TAMING A SPY
Young Lennox undeniably felt exultation. It fairly permeated his
system. The taking of Garay had been so easy that it seemed as if the
greater powers had put him squarely in their path, and had deprived
him of all vigilance, in order that he might fall like a ripe plum
into their hands. Surely the face of Areskoui was still turned
toward them, and the gods, having had their play, were benevolent of
mood--that is, so far as Robert and Tayoga were concerned, although
the spy might take a different view of the matter. The triumph, and
the whimsical humor that yet possessed him, moved him to flowery
speech.
"Monsieur Garay, Achille, my friend," he said. "You are surprised that
we know you so well, but remember that you left a visiting card with
us in Albany, the time you sent an evil bullet past my head, and then
proved too swift for Tayoga. That's a little matter we must look into
some time soon. I don't understand why you wished me to leave the
world prematurely. It must surely have been in the interest of someone
else, because I had never heard of you before in my life. But we'll
pass over the incident now as something of greater importance is to
the fore. It was really kind of you, Achille, to sit down there in the
middle of the trail, beside a fire that was sure to serve as a beacon,
and wait for us to come. It reflects little credit, however, on your
skill as a woodsman, and, from sheer kindness of heart, we're not
going to let you stay out in the forest after dark."
Garay turned a frightened look upon him. It was mention of the
bullet in Albany that struck renewed terror to his soul. But Robert,
ordinarily gentle and sympathetic, was not inclined to spare him.
"As I told you," he continued, "Tayoga and I are disposed to be easy
with you, but Willet has a heart as cold as a stone. We saw you going
to the French and Indian camp, and we laid an ambush for you on your
way back. We were expecting to take you, and Willet has talked of you
in merciless fashion. What he intends to do with you is more than I've
been able to determine. Ah, he comes now!"
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.
"Since you're to be our guest for a while, Monsieur Garay," he said,
"we'll give you our finest room. You'll sleep in the spruce shelter,
while we spread our blankets outside. But lest you do harm to
yourself, lest you take into your head some foolish notion to commit
suicide, we'll have to bind you. Tayoga can do it in such a manner
that the thongs will cause you no pain. You'll really admire his
wonderful skill."
The Onondaga bound Garay securely with strips, cut from the prisoner's
own clothing, and they left him lying within the spruce shelter. At
dawn the next day Willet awoke the captive, who had fallen into a
troubled slumber.
"Your letter," he said. "We want it."
"I have no letter," replied Garay stubbornly.
"We shall ask you for it once every two hours, and the time will come
when you'll be glad to give it to us."
Then he turned to the lads and said they would have the finest
breakfast in months to celebrate the good progress of their work.
Robert built up a splendid fire, and, taking their time about it, they
broiled bear meat, strips of the deer they had killed and portions of
wild pigeon and the rare wild turkey. Varied odors, all appetizing,
and the keen, autumnal air gave them an appetite equal to anything.
Yet Willet lingered long, seeing that everything was exactly right
before he gave the word to partake, and then they remained yet
another good while over the feast, getting the utmost relish out of
everything. When they finally rose from their seats on the logs, two
hours had passed since Willet had awakened Garay and he went back to
him.
"Your letter?" he said.
"I have no letter," replied Garay, "but I'm very hungry. Let me have
my breakfast."
"Your letter?"
"I've told you again and again that I've no letter."
"It's now about 8:30 o'clock; at half past ten I'll ask you for it
again."
He went back to the two lads and helped them to put out the fire.
Garay set up a cry for food, and then began to threaten them with the
vengeance of the Indians, but they paid no attention to him. At half
past ten as indicated by the sun, Willet returned to him.
"The letter?" he said.
"How many times am I to tell you that I have no letter?"
"Very well. At half past twelve I shall ask for it again."
At half past twelve Garay returned the same answer, and then the
three ate their noonday meal, which, like the breakfast, was rich and
luscious. Once more the savory odors of bear, deer, wild turkey and
wild pigeon filled the forest, and Garay, lying in the doorway of the
hut, where he could see, and where the splendid aroma reached his
nostrils, writhed in his bonds, but still held fast to his resolution.
