Straightway the lad sensed a curious change in the attitude of the
garrison. The old warmth was absent. The atmosphere was charged with
suspicion, hostility. Old Jerome was surly, his old playmates were
distant. Only Dave, Mother Sanders, and Lydia were unchanged. The
predominant note was curiosity, and they started to ply him with
questions, but Dave took him to a cabin, and Mother Sanders brought him
something to eat.
"Had a purty hard time," stated Dave. The boy nodded.
"I had only three bullets. Firefly went lame and I had to lead him. I
couldn't eat cane and Firefly couldn't eat pheasant. I got one from a
hawk," he explained. "What's the matter out there?"
"Nothin'," said Dave gruffly and he made the boy go to sleep. His story
came when all were around the fire at supper, and was listened to with
eagerness. Again the boy felt the hostility and it made him resentful
and haughty and his story brief and terse. Most fluid and sensitive
natures have a chameleon quality, no matter what stratum of adamant be
beneath. The boy was dressed like an Indian, he looked like one, and he
had brought back, it seemed, the bearing of an Indian--his wildness and
stoicism. He spoke like a chief in a council, and even in English his
phrasing and metaphors belonged to the red man. No wonder they believed
the stories they had heard of him--but there was shame in many faces and
little doubt in any save one before he finished.
He had gone to see his foster-mother and his foster-father--old chief
Kahtoo, the Shawnee--because he had given his word. Kahtoo thought he was
dying and wanted him to be chief when the Great Spirit called. Kahtoo
had once saved his life, had been kind, and made him a son. That he
could not forget. An evil prophet had come to the tribe and through his
enemies, Crooked Lightning and Black Wolf, had gained much influence.
They were to burn a captive white woman as a sacrifice. He had stayed to
save her, to argue with old Kahtoo, and carry the wampum and a talk to a
big council with the British. He had made his talk and--escaped. He had
gone back to his tribe, had been tied, and was to be burned at the
stake. Again he had escaped with the help of the white woman and her
daughter. The tribes had joined the British and even then they were
planning an early attack on this very fort and all others.
The interest was tense and every face was startled at this calm
statement of their immediate danger. Dave and Lydia looked triumphant at
this proof of their trust, but old Jerome burst out:
"Why did you have to escape from the council--and from the Shawnees?" The
boy felt the open distrust and he rose proudly.
"At the council I told the Indians that they should be friends, not
enemies, of the Americans, and Crooked Lightning called me a traitor. He
had overheard my talk with Kahtoo."
"What was that?" asked Dave quickly.
"I told Kahtoo I would fight with the Americans against the British and
Indians; and with _you_ against _him_!" And he turned away and went back
to the cabin.
"What'd I tell ye!" cried Dave indignantly and he followed the boy, who
had gone to his bunk, and put one big hand on his shoulder.
"They thought you'd turned Injun agin," he said, "but it's all right
now."
"I know," said the lad and with a muffled sound that was half the grunt
of an Indian and half the sob of a white man turned his face away.
Again Dave reached for the lad's shoulder.
"Don't blame 'em too much. I'll tell you now. Some fur traders came by
here, and one of 'em said you was goin' to marry an Injun girl named
Early Morn; that you was goin' to stay with 'em and fight with 'em
alongside the British. Of course I knowed better but----"
"Why," interrupted Erskine, "they must have been the same traders who
came to the Shawnee town and brought whiskey."
"That's what the feller said and why folks here believed him."
"Who was he?" demanded Erskine.
"You know him--Dane Grey."
All tried to make amends straightway for the injustice they had done
him, but the boy's heart remained sore that their trust was so little.
Then, when they gathered all settlers within the fort and made all
preparations and no Indians came, many seemed again to get distrustful
and the lad was not happy. The winter was long and hard. A blizzard had
driven the game west and south and the garrison was hard put to it for
food. Every day that the hunters went forth the boy was among them and
he did far more than his share in the killing of game. But when winter
was breaking, more news came in of the war. The flag that had been
fashioned of a soldier's white shirt, an old blue army coat, and a red
petticoat was now the Stars and Stripes of the American cause. Burgoyne
had not cut off New England, that "head of the rebellion," from the
other colonies. On the contrary, the Americans had beaten him at
Saratoga and marched his army off under those same Stars and Stripes,
and for the first time Erskine heard of gallant Lafayette--how he had run
to Washington with the portentous news from his king--that beautiful,
passionate France would now stretch forth her helping hand. And Erskine
learned what that news meant to Washington's "naked and starving"
soldiers dying on the frozen hillsides of Valley Forge. Then George
Rogers Clark had passed the fort on his way to Williamsburg to get money
and men for his great venture in the Northwest, and Erskine got a ready
permission to accompany him as soldier and guide. After Clark was gone
the lad got restless; and one morning when the first breath of spring
came he mounted his horse, in spite of arguments and protestations, and
set forth for Virginia on the wilderness trail. He was going to join
Clark, he said, but more than Clark and the war were drawing him to the
outer world. What it was he hardly knew, for he was not yet much given
to searching his heart or mind. He did know, however, that some strange
force had long been working within him that was steadily growing
stronger, was surging now like a flame and swinging him between strange
moods of depression and exultation. Perhaps it was but the spirit of
spring in his heart, but with his mind's eye he was ever seeing at the
end of his journey the face of his little cousin Barbara Dale.