nce among the Cherokees and Creeks and kindred tribes and I
found them stirred by a great emotion. They were preparing for the war
trail. Messengers had come from tribes in the far north, Shawnees, Miamis,
Wyandots, and others, whom they have fought for generations in the region,
lying between them, known to them as the Dark and Bloody Ground, and to
us as Kaintock."

Francisco Alvarez suddenly paled, and looked away from the priest.

"What was the purport of these messages?" asked Bernardo Galvez.

"That there must be peace for the time being between the northern and
southern tribes. The northern tribes would march south and the southern
would march north. When they met they would be joined also by Spanish
soldiers with cannon, and the three forces would destroy forever the new
white settlements in Kaintock."

The pallor of Alvarez deepened, but Oliver Pollock still sat immovable,
his expression not changing. Bernardo Galvez looked straight at Alvarez,
and there was lightning in his gaze.

"How was this alliance formed?" asked the Governor General. "Some powerful
connection, some strong intermediary, must have drawn these warring
northern and southern tribes together. And above all why did they expect
Spanish troops and Spanish cannon?"

"There was a letter," replied the priest in a grave, sad tone, "a letter
written by a Spanish officer, high in position and distinction. It was
sent to Red Eagle, head chief of the Shawnees, and Yellow Panther, head
chief of the Miamis. The writer said that he would soon be Governor
General of Louisiana and that Spain would then help the Indians to destroy
Kaintock."

"It is a lie!" continued Alvarez. "There is no such letter."

"It is no lie," continued the priest calmly. "There is such a letter. The
great chiefs, Red Eagle and Yellow Panther, as proof of the promise, sent
it south to the Cherokees and Creeks, among whom I have been. I have seen
it, I have read it, I have it, and to you, Bernardo Galvez, I now give it.
It is signed by Don Francisco Alvarez."

Father Montigny drew a letter from his robe and handed It to the Governor
General. Francisco Alvarez fell back in his chair as if he had been struck
by a thunder-bolt. And it was little less. The letter that he had sent
into the vast Northern wilderness, and which he considered as obscure as
one leaf among millions, had come back to convict him. The one flaw in the
armor of his wild ambition had been found. He cast a bal