Robert said nothing, but the sardonic humor of both the Onondaga and
the hunter was well to the fore. Holding a juicy bear steak in
his hand, Tayoga walked over to the helpless spy and examined him
critically.
"Too fat," he said judicially, "much too fat for those who would roam
the forest. Woodsmen, scouts and runners should be lean. It burdens
them to carry weight. And you, Achille Garay, will be much better off,
if you drop twenty pounds."
"Twenty pounds, Tayoga!" exclaimed Willet, who had joined him, a whole
roasted pigeon in his hands. "How can you make such an underestimate!
Our rotund Monsieur would be far more graceful and far more healthy
if he dropped forty pounds! And it behooves us, his trainers and
physicians, to see that he drops 'em. Then he will go back to Albany
and to his good friend, Mynheer Hendrik Martinus, a far handsomer man
than he was when he left. It may be that he'll be so much improved
that Mynheer Hendrik will not know him. Truly, Tayoga, this wild
pigeon has a most savory taste! When wild pigeon is well cooked and
the air of the forest has sharpened your appetite to a knife edge
nothing is finer."
"But it is no better than the tender steak of young bear," said
Tayoga, with all the inflections of a gourmand. "The people of my
nation and of all the Indian nations have always loved bear. It is
tenderer even than venison and it contains more juices. For the hungry
man nothing is superior to the taste or for the building up of sinews
and muscles than the steak of fat young bear."
Garay writhed again in his bonds, and closed his eyes that he might
shut away the vision of the two. Robert was forced to smile. At half
past two, as he judged it to be by the sun, Willet said to Garay once
more:
"The papers, Monsieur Achille."
But Garay, sullen and obstinate, refused to reply. The hunter did not
repeat the question then, but went back to the fire, whistling gayly a
light tune. The three were spending the day in homely toil, polishing
their weapons, cleaning their clothing, and making the numerous little
repairs, necessary after a prolonged and arduous campaign. They were
very cheerful about it, too. Why shouldn't they be? Both Tayoga and
the hunter had scouted in wide circles about the camp, and had seen
that there was no danger. For a vast distance they and their prisoner
were alone in the forest. So, they luxuriated and with abundance of
appetizing food made up for their long period of short commons.
At half past four Willet repeated his question, but the lips of the
spy remained tightly closed.
"Remember that I'm not urging you," said the hunter, politely. "I'm a
believer in personal independence and I like people to do what they
want to do, as long as it doesn't interfere with anybody else. So I
tell you to think it over. We've plenty of time. We can stay here a
week, two weeks, if need be. We'd rather you felt sure you were right
before you made up your mind. Then you wouldn't be remorseful about
any mistake."
"A wise man meditates long before he speaks," said Tayoga, "and it
follows then that our Achille Garay is very wise. He knows, too, that
his figure is improving already. He has lost at least five pounds."
"Nearer eight I sum it up, Tayoga," said Willet. "The improvement is
very marked."
"I think you are right, Great Bear. Eight it is and you also speak
truly about the improvement. If our Monsieur Garay were able to stand
up and walk he would be much more graceful than he was, when he so
kindly marched into our guiding hands."
"Don't pay him too many compliments, Tayoga. They'll prove trying to
a modest man. Come away, now. Monsieur Garay wishes to spend the next
two hours with his own wise thoughts and who are we to break in upon
such a communion?"
"The words of wisdom fall like precious beads from your lips, Great
Bear. For two hours we will leave our guest to his great thoughts."
At half past six came the question, "Your papers?" once more, and
Garay burst forth with an angry refusal, though his voice trembled.
Willet shrugged his shoulders, turned away, and helped the lads
prepare a most luxurious and abundant evening meal, Tayoga adding wild
grapes and Robert nuts to their varied course of meats, the grapes
being served on blazing red autumn leaves, the whole very pleasing to
the eye as well as to the taste.
