The Trail of the Seneca Part 7

"There's nothing for it but to make a note of this place and come again by daylight. The mine may be very near here," John told himself at last. "It might be all right to wait and see if I don't see a light, after awhile. I most likely would see one if the mine is close by; but it's getting so dark now, and-"

And John Jerome was lost. He looked about, as he reached the conclusion that he must return to his tree, but it was only to realize that he knew not which way to go. How careless he had been! Why had he not observed more carefully the turnings of the chase he had been led? The darkness was deepening fast. He could not see the trees which but a brief time since were distinctly visible.

"Of all the scatter-brain idiots that ever followed a wagon off, I'm the worst,-I am for sure!" the anxious lad told himself, but with quiet determination set about to retrace his steps as best he could.

Not a dozen steps had John taken, however, when he came in contact with a ma.s.s of low tangled underbrush. It had not obstructed the way before. Plainly then, he was headed in the wrong direction. Turning, he groped his way first to the right, then to the left. It was all to no purpose; for not one familiar object could he discover, not one thing could he find which would help him to get his bearings.

To be confused and uncertain which way to go in the darkness in one's own home is a most unpleasant predicament. North seems south and right seems left.

On a larger scale and with the calculating part of the situation entirely removed, it was just such a predicament as this in which John was forced at last to acknowledge himself. Worn out, and filled with disappointment and the increasing despair which came with his every attempt to find the direction in which he wished to go, the lad sat down at the foot of a large tree to think. If he could but rid himself of the bewilderment that made him unable even to study out the probability as to which way was which, he would fare much better, he was sure. But the more he tried, the more uncertain he became.

The ground was cold and very wet. The coa.r.s.e bark of the tree, against which his hand was placed, was moist and clammy to the touch. From the branches above, drops of water came dripping at intervals making what seemed a loud noise as they fell upon the leaves. The security and comparative comforts of the old whitewood seemed very pleasant indeed, now that they were so far from reach, and more than once John wished he had not left them. If the mist would but clear away and the clouds break enough to let him see the stars, he would be able to find his way. Until then, he concluded at last, he would do well to remain where he was.

For a long time. John had remained close to the tree at whose base he had first sat down. Sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, always listening and watching, he believed he had spent the larger part of the long night, when he heard at no great distance the sounds of an axe. Instantly his attention was centered on the noise. It came from the right, the direction in which he felt the hollow poplar to be, though he knew, from trying, that his impression was wrong.

Who could be using an axe in the depths of the forest at midnight? There could be but one answer to the question-the men at the camp in the gully or Lone-Elk.

Thoroughly aroused, John vowed he would learn more. He would see, if he could, what the noise meant. Visions of the lead mine came to him, too, and without more ado he began to feel his way among the trees and through the darkness in the direction from which the sounds reached him. But in scarcely more than a minute the chopping ceased. From the first it had not been loud, sounding rather as if only small bits of wood were being broken up. Now the same awful quiet as before pervaded all the woods.

Only a little way did John venture to go, with nothing to serve as a guide. Very recent experience had taught him the uselessness of trying. But as he stood still, listening for some further sound, he became aware of a certain brightness in the mist some distance off. He guessed at once its meaning. "They were cutting wood to kindle a fire, of course," he told himself. "Now, then, my hunkies, we'll see who you are, at any rate!"

Slowly and with much care to move quietly, John drew nearer the light. Very dull at first, it brightened not a great deal as he approached, so thick was the mist, and indeed it was not until the lad was at the very brink of the bluff above the little gully that he was sure of the location of the fire. As he had supposed, however, the abandoned camp was now occupied. A kettle was hung upon a rude tripod and the cheery blaze was mounting up above it on all sides.

Nothing but the fire and the kettle above it could John see, however, and if anyone was about he was hidden by the fog. No sound reached the watching boy either. Surely, he thought, there was something mysterious here, which hinted of dark secrets and of crime. "But that kettle will boil dry if no one touches it; I'll see something if I wait long enough," John reflected, and he was not kept a great while in suspense.

