Charles Lewis was as popular as he was widely known. He had the gift of attracting men to him on short acquaintance and of holding them as life-long friends. His fame as an Indian-fighter was known throughout the South, his adventures possessing those picturesque elements which strongly appeal to border-folk. During the Braddock and Pontiac Wars his service was practically continuous.

In his home-life he was a kindly, gentle man. I found him playing with his five small children. He greeted me warmly and displayed none of his brother’s austerity. During the greater part of two days which I was in his hospitable home I succeeded, I pride myself, in showing him the truth concerning the various reports sent over the line from Pennsylvania.

I know that when I left him he was convinced the war must be fought to a decisive finish before any of our western valleys could be safe. On one point he was very positive: the Cherokees, he insisted, would not join the Ohio tribes, despite the murder of Oconostota’s brother. Could the people of the Clinch and Holston have felt the same confidence, they would have spared themselves much nagging.

I took my time in returning to Salem, for there was much to think over. The bulk of my meditations concerned Patsy Dale. I decided to see her once more before crossing the mountains. I had no hope of finding her changed, but I did not intend to leave a shadow of a doubt in my own mind. I would leave no room for the torturing thought that had I been less precipitate she would have been more kindly.

Yet I had no foolish expectations; I knew Patricia. This last interview was to be an orderly settlement of the whole affair, and assurance that self-accusation should not accompany me to the wilderness. Then with the war over there would be no over-mountain ties to hold me back from the Kentucky country, or the Natchez lands.

I reached Richfield just as Colonel Lewis was setting forth to settle some wrangling between two of his captains. It was the old contention over enlistments, each leader charging the other with stealing men. I stopped only long enough to get my horse and to induce the colonel to let me have twenty pounds of powder and ten pounds of lead for the settlers. The lead was sufficient for seven hundred rounds and, divided into one-fourth portions, the powder would give a consciousness of power of eighty riflemen.

It was late afternoon when my fresh mount brought me to Salem, and without any hesitation—for I must move while my resolve was high—I galloped out to the Dale house. The low sun extended my shadow to a grotesque length as I flung myself from the saddle and with an attempt at a bold swagger advanced to find the maid. I am sure my bearing suggested confidence, but it was purely physical.

Inwardly I was quaking and wondering how I should begin my explanation for this second call. I was a most arrant coward when I mounted the veranda. The carefully rehearsed calm of my leather face vanished and I made the discouraging discovery that my features were out of control. The door of the house was open. I rapped loudly and frowned. A shuffling step, which never could be Patricia’s, nor yet heavy enough for Dale, finally rewarded by efforts. A colored woman came to the door and ducked her portly form.

I began asking for Patricia, but she recognized me as a recent caller and broke in:

“De massa ’n’ de young missy done gwine ’way. Dat onery white man gone wif dem.”

“Gone away? John Ward went with them?” I mumbled. “Which way did they ride, Aunty?”

“Dat a-way.” And she pointed to the sun, now sliced in half by Walker’s Mountain.

“You are sure they made for the mountains?”

“Dey gwine to slam right ag’in’ ’em, den ride ober dem,” she declared.

So after all my warnings the Dales were foolhardy enough to ride into danger. Ericus Dale would not only stake his own life but even his daughter’s on his faith in red men. I recalled Cornstalk’s pretended friendship for the whites at Carr’s Creek and on Jackson’s River and the price the settlers paid for their trustfulness.

“When did they ride?”

“Two days ergo. Bright ’n’ early in de mornin’.”

I ran to my horse and mounted. As I yanked his head about the servant called after me:

“De missy have dem mogasums wif her.”

The first stage of my journey was to Dunlap’s Creek, although there was no certainty that the Dales and Ward were taking that route. I had small doubt, however, but that Dale was bound for the home of his cousin on Howard’s Creek. Unless he knew of some secret trace over the mountains he would follow the open trail.

He would be more likely to go boldly and openly, I reasoned, because of his belief there was nothing for him to fear. His daughter’s convenience would be better suited by the main traveled trails. As I hurried to the west I paused at every habitation and inquired for the travelers. Always the same reply; two men and a woman had been observed.

