"
The two crouched a little lower and remained breathless. Braxton Wyatt
strolled on. He was making a sort of vague inspection of the camp, but he
was really thinking more about the great triumph that he saw ahead. Since
he had turned renegade, leaving his own white race to join the Indians, a
thing that was sometimes done, he had been stung by many defeats and he
wished a great revenge that would pour oil upon all these wounds.
A bad nature grows worse with failure. Seeking to injure his former people
and failing at every turn, Braxton Wyatt hated them more and more all the
time. His wrath was particularly directed against the five who had been
such great instruments in sending his careful plans astray. His scheme
with the Indian league had failed chiefly through them, but he felt that
he could now come with a Spanish force that would prove irresistible. That
was why he glowed with internal warmth and pride. The settlements would be
destroyed and he, in fact, would be the destroyer.
Braxton Wyatt entered the edge of the woods, still occupied with the cruel
triumph that was to be his. He did not notice that the foliage was
gradually shutting out the firelight. Presently he saw, or believed that
he saw, a shadowy but terrible figure.
Pages:
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160