He spoke to himself rather than to Wyatt, and again his eyes
narrowed. Blue eyes are generally warm and sympathetic, but his were
of the cold, metallic shade that can express cruelty so well. He
plucked, too, at his short, light beard, and Braxton Wyatt read his
thoughts. The renegade felt a thrill of satisfaction. Here was a
man who could be useful.

"How far is it from this place to the land of the Miamis and the
Shawnees?" asked Alvarez.

"It must be six or seven hundred miles, but bands of both tribes
are now hunting much farther west. One Shawnee party that I know of
is even now west of the Mississippi."

Francisco Alvarez frowned slightly.

"It is a huge country," he said. " These great distances, annoy
me. Still, one must travel them. Ah, what is it now?"

He was looking at Braxton Wyatt, as he spoke, and he saw a
sudden change appear upon his face, a look of recognition and then of
mingled hate and rage. The renegade was staring Northward, and the
eyes of Alvarez followed his.

The Spaniard saw a man or rather a youth approaching, a
straight, slender, but tall and compact figure, and a face uncommon
in the wilderness, fine, delicate, with the eyes of a dreamer, and
seer, but never weak. The youth came on steadily, straight toward
the Spanish camp.

"Paul Cotter!" exclaimed Braxton Wyatt. "How under the sun did
he come here!"

"Some one you know?" said Alvarez who heard the words.

"Yes, from the settlements of which we speak," replied Wyatt
quickly and in a low tone. He had no time to add more, because Paul
was now in the Spanish camp, and was gravely saluting the leader,
whom he had recognized instantly to be such by his dress and manner.
Francisco Alvarez rose to his feet, and politely returned the salute.
He saw at once a quality in the stranger that was not wholly of the
wilderness. Braxton Wyatt nodded, but Paul took no notice whatever
of him. A flush broke again through the tan of the renegade's
face.

"Be seated," said Alvarez, and Paul sat down on a little grassy
knoll.

"You are Captain Francisco Alvarez of the Spanish forces at New
Orleans?"

"You have me truly," replied the Spaniard smiling and shrugging
his shoulders, "although I cannot surmise how you became aware of my
presence here. But the domains of my master, the king, extend far,
and his servants must travel far, also, to do his will."

Paul understood the implication in his words, but he, too' had
the gift of language and diplomacy, and he did not reply to it.
Stirred by deep curiosity, the Spanish soldiers were gathering a
little nearer, but Alvarez waved back all but Wyatt.

"I am glad to find you here, Captain Alvarez," said Paul with a
gravity beyond his years; indeed, as he spoke, his face was lighted
up by that same singular look of exaltation that had passed more than
once over the face of the shiftless one. "And I am glad because I
have come for a reason, one of the greatest of all reasons. I want
to say something, not for myself, but for others."

"Ah, an ambassador, I see," said Francisco Alvarez with a light
touch of irony.

But Paul took no notice of the satire. He was far too much in
earnest, and he resumed in tones impressive in their solemnity:

"I am from one of the little white villages in the Kentucky
woods far to the eastward. There we have fought the wilderness and
twice we have driven back strong forces of the allied tribes,
although they came with great resolution and were helped moreover by
treachery."

Braxton Wyatt moved angrily and was about to speak, but Paul,
never glancing in his direction, went on steadily:

"These settlements cannot be uprooted now. They may be damaged.
They may be made to suffer great loss and grief, but the vanguard of
our people will never turn back. Neither warrior nor king can
withstand it."

Now Paul's look was wholly that of the prophet.

As he said the last words, "neither warrior nor king can
withstand it," his face was transfigured. He did not see the
Spaniard before him, nor Braxton Wyatt, the renegade, nor the
surrounding woods, but he saw instead great states and mighty
cities.

The Spaniard, despite his displeasure, was impressed by the
words of the youth, but he took hold of himself bodily, as it were,
and shook off the spell. A challenging light sprang into his cold
blue eyes.

"I do not know so much about warriors," he said, "but kings may
be and are able to do what they will. If my master should choose to,
put forth his strength, even to send his far-extended arm into these
woods, to what would your tiny settlements amount? A pinch of sand
before a puff of wind. Whiff! You are gone. Nor could your people
east of the mountains help you, because they, on bended knee, will
soon be receiving their own lesson from the King of England."