When I finally reached the Greenwood cabin at Dunlap’s Creek I learned I had gained a day because of Patricia’s need for rest. She was an odd bundle of contradictions. She felt superior to frontier women, and how they would have smiled at the thought of recuperating after the easy travel from Salem to the creek! Many of the women on the Greenbriar had walked the entire distance over the mountains so that the pack-animals might be used in carrying the jealously guarded and pitiably few household-goods.

It was amazing to contemplate what a difference two or three hundred miles could make in one’s environment. Patricia Dale, soft and dainty, was used to the flattery of the town, and, I feared, the attention of many beaux. Her parents had known none of the comfortable places in life at her age; and yet she had responded to her environment, had been petted by it, and now she was a domestic kitten. I wondered if she would respond to her ancestry if placed among arduous experiences. I knew the kitten would, and therein I found hope for Patsy Dale.

I had been greatly shocked when told the girl was being taken over the mountains. Now by some peculiar mental twist I was beginning to enjoy secretly the prospect of seeing her again and in surroundings which harmonized with long rifles and hunting-shirts. On the surface I persisted in my anger at Dale and vehemently wished her back at Salem. Yet my guilty anticipation endured, and as a sop to conscience I tried to make myself believe there was no danger.

Howard’s Creek could not be conquered so long as the settlers kept close to the cabins and fort. I believed that or I should have urged a return of all the women to the east side of the mountains. If the enemy, in force, should lay a protracted siege, Howard’s Creek would be remembered among other bloody annals.

But I knew there would be no prolonged attempt to massacre the settlement. Cornstalk was too wise a warrior to weaken his forces for a score of scalps when a general engagement was pending. Let him win that and he could take his time in blotting out every cabin west of the Alleghanies. So after all it was neither difficult nor illogical to convince myself the girl would be safe as long as she kept close to the creek.

Even Dale would not plan to take his daughter beyond the creek. If he attempted it there were men enough to prevent the mad act. Across this line of thought came the recollection of the Grisdols’ fate. The girl would be safe at Howard’s Creek, but death lined the trace leading thereto. My reason assured me Black Hoof’s band had long since departed from the mountains.

My fear that the girl was being led into an ambush threw me into a fine sweat; and I pushed on the faster. I reviewed all the circumstances which would preclude the possibility of an Indian attack on the three travelers. There could be no Indians between Dunlap’s and Howard’s. Black Hoof’s losses at the Grisdol cabin, the venomous hatred of young Cousin stalking them day and night and the appearance of Baby Kirst would surely hasten their retreat.

But there would obtrude the terrible possibility of a few raiders hiding along the trace, determined to strengthen their medicine with more white scalps. But never once did I count in favor of the girl Dale’s boasted friendship with the Shawnees. Even my most visionary listing of assets could not include that. I made a night-camp half-way across the mountains and dined on cold provisions procured from the Greenwoods.

The morning brought optimism. By this time the girl was safe in the Davis cabin. I finished my prepared food and resumed my journey. I had covered a mile when a mounted figure turning a twist in the trace ahead sent me to the ground. The two of us struck the ground at about the same moment. Our rifles slid across the saddles as if we were puppets worked by the same string. Then a voice called out:

“I won’t shoot if you won’t.”

Of course he was white.

“Jesse Hughes!” I exclaimed, vaulting into the saddle. “These are queer hunting-grounds for you.” Then in sudden terror, “Are the Indians back here in the mountains?”

“Devil take worse luck! No,” he grumbled as he trotted to meet me. “I’m going out to Greenwood’s to see if I can’t git a few shoots of powder.”

“Have you seen Ericus Dale, the trader?” I anxiously asked.

“Yes, I seen the fool. He was making the creek when I come off. His gal was with him and John Ward. Come pretty nigh potting that Ward feller. He’s a white man, but I can’t git it out of my noodle that he ain’t a’ Injun.”

“How did Dale’s girl stand the journey?”

The query surprised him, and he looked puzzled.

“Stand it?” he slowly repeated. “Why, she ain’t sick or hurt, is she?”

I said something about her not being used to riding long distances.

