Prisoners of Chance

"By the true cross!" he exclaimed at last, as if his breath had barely returned, "you gave me a start such as I have not often had in all my soldiering. Yet you are no ghost; your aspect is altogether too healthful for one condemned to exist upon air. Saprista! you must have a light foot to steal thus on me unheard. Who are you, fellow? What do you here upon this soil of Spain?"

I leaned lightly on my rifle, so that I might swing it easily if occasion warranted, determined now not to fire unless it proved necessary to save my life, and made careless answer, using the same tongue in which I had been addressed.

"Nor are you more surprised, Señor, at my presence, than was I a moment back to stumble upon you when I supposed our party alone here in this wilderness. Who did you say held dominion over this country?"

"His most gracious Christian Majesty, Charles the Third, of Spain," he replied shortly. "As his officer, I require that you give proper heed and direct answer to my questioning. Who are you, and where are you going?"

The man's domineering manner amused me, yet I replied civilly to his words.

"A wandering hunter, Señor, from the Illinois country, homeward bound. I was not aware this territory had fallen into Spanish hands, supposing it still to be under French control. You are then a soldier of Spain?"

"Ay," he returned ungraciously, eying me in his irritating way, "of the battalion of Grenada."

He was evidently in doubt whether to believe my word, and I rejoiced to mark such indecision, accepting it as proof he had not gained a glimpse of De Noyan, for whom he was in eager search.

"It may be, fellow," he consented to say at last, "you speak truth, and it may be your tongue is false as hell. These are times of grave suspicion, yet there are means of discovery open to men of action. I just noted the position of your camp yonder, and have sufficient men within easy reach of my voice to make it mine if need arise. So I warn you to deal fairly, or accept the consequences. The Marquis de Serrato is not one given to speaking twice in such quest. I have a soft tongue in ladies' bowers, but my hand is hard enough in camp and field."

He uttered these words in fierce threat, his one evil eye glaring full at me as though to terrify. Before I could answer, he shot forth a question, direct as a bullet from a gun.