The Free Rangers | Page 7

switch.
Now he narrowed his metallic, blue eyes, and gazed directly into those
of Braxton Wyatt.
"And you, Señor 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 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 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