“Long distances!” he snorted. “Wal, if a woman can’t foller a smooth trace on a good hoss for a day’s ride, she ain’t got no business west of the mountains. I can’t stick here swapping talk. I’ve got to push on and git that powder. Curse the luck!”

“The Greenwoods have no powder to spare. He has less than half a pound.”

“Black devils in a pipe! Howard’s Creek will have to go to making bows and arrers!”

“I’ve brought twenty pounds of powder and ten of lead from Salem,” I added. “Howard’s Creek is welcome to it after I’ve outfitted myself.”

“Hooray! That ends that cussed trip. Twenty pounds! Wal, I declare if there won’t be some rare killings! Now I’ll hustle right back along with you. I’ve felt all the time that some one would be gitting hair that belonged to me if I come off the creek. Ten pounds of lead! Seven hundred little pills! That’ll let Runner, Hacker, Scott ’n’ me strike for the Ohio, where we can catch some of them red devils as they beat back home. They’ll be keerless and we oughter nail quite a few.”

“Crabtree isn’t going with you?”

“Ike ain’t got no stummick for a reg’lar stand-up fight. He’ll hang round the creek and kill when he catches a red along.”

“He’ll get no powder from my stock to use around the creek,” I declared.

Hughes eyed me moodily.

“What odds where they’re killed so long as they’re rubbed out?” he harshly demanded.

“Women and children are the odds,” I retorted. “Crabtree kills friendly Indians. Even young Cousin, who hates reds as much as any man alive, won’t make a kill in a settlement unless the Indians are attacking it.”

“That’s the one weak spot in Cousin,” regretted Hughes. “He’s a good hater. But he’d have a bigger count for that little sister of his if he’d take them wherever he finds them. It’s all damn foolishness to pick and choose your spot for killing a red skunk. And this friendly Injun talk makes me sick! Never was a time but what half the Shawnees and other tribes was loafing ’round the settlements, pretending to be friends, while t’other half was using the tomahawk and scalping-knife.

“That sort of medicine won’t do for me. No, siree! Injuns are a pest, just like wolves and painters, only worse. They must be wiped out. That’s my belief and I make it my business to wipe them out. Few men that’s got more’n me.”

It’s a waste of time to talk with a bloody-minded man. Hughes’ brother was killed by the Indians. As for that, there was hardly a settler in Virginia who had not lost some dear friend or relative. When the history of the country is written, it will surprise the coming generations to read the many names having opposite them, “Killed by the Indians.”

I was sorry I had met Hughes. His company grated on me. It was impossible to think of Patsy Dale with the fellow’s cruel babble ringing in my ears. I remained silent and he garrulously recounted some of his many exploits, and with gusto described how he had trapped various victims. It was his one ambition of life. He cared nothing for land.

Offer him all of Colonel Washington’s thirty-odd thousand acres on the Ohio and Great Kanawha as a gift, and he would have none of them unless they contained red men to slaughter. He had laid down a red path and it was his destiny to follow it. I had no love for Shawnee or Mingo, but my mind held room for something besides schemes for bloodletting.

And yet it was well for me that I had met Hughes the Indian-hater, and doubly well that I had brought powder and lead so that he had turned back with me. We were riding down the western slope and about clear of the mountains, I trying to think my own thoughts and he talking, talking, his words dripping blood, when ahead in the trace I spied something on the ground that caused me to exclaim aloud.

It was a brightly beaded moccasin, very small, and strangely familiar even at a distance. Hughes saw it and stared at it through half-closed lids. I leaped from my horse and started forward to pick it up.

“Don’t touch it;” yelled Hughes. “Come back! Come back!”

I heard him and understood his words, and yet I continued advancing while I mechanically endeavored to guess his reason for stopping me.

“Jump, you fool!” he yelled as I stretched out my hand to pick up the moccasin. And his horse was almost upon me and covering me with dirt as he pivoted and slid into the bushes, his hindquarters hitting me and hurling me over, half a dozen feet beyond the little moccasin. I landed on my head and shoulders with the crack of a rifle echoing in my dazed ears.

Instinct sent me rolling out of the trace and into the bushes. By the time I gained my knees and had cleared the dirt from my eyes Hughes was working rapidly up the right-hand slope. His horse stood at the edge of the bushes, rubbing noses with my animal. I kept under cover of the growth and halted abreast of the moccasin.