Francisco Alvarez snapped his fingers, as if Paul and his people
were annihilated by a single derisive gesture. Paul reddened and a
dangerous flash came into his eyes. But the natural diplomatist in
him took control, and he replied with the utmost calmness:

"It may be so, but it is not a question that should arise. The
King of Spain is at peace with us. We even hear, deep in the woods
as we are, that he may take our part against England. France already
is helping us. So I have come to ask you to take no share in plots
against us, not to listen to evil counsels, and not to turn ear to
traitors, who, having been traitors to one people, can readily be
traitors to another."

Braxton Wyatt leaped to his feet, his face blazing with wrath,
and his hand flew to the hilt of the knife at his belt.

"Now this is more than I will stand!" he exclaimed, "you cannot
ignore me, Paul Cotter, until such time you choose, and then call me
foul names!"

The Spaniard smiled. The sight of Braxton Wyatt's wrath pleased
him, but he put out his hand in a detaining gesture.

"Sit down!" he said in -a tone so sharp that Wyatt obeyed.
"This is no time for personal quarrels. As I see it, an embassy has
come to us and we must discuss matters of state. Is it not so,
Senior, Senior..."

"Cotter! Paul Cotter is my name."

Paul felt the sneer in the Spaniard's last words, but he hid his
resentment.

"Then your proposition is this," continued Alvarez, "that I and
my men have nothing to do with the Indians, that we make no treaty,
no agreement with them, that we abandon this country and go back to
New Orleans. This you propose despite the fact that the region in
which we now are belongs to Spain."

"I would not put it in quite that fashion," replied Paul calmly.
"I suggest instead that you be our friend. It is natural for the
white races to stand together. I suggest that you send away, also,
the messenger of the tribes who comes seeking your help to slaughter
women and children."

Braxton Wyatt half rose, but again he was put down by the
restraining gesture of Francisco Alvarez.

"No personal quarrels, as I stated before," said the Spaniard,
"but to you, Senior Cotter, I wish to say that I have heard your
words, but it seems to me they are without weight. I do not agree
with you that the settlements of the Americans cannot be uprooted.
Nor am I sure that your title to Kaintock is good. It was claimed in
the beginning by France, and justly, but a great war gave it by might
though not by right to England. Now Spain has succeeded to France.
Here, throughout all this vast region, there is none to dispute her
title. To the east of the Mississippi great changes are going on,
and it may be that Kaintock, also, will revert to my master, the
king."

He waved his hand in a gesture of finality, and a look of
satisfaction came into Braxton Wyatt's eyes. The renegade glanced
triumphantly at Paul, but Paul's face remained calm.

"You would not proceed to any act of hostility in conjunction
with the tribes, when Spain and the colonies are at peace?" said Paul
to the Spaniard.

Francisco Alvarez frowned, and assumed a haughty look.

"I make neither promises nor prophecies," he said.

"I have spoken courteously to you, Senior Cotter, although you
are a trespasser on the Spanish domain. I have given you the
hospitality of our camp, but I cannot answer questions pertaining to
the policy of my government."

Paul, for the first time, showed asperity. He, too, drew
himself up with a degree of haughtiness, and he looked Don Francisco
Alvarez squarely in the eyes, as he replied:

"I did not come here to ask questions. I came merely to say
that our nations are at peace, and to urge you not to help savages in
a war upon white people."

"I do not approve of rebels," said Alvarez.

Paul was silent. He felt instinctively that his mission had
failed. Something cold and cruel about the Spaniard repelled him,
and he believed, too, that Braxton Wyatt had not been without a
sinister influence.

Alvarez arose and walked over to his camp-fire. Braxton Wyatt
followed him and whispered rapidly to the Spaniard. Paul, persistent
and always hopeful, was putting down his anger and trying to think of
other effective words that he might use. But none would come into
his head, and he, too, rose.

"I am sorry that we cannot agree, Captain Alvarez," he said with
the grave courtesy that became him so well, "and therefore I will bid
you, good day."

A thin smile passed over the face of the Spaniard, and the blue
eyes shed a momentary, metallic gleam.

"I pray you not to be in haste, Senior Cotter." he said. "Be
our guest for a while."

"I must go," replied Paul, "although I thank you for the
courtesy."

"But, we cannot part with you now," said the Spaniard, "you are
on Spanish soil. Others of you kind may be near, also, and you and
they have come uninvited. I would know more about it."

"You mean that you will detain me?" said Paul in surprise.

The Spaniard delicately stroked his pointed beard, "Perhaps that
is the word," he replied. "As I said, you have trespassed upon our
domain, and must hold you, for a time, at least. I know not what
plot is afoot."

"As a prisoner?"

"If you wish to call it so."

"And yet there is no war between your country and mine!"