A tall, uncouth figure of a man dressed in ragged coat and trousers, and wearing a shapeless slouch hat, all of which contrasted oddly with the moccasins on his feet, stepped suddenly from the outer darkness close to the blaze and stooped down, holding his arms about the fire as if he would hug it to him. He s.h.i.+vered and shook himself, then lifted the lid and peeped into the kettle. Sniffing, and nodding his head as though the kettle's contents pleased him, he returned the cover to the pot, then arose and in another second the mist and darkness had swallowed him up again.

To say that John Jerome was greatly interested in what he saw would not be telling the whole truth; for the fact was that he was not only interested, but excited beyond measure. His heart beat fast, and so strongly was he tempted to call out to the fellow that he thought he must hurry away, lest he yield to the strange desire with results which would almost certainly be unfortunate.

There was no doubt in John's mind that here was the murderer of the two men found dead at the "lick." He looked the part, seemed to have "murder" stamped in every fold of his tattered clothing, and on each separate hair of his stubby beard. Even without the evidence which Ree's discovery of the glove had furnished, Jerome would have been certain, he declared within himself, that this man was a vile wretch at best, and capable of committing murder, even if he never had done so. Why was he here? Why did he hide in so secret a place and come out like a fugitive criminal at night to kindle his fire and prepare his food? Where did he stay by day?

These and many more questions came to John as he watched and waited. He wondered, too, whether the fellow was alone. It must be so. He would hear voices otherwise. However, if there were others present he probably would see them soon. They, also, would draw near the fire.

Again the mysterious man came into the firelight. John had a better view of his face this time, but the stubby beard and the long, coa.r.s.e hair which fell about the fellow's ears concealed his countenance from scrutiny. As before, the man looked into the steaming kettle. Then he rolled a small log nearer to the blaze with his foot and sat down upon it. Presently he lifted the pot from the fire and placed it beside him, as if to cool.

"Ready for you, Lone-Elk, my boy," the fellow called quietly, and in answer to his hoa.r.s.e voice the outcast Seneca stepped into the circle of light. As if perfectly at home, he, too, seated himself upon the log, and together the repulsive pair began to eat: The white man cut the meat in the kettle with a heavy hunting knife and, using their knives as spears, the two fished out pieces of the boiled leg of venison, for such it appeared to be, and ate greedily.

The sight of Lone-Elk caused John much more alarm than he had yet felt. In a direct line the Indian was but eight or nine yards distant. Fortunately his back was turned, and yet the slightest sound would reach him. Scarcely daring to move, therefore, the lad who watched the strange feast of the redskin and the scarcely less savage-appearing white man, continued a silent spectator of their repast. But when Lone-Elk rose, as if he cared for nothing more, and the white man also got up from the log, as if to say good-bye, John waited no longer. Cautiously as he could, he crept away, lest before he could do so, the Seneca might be up the steep slope and fairly upon him.

CHAPTER XVII-THE EXPLOSION

Thoughts of Simon Girty and of other renegade white men, cut-throats and robbers who had affiliated themselves with hostile Indians, and become more wicked, more merciless, more treacherous than the savages themselves, came to John's mind as he made what haste he could away from the haunted ravine. His reflections did not increase his mental comfort. Far from it; for now he was more anxious than ever for the coming of daylight, or at least a clearing of the weather which would enable him to find security while he pondered on what must be done.

Fearing to go too far lest he again lose himself in the fog, John sat down upon a little log, over which he had partially stumbled, to await the morning. He had listened as best he could but had heard no sound of the Seneca leaving the camp. He thought he had, perhaps, made more haste to get away than was really necessary, after all, and as his excitement cooled, he was tempted again to take a peep at the strange scene he had witnessed. This notion, however, the lad put steadily behind him. He would not be too venturesome, he told himself. Even as it was he would get a good-natured scolding from Kingdom for having left the old poplar.