There was a furrow within a few inches of its embroided toe. I broke a branch and pawed the moccasin toward me and picked it up and went back to the horses. Then I took time to examine my prize. It was one of the pair I had given to Patsy Dale. She must have carried it carelessly to drop it in the trace without discovering her loss. I slipped it into my hunting-shirt and sat down to wait for Hughes. It was fully an hour before he came back.

“Couldn’t git a crack at him,” he growled, his face grim and sullen. “But you was a fool to be took in by such a clumsy trick as that.”

“It’s an old trick,” I conceded, taking the moccasin from my shirt. “If it had been any Indian finery I would have kept clear of it. But this happens to belong to Ericus Dale’s girl. She dropped it coming down the slope.”

He heard this in astonishment and scratched his head helplessly.

“Then I must ’a’ been asleep, or in a hell of a hurry when I come to this slope,” he muttered. “And it ain’t just the right kind of a slope to go galloping over. I don’t understand it a bit. They was riding into the settlement when I come out. I called to Dale and asked if he’d seen any Injun signs. He told me he hadn’t seen any. Then that feller Ward come trotting out the woods, looking like a’ Injun, and I was bringing up my rifle to give him his needings when Dale let out a yelp and said he was a white man. Wal, it’ll tickle the gal to learn how near her moccasin come to killing you.”

“The Indian knew it was there and knew we were coming, and used it for bait,” I mused.

“A five-year-old child would know that,” was the scornful rejoinder. “But what no five-year-old on Howard’s Creek would ’a’ done was to go for to git it after I’d called a halt. You must ’a’ been foolish in your mind. The Injun took a spot where he could line his gun on the moccasin. The growth cut off any sight of the trace ’cept where the moccasin lay. All he had to do was to line it and shoot when you stooped over it. The second he couldn’t see the moccasin he’d know some one’s body was between it and him. He heard me bawl out, but he didn’t git sight of you till you was over it, and by that time my old hoss give you a belt and made you keep on moving.”

“He undershot, yet as I was bending close to it he would have bagged me,” I said. “I have to thank you for saving my life.”

“Part of a day’s work,” he carelessly observed. “Wal, seeing as the skunk has skedaddled, we might as well push on rather smart and tell the fellers there’s a loose red round these parts.”

When we entered the settlement we saw men and women gathered in front of the Davis cabin, frankly curious to see the newcomers and eager to volley them with questions. I joined the group and through a window beheld Patsy in animated conversation with what women could crowd inside. Mrs. Davis was very proud of her cousin’s daughter and was preening herself considerably.

Patsy’s cheeks were flushed and her tongue was racing as only a woman’s can. As she talked I could see she was trying to get used to the table of split slabs and its four round legs set in auger-holes, the pewter tableware and the spoons and bowls fashioned from wood, and the gourds and hard-shell squash hollowed out for noggings.

With a slant of half-veiled eyes she also was studying the women’s linsey petticoats and bare feet, for now that it was warm weather many dispensed with any foot-covering. In turn the women were openly examining the texture and style of her town gown, and shrilly calling on one another to come and admire her soft leather boots.

I did not see Dale, and Davis informed me he was inspecting the fort. As Ward was not in sight I assumed he, too, was at the fort. Making my way to the window, I caught Patsy’s eye and handed her her lost moccasin.

She stared at the moccasin in bewilderment, but what with the newness of her experience and the voluble praise of the women and the open-eyed admiration of the men, she was finely excited. She forgot to ask where I found the moccasin or how I happened to be there. She was in the act of giving me a smile and a nod when Mrs. Davis tugged her to the right-about.

Realizing it was useless to strive for the girl’s attention until the neighbors returned to their cabins, I walked to the fort, leading my horse. Hughes was there ahead of me and stood with a group of sullen-faced men who were being addressed by Ericus Dale.

“I say there ain’t going to be any war,” he cried as I took a position behind him. “The Indians don’t want war. They want trade. Take a pack of goods on your horse and walk into a Shawnee village and see how quick they’ll quit the war-post to buy red paint and cloth.

