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 last longer than a throb or two.

"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, Señor 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