The words of Long Jim stirred the youth deeply.  He did not like intrigue and double-dealing and the ways of foreign men.  Like Long Jim he longed for the great honest forest, and he, too, had his respect for the Indian who would tomahawk him without claiming to be a friend.  He was glad, very glad, that he had come upon so great an errand, but he would like to cleave through the whole web of intrigue with one sturdy blow and then be off into the forest which was calling to him with such a dearly loved voice.

Paul saw Henry’s face and he understood its expression.  He knew that it was harder for his comrade than for himself to endure the confinement within four walls, but he said nothing.  Words would be wasted.

Later in the day their door was opened, and Mr. Pollock came in bringing with him a cheery breeze.

“I’ve come to tell you what news there may be,” he said, “and also to ask questions.  Now, sit down and make yourselves comfortable.  That’s right.  The cunning and ambitious Don Francisco Alvarez is in a rage.  He is also somewhat frightened.  He knows that Bernardo Galvez will be busy the next few days trying to secure the proof of the charges that you make against him.  In my opinion, Galvez believes that they are true, but, as you will agree, he cannot act without proof.”

“But that is exactly what we lack at this time,” said Henry, “and how can we get it while we are locked up here?”

“Just so!  Just so!  That is a point to which I am coming.  Now, about this renegade, this Braxton Wyatt.  You say he is the man who drew the maps and who has been the intermediary in this whole nefarious scheme.  Maps could be drawn, of course, for a purpose not wicked, but if they could be produced, and above all if Alvarez had made any notes upon them in his own handwriting, they would go far to help.  If not proof, they would at least be a strong indication.  Now, where do you think these maps are kept?”

“On the person of Braxton Wyatt,” replied Henry promptly.

The merchant smiled with pleasure.

“Of course!  Of course!” he said.  “They belong to Wyatt and naturally he would keep them.  Naturally, also, Alvarez would want him to keep them.  He would take care that such things were not found on his own person.  We must get possession of those maps.  But we must go further.  This renegade has lived among both the Shawnees and Miamis and is high in their confidence, is it not so?”

“Yes, both the great head-chiefs, Yellow Panther and Red Eagle, trust him.”

“And to carry out this nefarious alliance some promise must have passed between Alvarez and the two head chiefs.  That promise had to take a concrete form to be binding.”

“War belts,” suggested Henry.

“But a white man does not send war belts.  He has another kind of token, and he makes that token with paper, ink, and a goose quill.  Yes, Alvarez is cunning, I know, but the most cunning of all men when he enters a great conspiracy must leave a loose end hanging about somewhere.  Or, to change my simile, there is no armor of deception so complete that there is not a crack in it.  We must find that loose end, we must find that crack, and when we do, we can see victory just ahead of us.”