The satisfaction and pleasure Kingdom felt in finding that Fishing Bird, though a prisoner, was still unharmed, was mixed with much distress by the knowledge that nothing had been seen of John Jerome at Wayne’s camp. True, it might be that John had gone directly to Fort Pitt; but even in doing so he would pass in the immediate vicinity of the military encampment and it would be strange if he did not stop.

Not the least light could any of the scouts or others with whom Ree talked throw upon the mystery of the missing boy. They agreed with his friend that he should have arrived at the Ohio several days ago, at least. Their views of the whole matter were most discouraging. Kingdom did not realize, they insisted, that the woods were full of hostile Indian bands; that all up and down the Ohio and for many miles in all directions, there was burning, pillaging and murder almost every day, and no man was safe when alone.

Neither did Kingdom receive the least encouragement when he suggested that a rescue party be formed to search for his missing chum. Gen. Wayne would not think of it, the men said. It was no unusual thing for a man to be taken prisoner, no unusual thing for a lone hunter to be scalped. If the army were to undertake the rescue of every captive, or the punishment of every party of Indian marauders, there would be time for nothing else.

“Still, I must see Gen. Wayne himself,” Kingdom insisted. “Even if I can do nothing else for John Jerome, perhaps I can obtain freedom for Fishing Bird, and he and I can do something.”

Still the party of petty officers, scouts, and soldiers with whom Kingdom talked shook their heads, and it was only after considerable urging that one of the men said he would try to arrange matters for Ree to see the commander.

Kingdom had reached the encampment of Wayne’s “Legion” at about mid-day. It was late in the afternoon when his new-found friend, a sergeant named Quayle, consented to see if Ree could not have a talk with Gen. Wayne himself. The delay seemed past all understanding to Kingdom, little acquainted with army customs and discipline. And when the sergeant returned, bringing a superior officer with him, who, after talking with the anxious lad, told him that the general would see him in the morning, Kingdom’s patience was sorely tried indeed. He did, however, obtain an assurance from the officer that Fishing Bird would be well treated and injured no further until he could present his petition for the Indian’s release, and with this he endeavored to be content.

Unwilling to tell his whole story to anyone but “Mad Anthony” himself, Kingdom was unable to give the men with whom he mingled a great deal of information. They plied him with countless questions concerning the movements and general attitude of the Indians of the interior, and his experiences with them, but the heart-sick boy felt little disposed to talk and gave them no more than civil answers. In vain he tried to get permission to visit Fishing Bird in the guard-house. Serg. Quayle told him it would be of no use, but not until one higher in authority had kindly but very definitely refused did Ree give up.

Every hope Kingdom ventured to entertain now centered in Gen. Wayne, and time and again he went over in his mind all that he meant to say to the commander when the time came.

He saw to it that Phoebe was given a place among the horses in the camp and properly fed and cared for, then accepted an invitation extended by his friend, the sergeant, to have supper and spend the night with him.

Had his thoughts been less occupied with the strange disappearance of John, and with his anxiety concerning the outcome of his interview with Gen. Wayne, Ree would have spent a jolly evening among the care-free spirits,—woodsmen, adventurers, regular soldiers and raw recruits who made up the bulk of the “Legion.”

There was romance in the life of nearly every man about him. There were stories untold, but to some extent readable, in the faces and figures and ways of all the scouts, the hardened Indian fighters, and the seasoned soldiers. There was much of interest, too, among the great variety of fellows who were plainly not long from the east. Some were outcasts and downright criminals undoubtedly; some were sons of highly respected fathers, banished from home, perhaps, or here only in search of adventure and excitement. Their stories, their songs, their speech and their dress all told of the strangely different walks of life from which they had come; and gathered together here on the border of the great wilderness, while the campfires brightly burned, they made a truly romantic picture.

It was a picture which would live in history, too, as time in due course told; for in the end it proved that no more efficient force ever invaded hostile Indian territory than Wayne led to final victory over the savages who had vowed to make the Ohio river the boundary between themselves and civilization for all time.

The-men with whom Ree came in contact were, in their rough way, very kind to the young man from the depths of the woods. They urged him to join them and go down the Ohio and thence march into the woods with them, and they assured him that he would never find a better chief than “Old Mad Anthony.” To all these proposals Kingdom answered that he could think of nothing of the kind until John Jerome was found, living or dead, for which sentiment Sergeant Quayle heartily commended him.

For the most part the men of Wayne’s command slept in the open air, but Sergeant Quayle and his intimate associates had erected a shelter of bark laid up against a pole placed across two forked sticks. Although one side of this crude structure was entirely open to the weather, the campfire made the fact scarcely unpleasant, and Kingdom found the soldiers’ quarters quite comfortable. The lad was astir by the time the first early risers of the army were moving about, however, and impatiently waited the coming of the aide who was to lake him to Gen. Wayne’s quarters.

At last came the lieutenant whom Ree had seen the day before. With scarcely a word he signaled with a nod to the lad to accompany him, and silently conducted the young frontiersman to a substantial log house. With a word to a sentry near, the officer opened the door and motioned to Kingdom to enter.