“Open a keg of New England rum among the Mingos and see how quick they’ll drop their axes and hunt for tin dippers. Take blankets and beads to the Wyandots and watch them hang up white wampum. Take——”

“Oh, that’s all fool talk!” thundered Hughes crowding forward and staring angrily into the trader’s deep-set eyes. “You can’t lead a pack-hoss fifty miles from this creek without losing your hair, neighbor.”

“I can! I will!” wrathfully replied Dale. “I’ve traded for years with the Indians. I never yet went to them with a gun in my hand. If ever I need protection, they’ll protect me. They are my friends. This war is all wrong. You can have it if you insist. But if you’d rather have trade, then you needn’t build any more forts west of the Alleghanies.”

Hughes laughed hoarsely and called out to the silent settlers:

“What do you fellers say to all this twaddle? Any of you believe it?”

Uncle Dick, whom I had left whetting his knife on the stones of the Davis fireplace, gave a cackling laugh and answered:

“Believe it? No! But it’s fun to hear him splutter.”

The men smiled grimly. They had held back from affronting their neighbor’s cousin. They looked upon Dale much as they looked on Baby Kirst when he came to the settlement and whimpered because he could not find ripe berries to pick. They were deciding that Dale was mentally irresponsible; only his malady took a different twist than did Baby’s. He was an Indian-lover instead of hater. Dale’s dark face flushed purple with anger. By an effort he controlled himself and said:

“All right. You men want a fight. I’m afraid you’ll have it. But I tell you that if Dunmore would call off that dog of a Connolly at Fort Pitt I could go among the Ohio Indians and make a peace which would last.”

“How about the Injuns being willing for us to go down into the Kentucky country?” spoke up Moulton.

“If you want peace with the Indian, you must let him keep a place to hunt and live in. He can’t live if you take away his hunting-grounds.”

“Then let’s take ’em away so they’ll die out tarnation fast,” cried Elijah Runner.

Drawing himself up and speaking with much dignity, Dale said:

“I am sorry for any of you men who came out here to make homes if you will let a few Indian-killers, who never make homes, spoil your chances for getting ahead.”

“We don’t go for to kill every Injun we see,” said Davis, heretofore silent. “I’m a fambly-man. I don’t want Injuns butchered here in the settlement like as Ike Crabtree done for Cherokee Billy. No sense in that.”

“That’s what I say, too,” agreed another. And this endorsement of Davis’ view became quite general. Of course I had known right along that the settlers as a whole did not look with favor upon indiscriminate slaughter of the natives. Dale nodded his approval and said:

“Well, that’s something. Only you don’t go far enough.”

Hughes angrily took up the talk, declaring:

“You cabin-men are mighty tickled to have us Injun-hating fellers come along when there’s any chance of trouble. I’ve noticed that right along.”

“Course we are, Jesse,” agreed Davis. “But that don’t mean we’re mighty glad when some of you kill a friendly Injun in the settlement and, by doing so, bring the fighting to us.”

“I ’low we’ve outstayed our welcome,” Hughes grimly continued. “You folks foller this man’s trail and it’ll lead you all to the stake. I’m moving on to-night.”

“Don’t go away mad, Jesse,” piped up old Uncle Dick. “Talk don’t hurt nothin’. Stick along an’ git your fingers into the fightin’ what’s bound to come.”

“I’m going away to kill Injuns,” was the calm reply. “That’s my business.”

“Hacker, Scott ’n’ me will go along with you,” said Runner. “Now that Howard’s Creek has got a trader to keep the Injuns off, we ain’t needed here no more.”

“I can keep the Indians away,” cried Dale. “When I offer them my belts, they’ll be glad to receive them. You send them a few trade-belts in place of the bloody ax and they’ll be your friends, too.”

“Bah!” roared Hughes, too disgusted to talk.

“What does the white Injun say?” yelled one of the young men.

He had barely put the query before John Ward stalked through the fort door and stood at Dale’s elbow. Speaking slowly and stressing his words in that jerky fashion that marks an Indian’s speech in English, he said:

“The trader is right. I have been a prisoner among Indians for many years. I know their minds. Dale can go anywhere among Indians where he has been before, and no hand will be lifted against him.”

