few words.

"I'll admit that you have had some successes in the past," said Wyatt,
smiling maliciously, "but your time is done. We are the victors, and
you'll never get out of this."

The four as if by common consent turned their backs upon him and did not
utter another word. The renegade understood the contempt expressed by
those four silent backs, and the willful flush broke through the tan of
his face. He had never hated them more bitterly.

"Come you, Henry Ware," he said roughly, "Captain Alvarez wishes to ask
you some questions."

"I wouldn't go, Henry," said Long Jim. "I wouldn't hev a word to say to
that Spaniard or to this white Injun either."

"He will go, whether willingly or unwillingly," said Braxton Wyatt. "I've
men enough here to drag him."

"I will go willingly, Jim," said Henry addressing himself to his comrade
rather than to the renegade. "It cannot do any harm, and it may help."

"Yes, it is wiser," said Paul.

"So long, boys," said Henry. "I'll be back pretty soon."

He stepped out, calmly ignoring the existence of Braxton Wyatt, and placed
himself in the center of the little group of soldiers. His manner
indicated clearly that he would make no attempt to escape, and, armed
though the four soldiers were, and unarmed though their captive was, they
breathed four simultaneous sighs of relief. Henry Ware, boy though he was,
with his great height and powerful shoulders, chest, and limbs, was a
truly formidable figure.

Braxton Wyatt turned the key noisily in the huge padlock that held the
door.

"There," he said, "I think we've got that cattle securely fastened in the
pen!"

Henry knew that the insulting words were intended for his ear, but he gave
no sign of hearing them. He stood expressionless, awaiting the word to the
soldiers to march. Braxton Wyatt quickly gave it. He was angrier than
ever, because he could not stir Henry Ware, whom he hated most of all, to
open anger.

The march led straight to the Chateau of Beaulieu, across well-trimmed
sward, and Henry's alert eye took in everything, the pretentious house, so
unlike anything erected by his own people in Kentucky, the low
outbuildings, and the occasional gleam of a uniform.

But Henry did not observe at this moment with any eye to the escape of
himself and his comrades. His condition of mind was spiritual and he felt
a satisfaction for which he could not have accounted if he had tried. He
felt sure that his friends and he would