“Mad Anthony” sat at breakfast alone. He looked up with sharp but not unkind scrutiny of his visitor as, cap in hand, the boy softly closed the door and stood awaiting his notice.

“Sit down there and tell me your story,” said the commander rather brusquely, indicating a three-legged stool near his table. Although he spoke in a quick, decisive way his voice was the kind which inspires confidence and the young visitor, though somewhat nervous, at no time was disconcerted by the business-like manner of the great soldier.

“Gladly, sir,” said Kingdom, seating himself, but for a moment hesitating just where to begin.

“Well, well, proceed then!” the general urged with a smile, and without further loss of time the boy told briefly who he was and what had brought him to the soldiers’ camp. He mentioned John Jerome’s connection with his story and John’s disappearance, alluding only briefly, for the time, to the murder at the salt springs, and to the charge of witchcraft that had been the beginning of the trouble. Of the lead mine he did not speak.

“I see no reason why we cannot give this Indian you are interested in his liberty,” said the general, when Ree had concluded. “But I am much afraid we can do nothing for your friend. Very likely he will turn up safe and sound before long. I am bound to say, though, that my advice to you would be that you do not go back to your cabin until these troublous times are over. How would you like to come with my men—be one of my scouts and interpreters? Come, now?”

Poor Ree, sadly disheartened, could only reply that if circumstances were different he would very much like to do so; but as it was, well, he simply couldn’t do anything until John Jerome was found. Then he told more fully of the trouble with Lone-Elk and how it had happened to result in the discovery of the two murdered men at the big “lick.”

Made more confident by Gen. Wayne’s interest, he told of the strange camp in the gully and his reason for believing that the salt springs murderer or murderers were there.

“You may be right,” said the commander, “and you may be wrong. That two men,—apparently men not fully accustomed to the woods,—should have been killed and their bodies concealed in the brush, is, in these times, not surprising. And the fact being that these men are to us unknown, while it does not make the murder less distressing or less a crime, does present a reason for our not being duty bound to unravel the mystery and attempt to punish the perpetrators of the deed. In short, if we begin to follow up singly each red-handed outrage committed along the border, we shall not have men for anything else. We can only bide our time and strike the savages collectively—strike a blow that will bring both them and their British supporters to their senses—a blow with something of suddenness about it.”

Kingdom’s hopes had dwindled to nothing. He wanted help, help to find John Jerome, help to carry out his plan to capture the salt springs criminals, and while he was about it, help to show Lone-Elk that he had powerful friends at his back who might make very costly to the Seneca any injury which was done the two young settlers on the land for which the Delawares had received a fair price.

Of course Gen. Wayne saw the whole trend of Kingdom’s thoughts. There is a power possessed, as a rule, by great generals in every walk of life, by which they see at a glance the workings of the minds of the less mature or less able men about them. Kingdom, however, was bright enough to understand all this perfectly, even while “Mad Anthony” talked with him. He felt that an injustice was done him. He knew that his motives were not by any means as selfish as they seemed. But how could he make himself better understood? He hesitated to try, and in his extremity, he played his last card—the lead mine.

Who can blame Return Kingdom if, when he told Gen. Wayne of the Seneca’s secret, he went just a little beyond actual facts in his representation of the certainty of the mine’s existence! That he had never seen the mine, he was forced, as the commander questioned him, to admit. Yes, it was true, he acknowledged, that he had never heard of the lead mine before Lone-Elk came among the Delawares. Neither had he seen any lead from the mine, nor could he tell positively of any Indian who had seen any. The story Fishing Bird had told was the whole basis of his assertion that there was a lead mine somewhere along the Cuyahoga, and presumably it was not far from the mysterious camp in the ravine.

“Now have I all the information you can give me on this subject?” asked Gen. Wayne, with something of a twinkle in his eye.

“Yes, sir,” Kingdom answered, the twinkle somehow making him feel more comfortable than he did before.

“All right, then,” and the general stepped to the door. “Have that Indian, Fishing Bird, brought to headquarters,” he said to the man outside.

“Mad Anthony” paced thoughtfully up and down the earthen floor of the single room of the cabin while he waited. Wondering, and more hopeful now, Kingdom tried to determine what the commander meant to do by glancing often at his knitted brow.

In five minutes the Delaware, with a sullen air of pride, stepped into the cabin. In an instant, however, his manner changed. A look of pleasure came to his eyes and he held out his hand to Kingdom.

The greeting between the young woodsman and the Indian was pleasant to see. As soon as they had silently shaken hands, however, Gen. Wayne said:

“Now, Fishing Bird, what can you tell me of a lead mine near your Cuyahoga river!”

“The lead mine is the secret of Lone-Elk—Lone-Elk, the Seneca,” the Delaware made answer.

“Well, if I give you your liberty, will you go with this young man, your friend here, and some men I shall send with you, and see if you can find this mine? And will you help my young friend, whom you seem to know rather better than I do, find the boy who is accused of witchcraft?”

“Anything White Fox asks will Fishing Bird do,” the Indian replied, with quiet dignity.