The light in the distance, dimly visible through the mist, slowly faded. The campfire was dying out. Lone-Elk was gone now, no doubt, but which direction had he taken? John hoped he would not go to the clearing and by hanging about there keep Kingdom from setting forth. It would be remarkable if the Seneca could find his way. Moreover, Ree would be leaving the cabin before daylight. Maybe he had started even now.

HE WHEELED AND SENT THE REDSKIN SPRAWLING.

The dawn came just when John bad ceased to look for and momentarily expect it. Indeed, he was quite surprised to notice suddenly that objects near were again visible. He made out nothing clearly, but he could see a few feet in each direction and it was enough. Without hesitation, and almost without stopping to note the way he was taking, he headed instinctively toward the old poplar and without the least trouble reached its shelter not many minutes later.

His nerves still at high tension after the night's experience, Jerome's efforts to catch a wink of sleep were quite unavailing. He fell to thinking of the probable results which would have followed his shooting Lone-Elk as the Indian sat beside the campfire. He thought more of the secret lead mine and wondered if the villainous appearing white man and the Seneca were not partners in that enterprise. Surely there was reason to believe such to be the case. What other explanation of the white man's companions.h.i.+p with the Indian could be presented?

At last, when the daylight had fully come, John fell asleep. He was still dreaming when Ree Kingdom came and the latter, little guessing that he had not been sleeping just as soundly the whole night through, roused him with: "I declare, old chap, you seem to find this old tree as comfortable as a feather bed!"

"Guess you would, too, Ree, if you'd been watching midnight feasts, and didn't know but they were cannibal feasts at that, and had been kept up all night."

With a grin John noticed the surprise his words caused, and a determination he had formed earlier to break the news of his discoveries gently was forgotten. In another minute he had related the substance of his night's adventure.

"Well, say! I think you did have a busy night!" Ree exclaimed. "We've found the mine, John! There's no two ways about that! If that lead mine is not within a mighty short distance of the camp of those fellows, then I'm no prophet!"

Kingdom's interest and pleasure in the discovery John had made could scarcely have been greater. But putting the subject aside for the moment, he gave his companion all the interesting information obtained from Fis.h.i.+ng Bird, and the two then set about to plan their next movements. Quite naturally both wished to pay another visit to the strange camp in the gully. To do so, however, involved much risk. Lone-Elk might be, in fact, probably was, still loitering near. Again, if the occupant or occupants of the camp discovered that their presence was known to other white men, they would be very likely to change their location, and, no doubt, do all in their power to conceal every evidence of the lead mine's existence.

"We've got to come upon them by surprise and not only capture the murderers of the men at the salt springs, but find the mine at the same time," said John.

"If the mine is there, which we don't know, but only believe," Ree made answer. "Still," he went on, "there's only one other way to do it, and that is to keep a watch on the camp all the time till we find out more about it. Lone-Elk,-bless him!-is in the way of that program. And there's another thing to think about, which is, what are we going to do with the murderers when we capture them!"

"Well, we can hardly say,'Come along now, and be hanged, as you deserve,'" Jerome suggested.

For some time Kingdom was silent. At last he said, very thoughtfully and slowly: "John, you must go to Fort Pitt or to Wayne's army. You must tell whoever is in charge just what has been found at the 'lick' and in the woods here. Bring back four or five good men and we'll seize the camp down there and everything and everybody in it. The men you bring can take the murderers back for trial, and I only hope we can find some evidence that will send the Seneca along with them."

"But if we do, we may as well pull up stakes and go along ourselves, Ree. The Delawares would say we had been acting as spies for Wayne, sure!"

