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Updated: June 4, 2025
When I came back I looked for the pieces, but I found only one large enough to bear anything that had meaning." He took from his tunic a fragment of white paper and held it up. It bore upon it two words in large letters: "ACHILLE GARAY"
"It looks so, Robert, but for a few days we've got to consider ourselves. Now that we have his letter I wish we didn't have Garay." "You wouldn't really have starved him, would you, Dave? Somehow it seemed pretty hard." The hunter laughed heartily. "Bless your heart, lad," he replied. "Don't you be troubled about the way we dealt with Garay.
"The slaver sat in it most of the time, but he grew impatient at last and leaving the boat walked up the bank a little distance. Here go his steps, showing very plainly in the soft earth in the moonlight, and here come those of Garay to meet him. They stood at the top of the bank under this oak, and the spy told how he had failed.
"I had it in a letter from Master Benjamin Hardy of New York, with whom I often transact affairs of business, and he, in turn, had it from one Jacobus Huysman, a burgher of Albany in most excellent standing. Parts of the matter are obscure, but the result is certain. It seems that the lad was stalked by a spy, one Garay, and was murdered by him.
"Farewell," said Garay, and almost before he could realize it, the two figures had melted into the forest behind him. A weight was lifted from him with their going, and once more his spirits bounded upward. He was Achille Garay, bold and venturesome, and although he was without weapons he did not fear two lads. Three miles farther on he turned. He did not care to face St.
I cannot see their faces or the boat, either, but I know it is Garay and the slaver." "I have no weapon," said Robert. "It did not occur to me that I would need one." "I have a pistol in my tunic. I always carry one when I am in the white man's country. It is wise."
Being much interested in this matter, as conducive to support his reputation at court, for which this served very opportunely on his approaching return to Spain, the admiral sent a party under Francis de Garay, and Michael Diaz, with some guides furnished by the Indians, to examine into the truth of this report.
But he was an inquiring fox, and, although he buried himself under a bush, he still looked, staring with sharp, intent eyes. He saw a shadow glide from the thicket, pick up the rifle of Garay which leaned against the fallen log, and then glide back, soundless. The curiosity of the fox now prevailed over his suspicion.
Luc." The three looked at one another. Garay was in the third course of his breakfast, and no longer took notice of anything else. "Those associated with us in Albany and New York," quoted Willet. "Now I wonder who they are. I might make a shrewd guess at one, but no names are given and as we have no proof we must keep silent about him for the present.
"We will go outside and talk about it," said Portilla, still much agitated. When they left the patio their steps inevitably took them toward the church. The high note of a flute playing a wailing air came to them through the narrow windows. It was "Home, Sweet Home," played by a boy in prison. The Mexicans did not know the song, but its solemn note was not without an appeal to Portilla and Garay.
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