“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.