“Colonel Clark, sir!” I cried.

He put up a hand.

“So you have some hot blood,” he said.  “I know you love him.  So do I, or I should not have been there tonight.  Do I blame his bitterness?  Do I blame—­anything he does?  The treatment he has had would bring a blush of shame to the cheek of any nation save a republic.  Republics are wasteful, sir.  In George Rogers Clark they have thrown away a general who might some day have decided the fate of this country, they have left to stagnate a man fit to lead a nation to war.  And now he is ready to intrigue against the government with any adventurer who may have convincing ways and a smooth tongue.”

“Mr. Wharton,” I said, rising, “did you come here to tell me this?”

But Mr. Wharton continued to stare into the fire.

“I like you the better for it, my dear sir,” said he, “and I assure you that I mean no offence.  Colonel Clark is enshrined in our hearts, Democrats and Federalists alike.  Whatever he may do, we shall love him always.  But this other man,—­pooh!” he exclaimed, which was as near a vigorous expression as he got.  “Now, sir, to the point.  I, too, am a Federalist, a friend of Mr. Humphrey Marshall, and, as you know, we are sadly in the minority in Kentucky now.  I came here to-night to ask you to undertake a mission in behalf of myself and certain other gentlemen, and I assure you that my motives are not wholly mercenary.”  He paused, smiled, and put the tips of his fingers together.  “I would willingly lose every crop for the next ten years to convict this Wilkinson of treason against the Federal government.”

“Treason!” I repeated involuntarily.

“Mr. Ritchie,” answered the planter, “I gave you credit for some shrewdness.  Do you suppose the Federal government does not realize the danger of this situation in Kentucky.  They have tried in vain to open the Mississippi, and are too weak to do it.  This man Wilkinson goes down to see Miro, and Miro straightway opens the river to us through him.  How do you suppose Wilkinson did it?  By his charming personality?”

I said something, I know not what, as the light began to dawn on me.  And then I added, “I had not thought about the General.”

“Ah,” replied Mr. Wharton, “just so.  And now you may easily imagine that General Wilkinson has come to a very pretty arrangement with Miro.  For a certain stipulated sum best known to Wilkinson and Miro, General Wilkinson agrees gradually to detach Kentucky from the Union and join it to his Catholic Majesty’s dominion of Louisiana.  The bribe—­the opening of the river.  What the government could not do Wilkinson did by the lifting of his finger.”

Still Mr. Wharton spoke without heat.

“Mind you,” he said, “we have no proof of this, and that is my reason for coming here to-night, Mr. Ritchie.  I want you to get proof of it if you can.”

“You want me—­” I said, bewildered.