“You’re a liar!” passionately cried Hughes, his hand creeping to his belt.

Ward folded his arms across his deep chest and stared in silence at Hughes for nearly a minute; then slowly said:

“No Indian ever called me that. It’s a man of my own race that uses the word to me.”

“And a mighty cheap sample of his race,” boomed Dale, his heavy face convulsed with rage. “A cheap killer, who must strike from behind! Faugh! It’s creatures like you——” With an animal screech Hughes jumped for him. Before we could seize the infuriated man Ward’s arm was thrust across his chest and with the rigidity of a bar of iron stopped the assault. Before Hughes could pull knife or ax from his belt we hustled him into the background. His three friends scowled ferociously but offered no interference. It was obvious that the settlers as a body would not tolerate any attack on Dale.

Inarticulate with rage, Hughes beckoned for Hacker, Scott and Runner to follow him. A few rods away he halted and called out:

“Dale, I’ll live to hear how your red friends have danced your scalp. Then I’ll go out and shoot some of them. That white Injun beside you will be one of the first to stick burning splinters into your carcass. He’s lived with redskins too long to forget his red tricks. Come on, fellers.”

This sorry disturbance depressed the spirits of the settlers. War was on, and there was none of the Howard’s Creek men who believed that any change in their attitude could prevent the Ohio Indians from slaying at every opportunity. No matter how much they might decry the acts of Hughes and his mates in time of peace, there was no denying the fighting-value of the quartet when it came to war.

No word was spoken until the last of the four killers had filed away to secure their horses and be gone. Then Davis said:

“Time to eat, Ericus. Let’s go back and see how the women-folks is gettin’ along.”

“Keep that white scum from this creek until I can carry a bag of talk to Cornstalk and Logan and you won’t need any armed bullies to protect you,” said Dale.

“We ain’t askin’ of ’em to look after us, nor you with your white belts, neither,” shrilly proclaimed Uncle Dick.

Some of the younger men laughed.

Dale reddened, but turned to walk with his cousin without making any answer. He all but bumped into me.

“Why, Morris!” he greeted, staring at me in surprise. “You bob up everywhere. Will you go with me to the Scioto villages?”

“Go as what?” I cautiously asked. The men gathered closer about us.

“Go as a trader, carrying white wampum. Go to make peace with the Shawnees,” slowly replied Dale, his eyes burning with the fire of fanaticism.

“Not hankering for slow fires, nor to have squaws heap coals on my head, I must refuse,” I retorted. “But I’ll go with you or any man, as a scout.”

“In your blood, too,” he jeered. “I didn’t suppose you’d been out here long enough to lose your head.”

“I’d certainly lose it if the Shawnees got me,” I good-naturedly retorted. My poor jest brought a rumble of laughter from the men and added to Dale’s resentment, which I greatly regretted.

John Ward glided to my side and said:

“You talk like a child. I have been long among the Indians. They did not take my head.”

I didn’t like the fellow. There was something of the snake in his way of stealthily approaching. I could not get it out of my head that he must be half-red. Had he been all Indian, I might have found something in him to fancy; for there were red men whom I had liked and had respected immensely. But Ward impressed me as being neither white nor red. He stirred my bile. Without thinking much, I shot back at him:

“Perhaps they did something worse to you than to take your head. Are you sure they didn’t take your heart?”

He turned on his heel and stalked away. Dale snarled:

“You’re worse than Hughes and those other fools. You even hate a poor white man who has been held prisoner by the Indians. He comes back to his people and you welcome him by telling him he’s a renegade. Shame on you!”

“No call for that sort of talk to Ward at all!” denounced Davis.

“What call had Ward to say he was a fool?” loudly demanded one of the young men.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” I admitted, now much ashamed of my hot-headedness. “I’ll say as much to Ward when I see him next. If he’d look and act more like a white man then I’d keep remembering that he is white. But I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Morris, that’s much better,” said Dale. “I’ll tell him what you said and you needn’t eat your words a second time in public. I admire you for conquering yourself and saying it.”

Uncle Dick did not relish my retraction, and his near-sighted eyes glared at me in disgust.

“Too much talkin’. Scouts oughter be out. Our friends, th’ killers, have quit us.”

