The gravity of Ree’s tone caused John to ask, with some concern: “A discovery?” “Yes; he was robbed at the Eagle tavern of the half of a letter telling the location of a fortune hidden in the ground somewhere near Philadelphia. Now, don’t open your eyes so. We should have guessed as much after seeing the letter those men, Duff and Dexter, and the landlord, had. The fact is, Mr. Hatch has not told his story more than what I have told you, but waited until you should be here to hear it.” “But tell thy own story first, friend. Mine can wait,” the Quaker said. “Well, Black Eagle’s dead, and Duff and Dexter killed him. I saw Duff shoot him down. They might have killed me, but I got away from them. Quilling, the landlord at the Eagle tavern, is with them, and—” Really enjoying the sensation he had caused, John paused and looked at Ree, who was staring at him in astonishment, and at the Quaker, who was wringing his hands, greatly distressed, as he always was when he heard of the killing of human beings, or of any act of cruelty. “The poor Indian! Father in heaven, forgive the slayers of so good a man as Black Eagle!” came prayerfully from the Quaker’s lips. “Did you know him—Black Eagle, I mean?” asked John in some surprise. The Quaker nodded, and Ree, recovering from the depths of thought into which his mind had sunk, quickly said: “Now, John, do tell all that happened! Begin at the time you left here! You saw three fellows and—” “Just wait a jiffy,” John interrupted. “I didn’t see those fellows when I left here, any such thing!” Ree smiled and allowed his friend to begin all over again and tell the story in his own way. This John did to the satisfaction of both his hearers, when once fairly started, and long before he had finished they were forgetting their supper, growing cold before them as they listened. “Those chaps will be here, sooner or later. We’ve got to watch out for them,” said Ree decisively, when John concluded. “What a horrible fellow that Duff is!” “Such greed for gold—such greed for gold!” murmured Theodore Hatch sorrowfully. “Better, my dear, kind aunt, hadst thou thrown thy riches and thy jewels to the flames!” “Does Mr. Hatch know we have the half of the letter which Ichabod Nesbit had?” John asked, in the midst of the questions Ree put to him, and the exclamation of the Quaker. “I know thou hast the writing, friend. I know that, and promise me that Duff shall never have it!” The old gentleman’s eager earnestness was most intense. As he spoke he rose partially to his feet, leaning heavily on the table. His movement was so sudden, his manner so keenly earnest, that both Ree and John involuntarily started back in surprise, the Quaker bending toward them. As for an instant all paused in these attitudes, the hickory bark torch on the mantel and the blaze of the fire casting a flickering, ruddy glow upon them, a most dramatic picture was presented.