A shout of derisive laughter greeted Paul. Long Jim had been thrown down
and held fast and the lad was confronted by none other than Alvarez
himself, while Braxton Wyatt, smiling in malignant triumph, stood just
behind him.
"Well, my young man of Kaintock," said Francisco Alvarez in his precise
English, "we have taken you and at least one of your brother thieves. In
good time we'll have the others, too. It was an evil day when you ventured
on my plantation so near such a wonderful tracker as The Cat. Why, he
detected them instinctively when your comrades ventured near us!"
The eyes of the stooping Natchez Indian flashed at the compliment but, in
a moment, he resumed his immobility. All the blood rushed to Paul's face,
and he could not contain his anger.
"Thief! how dare you call me a thief!" he said.
"This is my boat before me," replied Alvarez. "You stole it."
"Not so," replied Paul. "We captured it. You seized and held me a prisoner
when I came to your camp on a friendly mission, and we took it in fair
reprisal and for a good purpose. Moreover, you are plotting with that vile
renegade there to destroy our people in Kentucky!"
"You are a thief," repeated Francisco Alvarez calmly, "you stole my boat.
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