Glad to be alone, I volunteered:

“I’ll scout half the circle, striking west, then south, returning on the east side.”

Moulton, a quiet, soft-spoken fellow, but a very demon in a fight, picked up his rifle and waved his hand to his wife and little girl and trotted in the opposite direction, calling back over his shoulder:

“I’ll go east, north and half-down the west side.”

I finished on the north leg at the point where Moulton had commenced his scout. I made no discoveries while out. I walked to the fort and was glad to see that Moulton had but recently come in. I returned to the Davis cabin and passed behind it. So far as I could observe no sentinels had been posted on the east side of the clearing. In front of the cabin burned a big fire and there was a confusion of voices.

I gained a position at the end of the cabin, and from the shadows viewed the scene. It was old to me, but new to Patsy, and she was deeply interested. The young men had erected a war-post, and had painted the upper half red. Now they were dancing and cavorting around the post like so many red heathens, bowing their heads nearly to the ground and then throwing them far back. They were stripped to the waist and had painted their faces, and as they danced they stuck their axes into the post and whooped and howled according to the Indian ceremony of declaring war.

“I don’t like it!” I heard Dale protest.

“But the boys only wanted Patsy to see how the Injuns git ready for war,” defended Mrs. Davis. “An’, lor’! Ain’t she all took up by it!”

“But it’s the way the border men declared war after the murder at Yellow Creek,” declared Dale. “They stripped and painted and struck the post and danced around it.”

“They’ll be through mighty soon now, Ericus,” soothed Davis, who was uneasy between his fears of displeasing his wife’s cousin and giving offense to the young men. “They meant well.”

“All such actions mean ill for the settlers,” growled Dale. “They’d best finish at once.”

Davis did not have to incur his neighbors’ ill-will by asking the dancers to cease their ceremony, as Dale’s speech was closely followed by a volley from the west side of the clearing. A dancer went down, coughing and clawing at his throat, while yelps of surprise and pain told me others had been wounded. I raised my rifle and fired toward the flashes.

With the promptness of seasoned veterans the young men kicked the fire to pieces and grabbed up their rifles and advanced toward the hidden foe, their movements being barely perceptible even while within reach of the light streaming from the cabins.

It was not until I had fired and was reloading that I was conscious of Patsy’s ear-splitting shrieks. I heard her father fiercely command her to be still, then command Davis to recall the young men now lost in the darkness. A stentorian voice began shouting:

“All women to the fort! Put out all lights!”

One by one the candles were extinguished. Patsy was silent, and across the clearing came the low voices of the women, driving their children before them and urging them to hurry. Dark forms were discernible close at hand and were those settlers apportioned to defend the fort.

Davis was commanding his wife to take Patsy to the fort while there was yet time, and she was refusing. The savages must have heard the men and women leaving the outlying cabins, for they started to rush from the woods only to fall back before a brisk volley from the young men now scouting well to the front.

I walked to the cabin door just as the war-whoop of the Shawnees announced an attack in force. I was standing by Patsy’s side, but she did not see me. She had both hands clapped over her ears, her lips parted but uttering no sound. Now there came a rush of feet and the young men fell back, some making into the fort, others, as previously assigned, entering the cabins close to the fort. Three came to the Davis cabin, and I entered with them, leading Patsy. Some one, I think it was Davis, dragged Dale inside.

The trader seemed to be paralyzed, for he had remained voiceless during the stirring events. And it had all been a matter of a few minutes. I jumped through the doorway just as a young man began closing it. The Shawnees were yelling like demons and approaching to close range very cautiously, feeling out each rod of the ground.

The sally of the young men had taught them they could not have all things their own way. I scouted toward the fort to make sure all the women and children had made cover, but before I could reach the log walls I heard Dale’s voice shouting for attention. I dropped behind a stump, and as the savages ceased their howling I heard him hoarsely crying:

“It is the Pack-Horse-Man speaking. Do the Shawnees fire guns at the Pack-Horse-Man? My friends live here. Do the Shawnees hurt the friends of the Pack-Horse-Man? I give you a belt to wash the red paint from your faces. I give you a belt to make the road smooth between the Greenbriar and the Scioto. By this belt the nettles and rocks shall be removed from the road. I will cover the bones of your dead, if any fell to-night, with many presents.”