The Spaniard delicately stroked his pointed beard again.

Paul looked at him accusingly, and Francisco Alvarez unable to
sustain his straight gaze, turned his eyes aside. But Braxton
Wyatt's face was full of triumph, although he kept silent. Paul
thought rapidly. It seemed to him a traitorous design and he did not
doubt that Wyatt had instigated it, but he must submit at present.
He was powerless inside a ring of fifty soldiers. Without a word, he
sat down again on the little grassy knoll and it pleased Alvarez to
affect a great politeness, and to play with his prisoner as a cat
with a mouse. He insisted that he eat and he made his men bring him
the tenderest of food, deer meat and wild turkey, and fish, freshly
caught. Finally he opened a flask and poured wine in a small silver
cup.

"It is the wine of Xeres, Senior Cotter," he said, "and you can
judge how precious it is, as it must be a full five thousand miles
from- its birthplace."

He handed the little cup in grandiose manner to Paul, and Paul,
meeting his humor, accepted it in like fashion. He had not tasted
wine often in his life and he found it a strong fluid, but, in this
crisis, it strengthened him and put a new sparkle in his blood.

"Thanks," he said as he politely returned the empty cup, and
resumed his seat on the knoll. Then Alvarez walked aside, and talked
again in whispers with the renegade.

Wyatt urged that Paul be held indefinitely. He would not talk
at first, but they must get from him the fullest details about the
settlements in Kentucky, the weak points, where to attack and when.
If the settlements were left alone they would certainly spread all
over Kentucky and in time across the Mississippi into the Spanish
domain. Spain was far away, and she could not drive them back. But
the Spaniards could urge on the tribes again, and with a hidden hand,
send them arms and ammunition. White men with cannon could even join
the warriors, and Spain might convincingly say that she knew nothing
of it.

The words of the renegade pleased Francisco Alvarez. Deep down
in his crafty heart he loved intrigue and cunning.

"Yes, we'll hold him," he said. "He is a trespasser here,
although I will admit that he is not the kind of person that I
expected to find in the heart of this vast wilderness."

He glanced at Paul, who was sitting on the knoll, calm and
apparently unconcerned, his fine features at rest, his blue eyes
lazily regarding the forest. The blue of Paul's eyes was different
from the blue of the eyes of Alvarez. The blue of his was deep,
warm, and sympathetic.

"Is it likely that Cotter is alone?" Alvarez asked of Wyatt.

"Not at all," replied the renegade. "He has friends, and I warn
you that they are able and dangerous. We must be on our watch
against them."

"What friends?" asked the Spaniard incredulously.

"There is a group. They are five. Where one of them is, the
other four are not likely to be far away. There is Cotter's comrade,
Henry Ware, a little older, and larger and stronger, wonderful in the
woods! He surpasses the Indians themselves in cunning and craft.
Then comes Sol Hyde, whom they call the shiftless one, but swift and
cunning, and much to be dreaded. Look out for him when he is
pretending to be most harmless. And then Tom Ross, who has been a
hunter and guide all his life, and the one they call Long Jim, the
swiftest runner in the wilderness. Oh, I know them all!"

"Perhaps you have had cause to know them well," said the
Spaniard in a sardonic tone - he was a keen reader of character, and
he understood Braxton Wyatt.

But Braxton Wyatt ignored the taunt in his anxiety.

"They must not be taken too lightly," he said. "They are
somewhere in these woods, and, Captain, I warn you once more against
them."

The Spaniard smiled in his superior way, and, turning to his
men, began to give directions for the camp that night. Sunset was
not far away, and they would remain in the glade. His was too strong
a force to fear attack in that isolated region, but Alvarez posted
sentinels, and ordered the others to sleep, when the time came, in a
wide ring about the fire. Within the ring he and Paul and Wyatt
sat, and the Spaniard, maintaining his light, ironic humor, talked
much. Paul, if addressed directly by Alvarez, always answered, but
he persistently ignored the renegade. Such a being filled him with
horror, and once, when Wyatt gave him a look of deadly hate, Paul
shot back one of his own, fully a match for it. But that was all.

Night came on fast. The red sun shot down. Darkness fell upon
the forest, and swept up to the circling rim of the camp fire. Chill
came into the air. The Spaniards shivered and crept a little nearer
to the coals. Talk ceased, and, out of the illimitable for st, came
the low, moaning sound of the wind among the leaves. The great stars
sprang out, and shone with a thin, pale light on the wilderness.

