Hidden in the deep shrubbery the three occupied points of vantage, and, while secure from observation themselves, they could easily see all that passed in the glade.  Several tents had been set, although the flaps were wide open and within one of these sat Francisco Alvarez in all the gorgeous attire of a Spanish officer, most fastidious in his taste.  The gold on his uniform glittered, the lace on his cuffs was snowy and fresh, and the polished hilt of his small sword gleamed in the firelight.  He had the air of one who expected distinguished guests.

“Now I wonder what has become of Braxton Wyatt,” whispered Paul.  Nowhere could he see a sign of the renegade.

“He is coming,” whispered Henry, who had what Shif’less Sol would have called an intuition.

Two of the Spaniards heaped more wood upon the fire.  The logs crackled and blazed merrily, casting long tongues of flame across the glade, and sending a grateful heat into the veins of the warm-blooded Southerners.  The flurries of rain ceased, and the skies brightened a little.  A star or two peeped out.

“Ah!” said Henry in the lowest of whispers, “here they come!”

The bushes at the far side of the glade parted and three figures came into the open.  They took but two or three steps forward and then stopped full in the blaze of the firelight, where every feature showed like carving in the red glow.

The hidden watchers recognized at once the three who had come.  They were Braxton Wyatt, Yellow Panther the Miami chief, and Red Eagle the Shawnee chief.  Paul repressed a little cry of amazement that he should see the two Indian leaders so far from the territory of their tribes.  They must intend much to come such a journey.

Braxton Wyatt stepped back a little, as if having performed his function of guide he would now remain awhile in the background, but the two great chiefs stood motionless, side by side, magnificent specimens of savage life, bronze of skin, tall of figure, powerful of chest, thin, eagle-like faces, and defiant scalp-locks waving above.  The imaginative Paul, seeing how well they fitted into the wilderness scene, was forced to admire.  The firelight flickered and blazed over them, but they were immovable in all their savage dignity.  Henry put his hand upon Paul’s shoulder, and pressed gently.  It was an intimation to look with all his eyes and listen with all attention.  But Paul did not need the hint.

Francisco Alvarez also was impressed.  He loved the towns and luxury, but he had acuteness and perception, and he knew that these were strong men of their kind, men with whom he must deal according to the courtesy of the woods.  He rose from his tent, bowed to them, and walked forward.  He himself was a splendid figure in his gorgeous uniform, and his carriage was marked by dignity.

“Now see them salute,” whispered the shiftless one in Paul’s ear.