The parting bushes disclosed a tall figure, rifle ready, and Robert called cheerily: 

“Here we are, Dave, back again, and we bring with us a welcome guest.  Monsieur Achille Garay was lost in the forest, and, taking pity on him, we’ve brought him in to share our hospitality.  Mr. David Willet, Monsieur Achille Garay of everywhere.”

Willet smiled grimly and led the way back to the spruce shelter.  To Garay’s frightened eyes he bore out fully Robert’s description.

“You lads seem to have taken him without trouble,” he said.  “You’ve done well.  Sit down, Garay, on that log; we’ve business with you.”

Garay obeyed.

“Now,” said the hunter, “what message did you take to St. Luc and the French and Indian force?”

The man was silent.  Evidently he was gathering together the shreds of his courage, as his back stiffened.  Willet observed him shrewdly.

“You don’t choose to answer,” he said.  “Well, we’ll find a way to make you later on.  But the message you carried was not so important as the message you’re taking back.  It’s about you, somewhere.  Hand over the dispatch.”

“I’ve no dispatch,” said Garay sullenly.

“Oh, yes, you have!  A man like you wouldn’t be making such a long and dangerous journey into the high mountains and back again for nothing.  Come, Garay, your letter!”

The spy was silent.

“Search him, lads!” said Willet.

Garay recoiled, but when the hunter threatened him with his pistol he submitted to the dextrous hands of Robert and Tayoga.  They went through all his pockets, and then they made him remove his clothing piece by piece, while they thrust the points of their knives through the lining for concealed documents.  But the steel touched nothing.  Then they searched his heavy moccasins, and even pulled the soles loose, but no papers were disclosed.  There was nowhere else to look and the capture had brought no reward.

“He doesn’t seem to have anything,” said Robert.

“He must have!  He is bound to have!” said the hunter.

“You have had your look,” said Garay, a note of triumph showing in his voice, “and you have failed.  I bear no message because I am no messenger.  I am a Frenchman, it is true, but I have no part in this war.  I am not a soldier or a scout.  You should let me go.”

“But that bullet in Albany.”

“I did not fire it.  It was someone else.  You have made a mistake.”

“We’ve made no mistake,” said the hunter.  “We know what you are.  We know, too, that a dispatch of great importance is about you somewhere.  It is foolish to think otherwise, and we mean to have it.”

“I carry no dispatch,” repeated Garay in his sullen, obstinate tones.

“We mean that you shall give it to us,” said the hunter, “and soon you will be glad to do so.”

Robert glanced at him, but Willet did not reveal his meaning.  It was impossible to tell what course he meant to take, and the two lads were willing to let the event disclose itself.  The same sardonic humor that had taken possession of Robert seemed to lay hold of the older man also.