"We can tell what to do about that when the time comes," was the answer. "We know now that it won't do for us to attack the camp alone. We'd have a whole pack of warriors down on us before we could get a day's march away. We know that a murder has been committed and I hope we know what our solemn duty is, even if the finding of the lead mine be left out of consideration altogether."

"Wouldn't you rather find the mine without letting everybody else know about it? I would," John argued. "Not but what I like your plan all right," he added, "but if Wayne's army gets to find out there is a lead mine, and finds out where it is, too, I don't see how the fact that we know of it, the same as Lone-Elk, is going to do us any good with King Pipe."

This reasoning puzzled Kingdom. In one way John was right, and he was forced to admit it. But he argued that, as law-abiding citizens, it was their duty to expose the murder that had been committed; that if they did not do so, they were parties to the crime, the more particularly so since they held in their possession evidence so positive against the slayers of the two men at the springs.

"I don't see why we need tell Wayne about the mine at all. It hasn't anything to do with the case anyway," Jerome made answer.

"All right. For we know of the one thing, and the mine is just our supposition, after all," was Ree's decision. "What we should or shouldn't tell we shall know when the time comes. You start for Pittsburg today, and I'll manage somehow to keep yonder robbers' roost under my eye till you are back with some reliable men. And I tell you, John, don't bring green militia men, but good fighters-men who know the woods."

"I feel it in my bones, Ree, that this is going to be the end of the log house on the Cuyahoga," John remarked somewhat later. "Mind you, I'm not scared, and I'm not particularly caring if such a thing does happen, but the time has come when we've got to be either with the Indians or against them. Sure as the world, the Delawares will go against us for good, if we bring Wayne's men here."

"Maybe so; but we can only do what we think is the right thing to be done. Then we can face Captain Pipe or anybody else with a clean conscience. Don't be so glum, though! We've come through trouble far worse than this, and with flying colors!"

It may have been that John Jerome received for a moment a glimpse of the future which Kingdom did not have. The latter took a cheerful view of the outcome of their plans. John could not do so, though usually optimistic. He did not hang back, however, nor question further the wisdom of his companion's desire to put into the hands of the law the fact that two apparently peaceable salt boilers had been most wickedly slain.

Kingdom had brought to the hollow whitewood a generous supply of provisions, also fresh powder, lest John's stock had become damp and useless from the wet weather of the day before. There was no reason, then, why Jerome should not start at once with his message to Wayne, or to Fort Pitt, if "Mad Anthony" should be found no longer in his camp lower down on the Ohio. Thus, soon after a definite decision was reached by the boys, the younger lad set out.

It was left to John to choose his own time and course, but he told Ree he would aim to strike the direct trail to Fort Pitt about a day's journey eastward from the cabin. With care, he hoped to avoid all possibly hostile Indians, and he would reach the Ohio in less than a week. Wayne's men would wish, no doubt, to visit the salt springs to see the bodies of the murdered men before undertaking to apprehend the murderers, and so nearly two weeks must elapse before he would see Kingdom again. The latter agreed to be waiting for him, no matter when he came, and was hopeful he would have good news of some kind to impart by that time. Encouraged thus, and more cheerful than he had been for a time, John began his long journey just as the shadows indicated the hour of noon.

A south breeze and the sun had scattered the mist and the weather gave promise of being fine and warm for many days to come. John felt the influence of nature's brighter aspect at once when fairly under way, and would have looked upon his journey as upon a pleasant holiday had he had Kingdom's company. But that was not to be and he could only resolve to cover as much ground as possible every day. As he thought of the object of his journey, too, his interest in it increased and he antic.i.p.ated with much satisfaction his pride in guiding a small company of soldiers through the woods on the important mission, for which, he was sure, Gen. Wayne would at once cause men to be detailed.

Anxious to avoid a possible meeting with Lone-Elk, the young woodsman traveled with much caution, especially this first day. Later, when he had left the cabin far behind, he made less effort to conceal his trail and ceased to watch as vigilantly as before. To an accident, as much as to any recklessness on his part, however, was due the sudden ending of John's expectations.

