Pedro, with many supplications, repeated the tale, and Francisco Alvarez was forced to believe them, although he cursed them for carelessness, and promised them punishment.  Braxton Wyatt had remained silent, although his face showed deep disappointment.  Presently, when the turmoil had died down, he said in a low voice to Alvarez: 

“What was it that the sentinel said about hearing the howl of a wolf?”

“I heard it myself,” replied Alvarez.  “It was about midnight, when a wolf to the north howled four times.  An hour or so later I heard it again, somewhat nearer and somewhat to the west, when it howled four times as before.”

“Ah!” said Braxton Wyatt.

It was a short exclamation, but it was so full of significance that the Spaniard in surprise, asked him what he meant.

“Four cries,” replied the renegade, “and he had four friends, of whom I told you to beware.  I told you what they were, what cunning and skill they have, but you would not believe me and you must now!  Cotter heard the four cries.  He was not asleep and he understood!”

Braxton Wyatt, despite his annoyance at Paul’s escape, felt a moment of triumph.  His warning had come true.  He had been wiser than this Spaniard who had patronised and insulted him.

“We will deal with these people yet,” said Francisco Alvarez angrily as he turned away.

“I hope so,” replied Braxton Wyatt.

FOOTNOTES: 

[Footnote A:  An early French and Spanish name for Kentucky.]

CHAPTER III

AN INVISIBLE CHASE

Deep in a shadowed glade sat the five, eating a quiet breakfast, and talking in low tones of satisfaction.

“I knew that you would come,” said Paul, “and when I heard the four cries of the wolf I knew, too, that all four of you were there.  When you sent the call Braxton Wyatt, who alone might have suspected, was asleep.  The Spanish commander was awake, and he was troubled, but he did not know why.”

“Wa’al, I guess he knows now,” said Shif’less Sol with a silent but deep laugh.  “Ef he’s the kind o’ man you say he is, Paul, an’ I guess he is—­he needed our teachin’ him a lesson.  I hate a man who knows too much, who is too almighty certain, an’ I guess the Spaniard is one o’ that kind.  Think o’ him comin’ out here in the woods, breakin’ faith, so to speak, an’ holdin’ you, Paul.  Ef I wuz to go over to Europe, which I ain’t ever goin’ to do—­an’ wuz to light down in one o’ them big cities, Paris or London, do you think I’d tell the fellers in the streets that I knowed more about their town than they did?”

“No, Sol,” said Paul, “you’re too wise a man ever to do such a thing.”

“I should hope I wuz,” said Sol emphatically.  “Jest think o’ me stoppin’ a lot o’ French fellers in the streets o’ Paris, me jest happened in from the woods fur the fust time, an’ sayin’ to them:  ’Here, Bob, be keerful how you cross the street thar, it’s a right bad spot fur wagons, an’ you’d shorely git run over ef you tried it,’ or ’Now, Dick, that thar is the wrong street that you’re takin’, ef you foller it you’ll land a full mile from your cabin.’”