As Peter withdraws, a burly figure fills the doorway. “Come in, General,” says Aaron. General Wilkinson is among Aaron’s older acquaintances. They were together at Quebec. They were fellow cabalists against Washington in an hour of Valley Forge. Now they are hand to hilt for Mexico, and that throne-building upon which Aaron has fixed his heart. Also, Wilkinson is in present command of the military forces of the United States in the Southwest, with headquarters at Natchez and New Orleans; and, because of that army control, he is the keystone to the arch of Aaron’s plans. The broad Wilkinson face glows at Aaron’s genial “Come in.” Its owner takes advantage of the invitation to draw a chair near the log fire, which the wet March night makes comfortable. Then he pours himself a glass of whisky. Wilkinson is worth considering. He is paunchy, gross, noisy, vain, bragging, shallow, with a red, sweat-distilling face, and a nose that tells of the bottle. He wears to-night the uniform of his rank. His coat exhibits an exuberance of epaulette and an extravagance of gold braid that speak of tastes for coarse glitter. His iron-gray hair, shining with bear’s grease, matches his fifty years. In conversation he becomes a composite of Rabelais and Munchausen. As for holding wine or stronger liquor, he rivals the Great Tun of Heidelberg. The stubborn Swartwout doesn’t like him. On a late occasion he expresses that dislike. “To be frank, Chief,” observes the blunt Bucktail, who, because of Aaron’s headship of the Tammany organization, always addresses him as “Chief”--“to be frank, I believe your friend Wilkinson to be as crooked as a dog’s hind leg.” “You are right, sir,” says Aaron; “he is both dishonest and treacherous. It was he who uncovered our plans to unhorse Washington, by ‘blabbing’ them, as Conway called it, to Lord Stirling. Yes; dishonest and treacherous is Wilkinson.” [Illustration: 0273] “Why, then, do you trust him?” “Why do I trust him?” repeats Aaron. “For several sufficient reasons. He has been in and out of Mexico, and is as familiar with the country as I am with Richmond Hill. He is cheek and jowl with the Bishop of New Orleans; and I hope to attach the church to my enterprise. Most of all, he commands the United States forces in the Southwest. Moreover, I count his dishonesty and genius for double dealing as virtues. They should become of importance in my enterprise. “As how?” demands the mystified Buck-tail.