"I think," said Willet, in tones heard easily by Garay, "that I have
in me just a trace of the epicure. I find, despite my years in the
wilderness, that I enjoy a well spread board, and that bits of
decoration appeal to me; in truth, give an added savor to the viands."
"In the vale of Onondaga when the fifty old and wise sachems make a
banquet," said Tayoga, "the maidens bring fruit and wild flowers to
it that the eye also may have its feast. It is not a weakness, but an
excellence in Great Bear to like the decorations."
They lingered long over the board, protracting the feast far after the
fall of night and interspersing it with pleasant conversation. The
ruddy flames shone on their contented faces, and their light laughter
came frequently to the ears of Garay. At half past eight the question,
grown deadly by repetition, was asked, and, when only a curse came,
Willet said:
"As it is night I'll ask you, Achille Garay, for your papers only
once every four hours. That is the interval at which we'll change our
guard, and we don't wish, either, to disturb you many times in your
pleasant slumbers. It would not be right to call a man back too often
from the land of Tarenyawagon, who, you may know, is the Iroquois
sender of dreams."
Garay, whom they had now laid tenderly upon the floor of the hut,
turned his face away, and Willet went back to the fire, humming in a
pleased fashion to himself. At half past twelve he awoke Garay from
his uneasy sleep and propounded to him his dreadful query, grown
terrifying by its continual iteration. At half past four Tayoga asked
it, and it was not necessary then to awake Garay. He had not slept
since half past twelve. He snarled at the Iroquois, and then sank back
on the blanket that they had kindly placed for him. Tayoga, his bronze
face expressing nothing, went back to his watch by the fire.
Breakfast was cooked by Robert and Willet, and again it was luscious
and varied. Robert had risen early and he caught several of the fine
lake trout that he broiled delicately over the coals. He had
also gathered grapes fresh with the morning dew, and wonderfully
appetizing, and some of the best of the nuts were left over. Bear,
deer, venison and turkey they still had in abundance.
The morning itself was the finest they had encountered so far. Much
snow had fallen in the high mountains, but winter had not touched the
earth here. The deep colors of the leaves, moved by the light wind,
shifted and changed like a prism. The glorious haze of Indian summer
hung over everything like a veil of finest gauze. The air was
surcharged with vitality and life. It was pleasant merely to sit and
breathe at such a time.
"I've always claimed," said Robert, as he passed a beautifully broiled
trout to Tayoga and another to the hunter, "that I can cook fish
better than either of you. Dave, I freely admit, can surpass me in the
matter of venison and Tayoga is a finer hand with bear than I am, but
I'm a specialist with fish, be it salmon, or trout, or salmon trout,
or perch or pickerel or what not."
"Your boast is justified, in very truth, Robert," said Willet. "I've
known none other who can prepare a fish with as much tenderness and
perfection as you. I suppose 'tis born in you, but you have a way of
preserving the juices and savors which defies description and which is
beyond praise. 'Tis worth going hungry a long while to put one's tooth
into so delicate a morsel as this salmon trout, and 'tis a great pity,
too, that our guest, Monsieur Achille Garay, will not join us, when
we've an abundance so great and a variety so rich."
The wretched spy and intermediary could hear every word they said, and
Robert fell silent, but the hunter and the Onondaga talked freely and
with abounding zest.
"'Tis a painful thing," said Willet, "to offer hospitality and to
have it refused. Monsieur Garay knows that he would be welcome at our
board, and yet he will not come. I fear, Robert, that you have cooked
too many of these superlative fish, and that they must even go to
waste, which is a sin. They would make an admirable beginning for our
guest's breakfast, if he would but consent to join us."
"It is told by the wise old sachems of the great League," said Tayoga,
"that warriors have gone many days without food, when plenty of it
was ready for their taking, merely to test their strength of body and
will. Their sufferings were acute and terrible. Their flesh wasted
away, their muscles became limp and weak, their sight failed, pain
stabbed them with a thousand needles, but they would not yield and
touch sustenance before the time appointed."