Francisco Alvarez was a brave man, but he was born on sunny
plains where he basked in warmth and the eye ranged far. Now,
despite himself, he felt a chill that was uncanny. The forest, thick
and black, spread away, he knew, for hundreds of miles, and neither
city nor town broke it. A fervent imagination leaped up and peopled
it with weird beings. Nor would imagination go down before will and
knowledge. Boughs twisted themselves into fantastic, hideous shapes,
and the moan of the wind was certainly like the cry of a soul in
torment.

Don Francisco Alvarez shivered and the shiver became a shudder.
He looked across the fire at his prisoner, but Paul seemed
unconscious of the forest and the night, and the demon spell of the
two. The lad sat immovable. Upon his face was the dreamy, mystic
look that so often came there. He seemed to be gazing far beyond the
Spaniard and the renegade into some greater future. Francisco
Alvarez, brave man though he was, felt awe. He rose impatiently,
kicked a coal deeper into the fire, looked once more at Paul, who was
yet silent, and spoke sharply to the sentinels. Then he returned to
his place, and said to Paul:

"We offer you the hospitality of the forest and an extra blanket
if you wish it."

"It's a hospitality to which I'm used," replied Paul, "and I
don't need the extra blanket, although I thank you for the offer."

He took his own blanket from the little pack at his back,
wrapped himself in it, pillowed his head on the knoll, and closed his
eyes. Francisco Alvarez looked at him for some minutes, and could
not tell whether he was sleeping or waking, but he thought that he
slept. His long, regular breathing and the expression of his face,
as peaceful as that of a little child, indicated it. The night grew
chillier. The great stars remained pale and cold, and the forest
continued to whine, as that strange, wandering breeze slipped through
the leaves. Francisco Alvarez of the sunny plains wished that it
would stop. It got upon his nerves, and the feeling it gave him was
singularly like that of an evil conscience. He saw his men fall to
sleep one by one, and he heard their heavy breathing. Braxton Wyatt
also wrapped himself in his blanket and soon slumbered. The fire
sank, the coals crumbled, and with soft little hisses, fell together.
The circling rim of darkness crept up closer and closer, and the
trunks of the trees became ghostly in, the shadows.

Alvarez saw his sentinels at either side of the camp, to right
and left, walking back and forth, and he knew also that they would
watch well. Time passed. The night darkened and then a wan moon
came out, casting a ghostly, gray shadow over the measureless black
forest. The great stars, pale and cold, danced in a dusky blue.
Faint moans came out of the depths of the wilderness, as a stray wind
wandered here and there among the leaves. Francisco Alvarez,
resolute and self contained though he was, could not sleep. He had
taken a bold step in holding the messenger of peace, and, although
one might do much a thousand wilderness miles from the seat of his
authority, he was nevertheless anxious to have the full support of
Bernardo Galvez, the Spanish governor of Louisiana.

Royalist to the marrow, he wished the colonists to be defeated
by their mother country, and he wished, moreover, that Spain might
make secure a title to all the immense regions in the valley. If he
could skillfully commit Spain to a quarrel with the settlers much
might be done for the cause in which his heart was enlisted.

He foresaw the truth of Paul's warning that in a little while
nothing could uproot the settlers in Kentucky. A blow at them, if it
would destroy, must fall quickly, and he meant that the blow should
be given.

His anxiety weighed heavily upon him and the wilderness at night
grew more uncanny. Sleep refused to come. The coals sank lower.
One by one they gleamed with the last fitful sparks of dying fire and
then went out. The two sentinels, one to the right and one to the
left, had sat down now upon fallen logs, but Alvarez knew that they
were still watching with care - they would not dare to do otherwise.
All the rest but Alvarez slept.

The Spaniard looked at Braxton Wyatt as he lay in his blanket,
one arm under his head, and his lip curled. He despised him, and yet
he could be very useful. He would have to work with him and he must
treat him at least with superficial politeness. Then he looked at
the prisoner. Paul, too, slept soundly, his fine face thrown into
relief in the wan moonlight, every sensitive feature revealed.
Alvarez wondered again that he should find a youth of such classic
countenance and cultivated mind in the deep forest. The wandering
breeze ceased, and the wilderness fell into silence so deep and heavy
that it preyed upon the nerves of the Spaniard. Then, out of the
stillness came a long, plaintive note, wailing, but musical, full of
a quality that made it seem to Alvarez weird and ominous.

"Only the howl of a wolf," muttered the Spaniard, who recognized
the long-drawn cry. But it made him shiver a little, nevertheless.
He alone was awake, except the sentinels, and he felt like a tiny,
lost speck in all the vast wilderness. A second time came the cry of
the wolf, and then it was repeated a third and a fourth time. After
the fourth it ceased.

