"It may be so, but It is not a question that should arise. The King of
Spain is at peace with us. We even hear, deep in the woods as we are, that
he may take our part against England. France already is helping us. So I
have come to ask you to take no share in plots against us, not to listen
to evil counsels, and not to turn ear to traitors, who, having been
traitors to one people, can readily be traitors to another."
Braxton Wyatt leaped to his feet, his face blazing with wrath, and his
hand flew to the hilt of the knife at his belt.
"Now this is more than I will stand!" he exclaimed, "you cannot ignore me,
Paul Cotter, until such time you choose, and then call me foul names!"
The Spaniard smiled. The sight of Braxton Wyatt's wrath pleased him, but
he put out his hand in a detaining gesture.
"Sit down!" he said in a tone so sharp that Wyatt obeyed. "This is no time
for personal quarrels. As I see it, an embassy has come to us and we must
discuss matters of state. Is it not so, Senor, Senor--"
"Cotter! Paul Cotter is my name."
Paul felt the sneer in the Spaniard's last words, but he hid his
resentment.
"Then your proposition is this," continued Alvarez, "that I and my men
have nothing to do with the Indians, that we make no treaty, no agreement
with them, that we abandon this country and go back to New Orleans.
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