The boy had been three days upon the well-marked trail leading to the Ohio river and thence along that stream to Fort Pitt. It was the evening of his fourth day since parting from Kingdom. He kindled a small fire close beside a large rock, thinking to have some warm meat for supper, then go on a half mile or more and sleep wherever chance offered. He would thus be well away from the scene by the time his fire attracted attention, if attract attention it should.

John had placed his blanket and other surplus baggage upon the big rock and walked some distance away to gather fine, dry wood. Suddenly a terrific explosion occurred. The young traveler saw his fire go flying in all directions, while a perfect shower of leaves, small sticks and bits of earth was dashed likewise into the air. He knew instantly what had happened. The extra pouch of powder Ree had brought for him had rolled from the big stone directly into the blaze.

There was only one thing to do and that must be done quickly. The tremendous noise of the explosion would be heard for a long distance. So much louder than the report of a rifle was it that if Indians or others were within hearing they would most certainly make immediate investigation. Without losing a moment, therefore, John seized his blanket and other baggage which had been jarred off the stone, but away from the fire, fortunately, and rushed away through the woods at high speed.

Now, anyone coming up to the place, drawn thither by the great noise, would be most likely to come by way of the trail, from one direction or the other, John Jerome quite properly reasoned so, leaving the path at a sharp angle, he struck through the forest to the north.

Fortune plays strange tricks with all of us. The whimsical dame played one on John which he long remembered; for as he ran on and on among the trees, dodging in and out among the bushes in the dim twilight, he almost collided with a party of Indians hurrying almost as fast in one direction as he was fleeing in the other.

CHAPTER XVIII-FIs.h.i.+NG BIRD IN TROUBLE

The days were always long to Kingdom when John was gone. From their childhood they had been much together. Even in the time of his bound-boy experience, with a harsh master to serve, Ree had found time for play occasionally only because John helped him with his work. He had never known any other intimate companion; had never cared for any. Now, far from all other friends, he valued John Jerome's friends.h.i.+p all the more and counted the days until the cheerful, helpful lad would be returning.

Yet Kingdom had much to do even while he watched and waited. Lone-Elk frequently hovered near. He had grown more sullen and ugly than at first and Ree had little doubt of the fate the cabin would suffer if the Indian were but given a chance to act without danger that he would be discovered. To watch for the Seneca's coming, then, and to keep an eye on him while he flitted about the edge of the clearing, disappearing, reappearing, coming and going like the ominous shadow he was, became as much a daily task as the care of the two horses.

Twice in a week's time Ree found opportunities to visit the vicinity of the mysterious camp in the gully. He saw no one, but he never remained long, for the freshness of the ashes and the altered position of the log in front of them each time were a.s.surance that the tenants were not far away.

It was the lead mine which kept the camp occupied, Kingdom now was certain. The hidden treasure could not be far away. He had no doubt of his ability to find it if but given the chance to make unmolested search.

It was while on little hunting trips into the woods to the north that the boy had visited the strange camping place. Though he made it a rule never to go a great distance from the cabin, game was plentiful and he rarely, if ever, returned empty-handed. The season for hunting and trapping was now at its beginning. Each taste of its pleasures made the young pioneer long for the end of the trouble with Lone-Elk and a return of the days of security and care-free happiness which both he and John had so much enjoyed in the past. The thought that they would not return-not, at least, until after many days and many dangers that he little antic.i.p.ated,-did not so much as come to his confident, self-reliant brain.

Not since the "talk" with the Delawares had Kingdom been near Captain Pipe's village. He seldom left the clearing to go even a little distance in that direction, though often he wished he might do so; often wished he could talk the whole trouble over with Captain Pipe alone; often wished Fis.h.i.+ng Bird would come, even if he brought no news. The friendly Delaware, he felt certain, feared for his own safety every time he visited the clearing. He must have given up his watching of the Seneca, too. Perhaps he had been warned to do so. Time would tell.

