The Sun Of Quebec Part 3

"I was wondering," he said, "how long you mean to stay in Albany."

"It's a pleasant town," said the man, "as I have cause to know since I've been here before. I may remain quite a while. Still, I shall decide wholly according to my taste."

"But there is a certain element of danger."

"Oh, the war! I don't think the French even if they come to Albany will have a chance to take me."

"I didn't have the war in mind. There are other risks of which I think that I, Peter Smith, who sailed with you once before ought to warn you."

"It's good of you, Peter, to think so much of my safety, but I don't believe I've any cause for fear. I've always been able to take care of myself."

The last words were said with a little snap, and Robert knew they were meant as a defiance, but he appeared not to notice.

"Ah, well you've shown that you know how to look out for number one," he said. "I'm only Peter Smith, a humble seaman, but I've the same faculty.

I bid you good-day."

"Good-day, Peter. I hope there's no ill feeling between us, and that each will have whatever he deserves!"

Cool! wonderfully cool, Robert thought, but he replied merely: "I trust so, too, and in that case it is easy to surmise what one of us would get."

He sauntered back to his comrades, and, lest he attract their attention, he did not look toward the slaver again for a minute or two. When he glanced in that direction he saw the man walking toward the door, not in any hurried manner, but as if he had all the time in the world, and need fear n.o.body. Cool! wonderfully cool, Robert thought a second time.

The slaver went out, and Robert thought he caught a glimpse of a man meeting him, a second man in whose figure also there was something familiar. They were gone in an instant, and he was tempted to spring up and follow them, because the figure of which he had seen but a little at the door reminded him nevertheless of Achille Garay, the spy.

CHAPTER II

THE CHEST OF DRAWERS

It was but a fleeting glimpse that Robert had of the second man, but he believed that it was Garay. He not only looked like the spy, but he was convinced that it was really he. After the first moment or two he did not doubt his ident.i.ty, and making an excuse that he wanted a little fresh air and would return in an instant he walked quickly to the door.

He caught another and fugitive glimpse of two men, one tall and the other short, walking away together, and he could not doubt that they were the slaver and the spy.

Had he been alone Robert would have followed them, though he was quite certain that Garay must have had some place of sure refuge, else he would not have ventured into Albany. Even with that recourse his act was uncommonly bold. If the slaver was daring, the spy was yet more so.

There was nothing against the slaver that they could prove, but the spy put his neck in the noose.

Robert whistled softly to himself, and he was very thoughtful. Willet, Tayoga and he had been so completely victorious over Garay in the forest that perhaps he had underrated him. Maybe he was a man to be feared. His daring appearance in Albany must be fortified by supreme cunning, and his alliance with the slaver implied a plan. Robert believed that the plan, or a part of it at least, was directed against himself. Well, what if it was? He could meet it, and he was not afraid. He had overcome other perils, and he had friends, as true and steadfast as were ever held to any man by hooks of steel. His heart beat high, he was in a glow, his whole soul leaped forward to meet prospective danger.

He went back into the inn and took his seat with the others. Now it was Stuart who was talking, telling them of life in the great Southern colony and of its delights, of the big houses, of the fields of tobacco, of the horse races, of the long visits to neighbors, and how all who were anybody were related, making Virginia one huge family.

"Now Cabell and I," he said, "belong to the same clan. My mother and his father are third cousins, which makes us fourth cousins, or fifth is it?

But whether fourth or fifth, we're cousins just the same. All the people of our blood are supposed to stand together, and do stand together. Oh, it has its delights! It makes us sufficient unto ourselves! The old Dominion is a world in itself, complete in all its parts."

"But you have to come to Philadelphia to see a great city and get a taste of metropolitan life," said Colden.

Then a discussion, friendly but warm arose as to the respective merits of the Virginia and Pennsylvania provinces, and when it was at its height and the attention of all the others was absorbed in it, Tayoga leaned over and whispered to Robert:

"What did you see at the door, Dagaeoga?"

Robert was startled. So, the Onondago was watching, after all. He might have known that nothing would escape his attention.

"I saw Garay, the spy," he replied in the same tone.

"And the man at the little table was the captain of the slave ship on which you were taken?"

"The same."

"It bodes ill, Dagaeoga. You must watch."

"I will, Tayoga."

The crowd in the great room of the George Inn increased and the young group remained, eager to watch it. It was a reflex of the life in the colonies, at the seat of conflict, and throbbing with all the emotions of a great war that enveloped nearly the whole civilized world. A burly fellow, dressed as a teamster, finally made his voice heard above the others.

"I tell you men," he said, "that we must give up Albany! Our army has been cut to pieces! Montcalm is advancing with twenty thousand French regulars, and swarms of Indians! They control all of Lake George as well as Champlain! Hundreds of settlers have already fallen before the tomahawk, and houses are burning along the whole border! I have it from them that have seen the fires."

There was a sudden hush in the crowd, followed by an alarmed murmur. The man's emphasis and his startling statements made an impression.

"Go on, Dobbs! Tell us about it!" said one.

"What do you know?" asked another.

He stood up, a great tall man with a red face.

"My cousin has been in the north," he said, "and he's seen rangers, some that have just escaped from the Indians, barely saving their hair. He heard from them that the King of France has sent a big army to Canada, and that another just as big is on the way. It won't be a week before you see the French flag from the hills of Albany, and wise men are already packing ready to go to New York."

There was another alarmed hush.

"This fellow must be stopped," said Colden. "He'll start a panic."

"Dagaeoga has the gift of words," whispered a voice in Robert's ear, "and now is the time to use it."

Nothing more was needed. Robert was on fire in an instant, and, standing upon his chair, asked for attention.

"Your pardon a moment, Mr. Dobbs," he said, "if I interrupt you."

"Why it's only a boy!" a man exclaimed.

"A boy, it's true," said Robert, who now felt himself the center of all eyes, and who, as usual, responded with all his faculties to such an opportunity, "but I was present at the Battle of Ticonderoga, and perhaps I've a chance to correct a few errors into which our friend, Mr.

Dobbs, has fallen."

"What are those errors?" asked the man in a surly tone, not relishing his loss of the stage.

"I'll come to them promptly," said Robert in his mellowest tones.

"They're just trifles, Mr. Dobbs, but still trifles should be corrected.

I stood with the French army in the battle, and I know something about its numbers, which are about one-sixth of what Mr. Dobbs claims them to be."

"What were you doing with the French?"