letter, a copy of which I delivered to Governor Miro."

"Miro!" exclaimed Wilkinson.

"Yes; Miro, that's the name--Don Estevan Miro, Spanish governor of
Louisiana, before Carondelet's day."

Wilkinson rose menacingly. Palafox did not flinch, but leering
significantly, read these words:

"My situation is mortally painful because, whilst I abhor all
duplicity, I am obliged to dissemble. This makes me extremely desirous
of resorting to some contrivance that will put me in a position in
which I flatter myself to be able to profess myself publicly the
vassal of his Catholic majesty, and, therefore, claim his protection,
in whatever public or private measures I may devise to promote the
interests of the crown."

"There, general, I should say this might be valuable property for you
to possess, and damaging to you if it falls under the eye of the
public," remarked Palafox, thrusting the letters into his pocket. "It
bears your signature. I deciphered every secret letter that touched my
hand from you to Miro and Carondelet, and from them to you. Now,
hadn't you better buy the whole damned correspondence?"

"Buy?" sneered Wilkinson, trembling with passion. "So this is all the
desperate attempt of a felon to levy blackmail upon his benefactor!"

The boatman turned to lift the latch.

"You won't buy, then?"

No reply was vouchsafed the desperado.

"I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll throw in a spice of Aaron Burr
pepper that he happened to spill in my sight. You and Aaron appear to
be thick. He and I are chums, too. He is one of us. The colonel is a
lovely mole, very smooth and shiny, but he don't always tunnel deep
enough to hide his track."

"Begone!"

"O, I'm going. If you won't buy, I'll keep. Good-bye, general."

He deliberately put on his slouch hat and backed out through the
narrow doorway. As a parting salute he touched with his finger the red
contusion on his forehead. Wilkinson stood a few seconds, in rigid
silence, then stepped to the open door and called aloud:

"Palafox! Comeback!"

No answer was returned to the cry, nor did the vanished figure
reappear. Not even the sound of his retreating footfalls could be
heard. A dense fog had risen, shrouding the river and crawling over
cottage and chapel and fort. Alone, in the boat's cabin, by the dim
light of a flickering lamp, the general waited and waited, anxious to
soothe and conciliate the malignant underling, once his minion, now an
unscrupulous enemy,