Thinking of these things, thinking of John, thinking of the work before him, Kingdom was busily occupied one afternoon, tying choice ears of corn together by the husks to hang them from the roof poles, when rapid footsteps near the open door caused him to spring hastily up.

"h.e.l.lo, here! Howdy, little brothers!" he exclaimed heartily, for before him stood Little Wolf and Long-Hair, two Indian boys, both of whom had shown for the young white settlers a warm friends.h.i.+p.

With the true Indian showing of unmoved indifference, the Delaware lads returned the greeting and Kingdom at once led them into the cabin and set before them the choicest bits of meat and bread the larder afforded.

As the youthful braves ate, Ree inquired kindly concerning Captain Pipe, Neohaw and others of the Delawares, and presently asked about Fis.h.i.+ng Bird-desired to know if the spirits prospered him and where he had been so long that his Paleface friends had seen nothing of him.

Ree did not recall the fact at the moment, but he remembered a few seconds later that Long-Hair was a brother of Fis.h.i.+ng Bird,-a relations.h.i.+p which soon explained the object of the visit of the Indian lads.

"Fis.h.i.+ng Bird-him Long-Hair and Little Wolf come to tell White Fox about," the former said. "Fis.h.i.+ng Bird was hunting. Long-Knives caught him and Long-Knives going to kill Fis.h.i.+ng Bird dead."

"Long-Hair! What are you saying? What do you mean!" cried Kingdom with such solemn but keen earnestness that the Delaware boy was quite startled. "Who will harm Fis.h.i.+ng Bird?"

"Yep; just as Long-Hair says," put in Little Wolf. "Palefaces made Fis.h.i.+ng Bird prisoner, where Paleface army is at the River Ohio, and going to kill him."

"Tell me, brothers, how do you know this? Were you sent to tell the White Fox?" asked Ree, calling himself by the name the Indians had long ago given him. "This is terrible news you bring me! It cannot be!"

Both the little redskins slowly nodded their heads in solemn confirmation of all they had said.

"From Fort Pitt a runner came, telling Hopocon how Fis.h.i.+ng Bird a prisoner is-made a prisoner by Captain Wayne's warriors," said Long-Hair with the air of being a full-fledged warrior himself. "Gentle Maiden said Long-Hair must come fast and tell White Fox."

"Little Wolf come too," said the other youngster, bound to be included.

"You both did just right. Gentle Maiden did right also; for White Fox will not for a great deal let harm come to Fis.h.i.+ng Bird, if he can help it," Kingdom briskly replied. "White Fox is going right away to 'Captain' Wayne's men. Little Brothers will go back and tell Gentle Maiden this. Tell Gentle Maiden, and any others who ask, that Fis.h.i.+ng Bird shall be set free if White Fox and Little Paleface can possibly do it."

Even as he spoke, Ree's mind was made up. In fifteen minutes he had saddled Phoebe, turned Neb out to graze and was closing the cabin preparatory to a rapid ride to Wayne's encampment. The Indian boys watched him gallop across the clearing, his rifle hanging before him from the saddle, his powder horn and bullet pouch, both freshly refilled, slung from his shoulder, his blanket and a hastily collected supply of provisions taking the usual place of saddle bags.

"White Fox is a mighty warrior," said Little Wolf admiringly.

"White Fox is too good to be a Paleface. Fis.h.i.+ng Bird says the same thing," Long-Hair made answer.

But Lone-Elk and a white man who was with him, crouching in the bushes by the river, watched the young horseman speed into the woods with altogether different feelings.

Fis.h.i.+ng Bird had been a prisoner in the strong, log guard-house more than four days at the time Kingdom dashed away to his rescue. The friendly Delaware, together with three others, had made the journey to the Ohio, drawn thither by curiosity, and perhaps, too, with some expectation of gaining intelligence of the increasing strength of the white commander's forces.