The four cries were so distinct, so equal in length, and
repeated at such regular intervals that they seemed to Francisco
Alvarez like set notes. He listened intently, but they did not come
again. He glanced at the prisoner but Paul had not stirred, the
moon's rays illuminating his face with a pale light. The renegade,
too, slept soundly.

Alvarez wrapped himself in his blanket after the fashion of the
others, and lay down, but still sleep would not come. He knew that
it was far in the night and he wished to be rested and fresh for the
next day, but he lay awake, nevertheless. A half hour passed, and
then came that plaintive cry of the wolf again. As before, it seemed
to be wonderfully distinct and full of character, but it was nearer
now.

Francisco Alvarez raised himself on his elbow, and heard it a
second and then a third and fourth time. After that only the heavy
silence of the forest.

"The same as before," murmured the Spaniard to himself. "The
wolf howled four times. What a coincidence! Bah, I'm becoming a
superstitious fool!"

He resolutely closed his eyes and sought slumber once more. It
was far past midnight now, and weary nature began at last her task.
His nerves were soothed. A soft breeze fanned his eyelids with
drowsy wing, the forest wavered, swam away, and he slept.

Red dawn was coming when Francisco Alvarez awoke. The fire was
dead and cold, and the men around it yet slumbered. The two
sentinels, one to the right and one to the left, still sat on the
logs, backs toward him. He took one glance to see if the prisoner,
too, slept, and then he leaped to his feet with a cry. The prisoner
was not there! Nor was he anywhere in the camp.

"Up I up! you rascals!" shouted the Spaniard. "The boy is gone!
escaped. Luiz, Pedro, in what manner have you watched!"

He rushed to the sentinel on the right, Luiz, and struck him
sharply across the back with the flat of his sword.

"Wretch!" he cried, "you have slept!" and he struck him
again.

Luiz did not stir, even under the sharp blow. He remained
sitting on the log, back to his chief, shoulders bent forward, as if
he were in a slumber too profound to be disturbed by anything short
of a crash of thunder in his ear.

Alvarez, furious with anger, seized him by the shoulder and
dragged him back. Then he uttered another cry, in which rage and
surprise were mingled in equal portions. But Luiz, the sentinel,
still said nothing. He could not. A gag was fixed firmly in his
mouth, his arms were bound to his side, his legs to the tree on which
he sat, and his rifle had been left standing between his knees and
against his shoulder, as if held by one who watched. The unfortunate
sentinel gazed up at his chief with wide-open, appealing eyes, and,
leaving him with the men, who were now crowding around he ran to the
other sentinel, Pedro, only to find him gagged and bound, exactly
like his comrade. It was some minutes before either could speak,
after they were cut loose and their gags removed, and then their
tales were the same.

"I watched, I watched well, Captain," said Luiz, "by the Holy
Virgin I swear it. I Never in this whole terrible night, not for a
moment, have my eyes closed. I saw nothing, I heard nothing but a
wolf howling in the forest, and then, long after midnight, I was
suddenly seized from behind by powerful hands. I could not move, so
strong were they. I was gagged and bound and I could see only the
phantom figures of the men who did it. I know no more."

Pedro, with many supplications, repeated the tale, and Francisco
Alvarez was forced to believe them, although he cursed them for
carelessness, and promised them punishment.

Braxton Wyatt had remained silent, although his face showed deep
disappointment. Presently, when the turmoil had died down, he said
in a low voice to Alvarez:

"What was it that the sentinel said about hearing the howl of a
wolf?"

"I heard it myself," replied Alvarez. "It was about midnight,
when a wolf to the north howled four times. An hour or so later I
heard it again, somewhat nearer and somewhat to the west, when it
howled four times as before."

"Ah!" said Braxton Wyatt.

It was a short exclamation, but it was so full of significance
that the Spaniard in surprise, asked him what he meant.

"Four cries," replied the renegade, "and he had four friends, of
whom I told you to beware. I told you what they were, what cunning
and skill they have, but you would not believe me and you must now!
Cotter heard the four cries. He was not asleep and he
understood!"

Braxton Wyatt, despite his annoyance at Paul's escape, felt a
moment of triumph. His warning had come true. He had been wiser
than this Spaniard who had patronized and insulted him.

"We will deal with these people yet," said Francisco Alvarez
angrily as he turned away.

"I hope so," replied Braxton Wyatt.