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 coward 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