“Oh, you’ll enjoy it, Monsieur Achille Garay,” he said in his mellow, persuasive voice.  “The forest is beautiful at this time of the year and the mountains are so magnificent always that they must appeal to anyone who has in his soul the strain of poetry that I know you have.  The snow, too, I think has gone from the higher peaks and ridges and you will not be troubled by extreme cold.  If you should wander from the path back to St. Luc you will have abundant leisure in which to find it again, because for quite a while to come time will be of no importance to you.  And as you’ll go unarmed, you’ll be in no danger of shooting your friends by mistake.”

“You’re not going to turn me into the wilderness to starve?”

“Not at all.  We’ll give you plenty of food.  Tayoga and I will see you well on your way.  Now, since you’ve eaten enough, you start at once.”

Tayoga and the hunter fell in readily with Robert’s plan.  The captive received enough food to last four days, which he carried in a pack fastened on his back, and then Robert and Tayoga accompanied him northward and back on the trail.

Much of Garay’s courage returned as they marched steadily on through the forest.  When he summed it up he found that he had fared well.  His captors had really been soft-hearted.  It was not usual for one serving as an intermediary and spy like himself to escape, when taken, with his life and even with freedom.  Life!  How precious it was!  Young Lennox had said that the forest was beautiful, and it was!  It was splendid, grand, glorious to one who had just come out of the jaws of death, and the air of late autumn was instinct with vitality.  He drew himself up jauntily, and his step became strong and springy.

They walked on many miles and Robert, whose speech had been so fluent before, was silent now.  Nor did the Onondaga speak either.  Garay himself hazarded a few words, but meeting with no response his spirits fell a little.  The trail led over a low ridge, and at its crest his two guards stopped.

“Here we bid you farewell, Monsieur Achille Garay,” said Robert.  “Doubtless you will wish to commune with your own thoughts and our presence will no longer disturb you.  Our parting advice to you is to give up the trade in which you have been engaged.  It is full perilous, and it may be cut short at any time by sudden death.  Moreover, it is somewhat bare of honor, and even if it should be crowned by continued success ’tis success of a kind that’s of little value.  Farewell.”

“Farewell,” said Garay, and almost before he could realize it, the two figures had melted into the forest behind him.  A weight was lifted from him with their going, and once more his spirits bounded upward.  He was Achille Garay, bold and venturesome, and although he was without weapons he did not fear two lads.

Three miles farther on he turned.  He did not care to face St. Luc, his letter lost, and the curious, dogged obstinacy that lay at the back of his character prevailed.  He would go back.  He would reach those for whom his letter had been intended, Martinus and the others, and he would win the rich rewards that had been promised to him.  He had plenty of food, he would make a wide curve, advance at high speed and get to Albany ahead of the foolish three.