Braxton Wyatt was satisfied with the answer. His wicked heart throbbed at the thought that the five would never more roam their beloved forests. He, too, looked forward to the arrival of the galleon, Doña Isabel, with welcome news. He saw how useful he was to Alvarez, and if the Spaniard rose, he must rise with him.
The two, after these few words, sat in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts, which, however, were largely the same. Alvarez rose presently and went into the house. If all things went as he wished, there were certain letters that he would send to powerful friends in Spain, and now was a good time to make rough drafts of them.
Braxton Wyatt remained on the piazza. It was wonderfully cool and pleasant there, after the heat of the day. The wind blew musically among the orange trees, and the air was spiced with pleasant odors. Braxton Wyatt's thoughts were pleasant, too. He liked this luxurious southern life. Though born to the forest, and a good woodsman, he had sybaritic tastes, which needed only opportunity to bud and bloom.
Now, like the Arab who had the glass for sale, he was building his great future. Alvarez would be Governor General of Louisiana, and he, Braxton Wyatt, would be his trusted and necessary lieutenant. The five whom he hated would be removed under the new rule from the military prison to dungeons, where they would gradually be lost to the sight of man, never to be heard of again. The Indians and the Spaniards with their cannon would destroy the settlements in Kentucky, and he would become, if not the first, at least the second man in His Most Catholic Majesty's huge province of Louisiana. And it was not absolutely necessary to be Spanish-born to become in time a Governor General himself.
Time passed. It was very quiet within the belt of magnolias and cypresses and orange trees and but little noise came from the town, the stray shout of a reveler, a snatch of a song, and then nothing more.
Braxton Wyatt, still filled with his dreams, arose and stepped down from the piazza. The happy future promoted in him a certain physical activity, and he wanted to walk among the trees. He stepped into their shadow, strolled a rod or so, and then stopped. His acute, forest-bred ear had brought to him a sound which was not that of the wind nor any echo of a gay reveler's song.
The renegade stopped. It was very dark among the trees. He could see neither the house behind, nor the city before him. He did not hear the sound again, but he was troubled. His pleasant thoughts were disturbed. It was like waking from a happy dream. He turned to go back to the house and then he saw a flitting shadow. The wicked heart of Braxton Wyatt stood still. If he had not known that Henry Ware was safely in the military prison he would have taken the terrible shadow for him. He knew too well the great height, the broad shoulders, and the fierce accusing countenance. Once he had laughed at the Shawnees and Miamis because they had believed in ghosts. But could it be true?
Braxton Wyatt turned back toward the house, where he might renew his interrupted and pleasant dream, but the next instant the terrible shadow turned itself into a reality more terrible.
A powerful form hurled itself upon him, and he was thrown to the ground. He looked up and met the eyes of Henry Ware, who knelt upon him. No, it was certainly not a shadow but the most unpleasant of all facts!
Braxton Wyatt was at first paralyzed by terror and the suddenness of the attack. When he recovered, one hand of Henry pressed heavily upon his mouth, while the other felt rapidly through his clothing. "Look for any unusual thickness in his waistcoat; that is probably the place," Oliver Pollock had said. Henry's hand in a few moments ran upon something folded between the cloth and lining of the waistcoat. He snatched out his knife, cut them apart and out fell several folds of fine, thin deerskin. He knew that the prize had been secured, and he meant to keep it.