n led away by his
enthusiasm, and apologized for a speech that might have seemed
boastful to the young Frenchman, who had been so kind to him. But De
Galissonniere, with his accustomed courtesy, said it was nothing, and
when he left, presently, both were in the best of humors.

Robert, convinced that he had been right about the Indians, watched
for them as the morning went on, but he never saw a single warrior.
There could be no doubt now that they had gone, and while he could not
consider them chivalric they were at least wise.

The next familiar face that he beheld was one far from welcome to him.
It was that of a man who happened to pass near the enclosure and who
stopped suddenly when he caught sight of Robert. He was in civilian
dress, but he was none other than Achille Garay, that spy whose secret
message had been wrested from him in the forest by Robert and Tayoga.

The gaze that Garay bent upon Robert was baleful. His capture by the
three and the manner in which he had been compelled to disclose the
letter had been humiliating, and Robert did not doubt that the man
would seek revenge. He shivered a little, feeling that as a prisoner
he was in a measure helpless. Then his back stiffened.

"I'm glad to see, Garay, that you're where you belong--with the
French," he called out. "I hope you didn't suffer any more from hunger
in the woods when Willet, the Onondaga and I let you go."

The spy came closer, and his look was so full of venom that young
Lennox, despite himself, shuddered.

"Time makes all things even," he said. "I don't forget how you and
your friends held me in your power in the forest, but here you are a
prisoner. I have a good chance to make the score even."

Robert remembered also how this man had attempted his life in Albany,
for some reason that he could not yet fathom, and he felt that he
was now, and, in very truth, a most dangerous enemy. Nevertheless, he
replied, quietly:

"That was an act of war. You were carrying a message for the enemy.
We were wholly within our rights when we forced you to disclose the
paper."

"It makes no difference," said Garay. "I owe you and your comrades a
debt and I shall pay it."

Robert turned his back on him and walked to the other side of the
enclosure. When he turned around, five minutes later, Garay was gone.
But Robert felt uncomfortable. Here was a man who did not have the
gallantry and chivalry that marked so many of the French. If he could
he wou