Friendly Indians were coming and going in the vicinity of Wayne's "Legion" constantly, and the Delawares undoubtedly counted upon being cla.s.sed among the neutral savages. But "Mad Anthony" was not asleep. While he waited to receive new recruits from the east, and drill his men to a point of proper efficiency, before making a start into hostile Indian country, he was constantly informing himself of the doings of the redskins in the interior-in the northwest country, where, he knew, the inevitable battle would eventually be.

Wayne's staff of loyal scouts and trained woodsmen were likewise alert. Every day they gathered from one source or another some news of the preparations all the northwest tribes were making for a fight, which, they told one another, would sicken the Palefaces more than the defeat of St. Clair had done, and check the advance of the settlers upon their forest lands forever.

Unfortunately for Fis.h.i.+ng Bird, it so happened that, just at the time he and his friends were spying about in the vicinity of the white army, Gen. Wayne ordered that some Indian from the interior be brought in and questioned. Six men went out to find and capture such a redskin.

They came upon the little party of Delawares, encamped several miles from the river, just at daybreak. All were sleeping, but they heard the white men stealing upon them, and dashed into the woods without firing a shot. Three made their escape. One was caught and the unhappy Fis.h.i.+ng Bird was he.

Matters were made worse for the captive, too, by the redskins who had eluded capture returning and firing upon the white scouts. They intended, no doubt, to a.s.sist Fis.h.i.+ng Bird to get away. But they caused him only so much the more trouble; for his captors made him bear the brunt of the wrath the hostile act excited in their minds. The still further result was that Fis.h.i.+ng Bird, being mistreated, became ugly and obstinate. He refused to talk. He would tell the Palefaces nothing. Let them beat him, abuse and torture him as they would, he bore it all in sullen, defiant silence.

"Chuck him in the guard-house! Starve him! Let him know that he's got to talk or die! Hang all the rascals, anyhow!" a captain had exclaimed, and the unoffending Delaware was hustled off in no very tender manner.

Gen. Wayne soon learned of what had taken place and caused Fis.h.i.+ng Bird to be brought to his own cabin. He talked kindly to the Indian, but the latter was still smarting physically from the injuries, and smarting still more mentally from the bitter injustice of the punishment he had received, and remained obstinate.

"He evidently knows something. If he had nothing to tell he would be talkative enough," "Mad Anthony" thought, and ordered Fis.h.i.+ng Bird taken back to the guard-house. "Let him understand that he will not be harmed if he'll tell the truth," he said, "but if he won't talk-"

In a short time the peaceable redskins in the vicinity learned what had been done with the Delaware and so before a great while the information reached the three warriors who had been his companions. Immediately they carried word to Captain Pipe. The latter was too proud to call upon Return Kingdom to exert himself in Fis.h.i.+ng Bird's behalf, after the manner in which he had allowed the white boy to be treated, but Gentle Maiden did not hesitate. She sent Long-Hair and Little Wolf to the cabin at once.

None of the Indians really knew, however, the many reasons Kingdom had for showing his friends.h.i.+p for Fis.h.i.+ng Bird in the latter's hour of need. They may have known that the two were more than usually friendly, but they did not guess how the young white settlers had often been a.s.sisted by the Delaware; nor did anyone besides Ree and John and Fis.h.i.+ng Bird himself know of the terrible struggle in the woods that night two years ago, when Kingdom was so near to killing the young savage.

The circ.u.mstances of the capture and detention of Fis.h.i.+ng Bird were not, of course, known to Kingdom until he reached Wayne's camp. Indeed, he puzzled his mind a great deal with the subject, as he traveled rapidly along the old trail to the east. Sometimes at a gallop, sometimes at a walk, he kept to the course, but wherever the path would permit of it, he let Phoebe take her fastest gait and urged the docile and only too willing mare on and on.