"I've heard of many such cases, Tayoga, and I've seen some, but it was
always warriors who were doing the fasting. I doubt whether white men
could stand it so long, and 'tis quite sure they would suffer more.
About the third day 'twould be as bad as being tied to the stake in the
middle of the flames."
"Great Bear speaks the truth, as he always does. No white man can
stand it. If he tried it his sufferings would be beyond anything of
which he might dream."
A groan burst suddenly from the wretched Garay. The hunter and the
Onondaga looked at each other and their eyes expressed astonishment.
"Did you hear a sound in the thicket?" asked Willet.
"I think it came from the boughs overhead," said Tayoga.
"I could have sworn 'twas the growl of a bear."
"To me it sounded like the croak of a crow."
"After all, we may have heard nothing. Imagination plays strange
tricks with us."
"It is true, Great Bear. We hear queer sounds when there are no sounds
at all. The air is full of spirits, and now and then they have sport
with us."
A second groan burst from Garay, now more wretched than ever.
"I heard it again!" exclaimed the hunter. "'Tis surely the growl of
a bear in the bush! The sound was like that of an angry wild animal!
But, we'll let it go. The sun tells meet's half past eight o'clock and
I go to ask our guest the usual question."
"Enough!" exclaimed Garay. "I yield! I cannot bear this any longer!"
"Your papers, please!"
"Unbind me and give me food!"
"Your papers first, our fish next."
As he spoke the hunter leaned over, and with his keen hunting knife
severed Garay's bonds. The man sat up, rubbed his wrists and ankles
and breathed deeply.
"Your papers!" repeated Willet.
"Bring me my pistol, the one that the Indian filched from me while I
slept," said Garay.
"Your pistol!" exclaimed the hunter, in surprise. "Now I'd certainly
be foolish to hand you a deadly and loaded weapon!"
But Robert's quick intellect comprehended at once. He snatched the
heavy pistol from the Onondaga's belt, drew forth the bullet and then
drew the charge behind it, not powder at all, but a small, tightly
folded paper of tough tissue, which he held aloft triumphantly.
"Very clever! very clever!" said Willet in admiration. "The pistol was
loaded, but 'twould never be fired, and nobody would have thought of
searching its barrel. Tayoga, give Monsieur Garay the two spare fish
and anything else he wants, but see that he eats sparingly because a
gorge will go ill with a famished man, and then we'll have a look at
his precious document."
The Onondaga treated Garay as the honored guest they had been calling
him, giving him the whole variety of their breakfast, but, at guarded
intervals, which allowed him to relish to the full all the savors and
juices that had been taunting him so long. Willet opened the letter,
smoothed it out carefully on his knee, and holding it up to the light
until the words stood out clearly, read:
"To Hendrik Martinus At Albany.
"The intermediary of whom you know, the bearer of this letter, has
brought me word from you that the English Colonial troops, after the
unfortunate battle at Lake George, have not pushed their victory. He
also informs us that the governors of the English colonies do not
agree, and that there is much ill feeling among the different Colonial
forces. He says that Johnson still suffering from his wound, does not
move, and that the spirit has gone out of our enemies. All of which is
welcome news to us at this juncture, since it has given to us the time
that we need.
"Our defeat but incites us to greater efforts. The Indian tribes who
have cast their lot with us are loyal to our arms. All the forces of
France and New France are being assembled to crush our foes. We have
lost Dieskau, but a great soldier, Louis Joseph de Saint Véran, the
Marquis de Montcalm-Gozon, is coming from France to lead our armies.
He will be assisted by the incomparable chieftains, the Chevalier de
Levis, the Chevalier Bourlamaque and others who understand the warfare
of the wilderness. Even now we are preparing to move with a great
power on Albany and we may surprise the town.
"Tell those of whom you know in Albany and New York to be ready with
rifles and ammunition and other presents for the Indian warriors. Much
depends upon their skill and promptness in delivering these valuable
goods to the tribes. It seals them to our standard. They can be landed
at the places of which we know, and then be carried swiftly across the
wilderness. But I bid you once more to exercise exceeding caution. Let
no name of those associated with us ever be entrusted to writing, as a
single slip might bring our whole fabric crashing to the ground, and
send to death those who serve us. After you have perused this letter
destroy it. Do not tear it in pieces and throw them away but burn it
to the last and least little fragment. In conclusion I say yet again,
caution, caution, caution.
Raymond Louis de St. Luc."
The three looked at one another. Garay was in the third course of his
breakfast, and no longer took notice of anything else.
"Those associated with us in Albany and New York," quoted Willet. "Now
I wonder who they are. I might make a shrewd guess at one, but no
names are given and as we have no proof we must keep silent about him
for the present. Yet this paper is of vast importance and it must be
put in hands that know how to value it."
"Then the hands must be those of Colonel William Johnson," said
Robert.
"I fancy you're right, lad. Yet 'tis hard just now to decide upon the
wisest policy."
"The colonel is the real leader of our forces," persisted the lad.
"It's to him that we must go."
"It looks so, Robert, but for a few days we've got to consider
ourselves. Now that we have his letter I wish we didn't have Garay."
"You wouldn't really have starved him, would you, Dave? Somehow it
seemed pretty hard."
The hunter laughed heartily.
"Bless your heart, lad," he replied. "Don't you be troubled about the
way we dealt with Garay. I knew all the while that he would never get
to the starving point, or I wouldn't have tried it with him. I knew by
looking at him that his isn't the fiber of which martyrs are made. I
calculated that he would give up last night or this morning."
"Are we going to take him back with us a prisoner?"
"That's the trouble. As a spy, which he undoubtedly is, his life is
forfeit, but we are not executioners. For scouts and messengers such
as we are he'd be a tremendous burden to take along with us. Moreover,
I think that after his long fast he'd eat all the game we could kill,
and we don't propose to spend our whole time feeding one of our
enemies."
"Call Tayoga," said Robert.
The Onondaga came and then young Lennox said to his two comrades:
"Are you willing to trust me in the matter of Garay, our prisoner?"
"Yes," they replied together.
Robert went to the man, who was still immersed in his gross feeding,
and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Listen, Garay," he said. "You're the bearer of secret and treacherous
dispatches, and you're a spy. You must know that under all the rules
of war your life is forfeit to your captors."
Garay's face became gray and ghastly.
"You--you wouldn't murder me?" he said.
"There could be no such thing as murder in your case, and we won't
take your life, either."
The face of the intermediary recovered its lost color.
"You will spare me, then?" he exclaimed joyfully.
"In a way, yes, but we're not going to carry you back in luxury to
Albany, nor are we thinking of making you an honored member of our
band. You've quite a time before you."
"I don't understand you."
"You will soon. You're going back to the Chevalier de St. Luc who has
little patience with failure, and you'll find that the road to him
abounds in hard traveling. It may be, too, that the savage Tandakora
will ask you some difficult questions, but if so, Monsieur Achille
Garay, it will be your task to answer them, and I take it that you
have a fertile mind. In any event, you will be equipped to meet him by
your journey, which will be full of variety and effort and which will
strengthen and harden your mind."
The face of Garay paled again, and he gazed at Robert in a sort of
dazed fashion. The imagination of young Lennox was alive and leaping.
He had found what seemed to him a happy solution of a knotty problem,
and, as usual in such cases, his speech became fluent and golden.
"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.
He turned his face southward and walked swiftly through the thickets.
A rifle cracked and a twig overhead severed by a bullet fell upon his
face. Garay shivered and stood still for a long time. Courage trickled
back, and he resumed his advance, though it was slow. A second rifle
cracked, and a bullet passed so close to his cheek that he felt its
wind. He could not restrain a cry of terror, and turning again he fled
northward to St. Luc.