He was either very brave or crazy. For now he left the cabin and began walking toward the hidden Shawnees, his confident voice repeating the fact he was the red man’s friend, that he brought white belts, that the red and white men should eat from one dish, and that a hole should be dug to the middle of the earth and the war-ax buried there and a mighty river turned from its ancient bed to flow over the spot so that the ax could never be found.

His amazing boldness brought the hush of death over cabins and forts. My horse, secured in the small stockaded paddock near the fort, whinnied for me to come to him, and his call in that tense stillness set my nerves to jumping madly. Dale was now close to the warriors. Every minute I expected to see a streak of fire, or hear the crunch of an ax. Trailing my rifle and bent double, I stole after him. From the forest a deep voice shouted:

“The belts of the Pack-Horse-Man are good belts. Black Hoof’s warriors do not harm the friends of the Pack-Horse-Man. Sleep with your cabin doors open to-night and you shall hear nothing but the call of the night birds and the voice of the little owl talking with the dead.”

I now discovered that the Shawnees had silently retreated to the woods at the beginning of Dale’s advance. The declaration of peace as given by the Indian—and I was convinced it was the famous Black Hoof talking—was in the Shawnee tongue. Dale faced to the cabins and fort and triumphantly interpreted it. From deep in the forest came a pulsating cry, the farewell of the marauders, as they swiftly fell back toward New River. I was suspicious of some Indian trick and yelled a warning for the men to keep in the cabins.

Dale became very angry, and upbraided me:

“It’s the like of you that spoils the Indian’s heart. You men have heard what the Black Hoof says. You men and women of Howard’s Creek are foolish to believe this young fool’s words. The Shawnees have gone. You heard their travel-cry. They have left none behind to harm by treachery. I told you I could keep the Indians from attacking this settlement. Could your friends, the killers, have sent them away so quickly? I think not. Open your doors. Light your candles. Make merry if you will. There is nothing in the forest to harm you.”

“Keep inside till I and some of the young men have scouted the woods. Three men from the fort will be enough,” I loudly shouted.

Dale was furious, but that was nothing when the women and children had to be remembered. Soon a soft pattering of moccasins, and three youths stood before me. Choosing one, I set off in the direction the Indians apparently had taken. The other two were to separate, one scouting south and the other north, to discover any attempt at a surprise attack by swinging back to the creek in a half-circle.

My companion and I, although hampered by the darkness, penetrated some miles toward New River. In returning, we separated, one swinging south and the other north. The first morning light was burning the mists from the creek when I reentered the clearing. My companion came in an hour later. The other two had returned much earlier, having had a much shorter course to cover. We all made the same report; no signs of Indians except those left by them in their retreat.

I sat outside the Davis cabin and Patsy brought me some food. She was very proud of her father and carried her small figure right grandly. Her attitude toward the women was that of a protector; and they, dear souls, so thankful to be alive, so eager to accept the new faith, fairly worshiped the girl.

The one exception was the Widow McCabe. She paid homage to no one. And while she said nothing to the chorus of admiring exclamations directed at the trader there was the same cold glint in the slate-gray eyes, and she walked about with her skirts tucked up and an ax in her hand.

I made no effort to talk with Patsy. Her frame of mind was too exalted for speech with a skeptical worm. She smiled kindly on me, much as a goddess designs to sweeten the life of a mortal with a glance. She smiled in gentle rebuke as she noted my torn and stained garments and the moccasins so sadly in need of patching.

“You silly boy! It wasn’t necessary. When will you learn, Morris?” It was not intended that I should answer this, for she turned away graciously to receive the blessings of the women. Thus, vicariously, was Ericus Dale recognized as a great man. And the trader walked among the morning clouds. For some hours the savor of his triumph stifled speech, and he wandered about while the women paid their tribute through his daughter.

Nor were the men lacking in appreciation. The younger generation remained silent, secretly wishing their bravery and marksmanship had scattered the foe, yet unable to deny that Dale’s medicine had been very powerful. Those with families stared upon him as they might gaze on one who had looked on David.

They congregated around the Davis cabin after the morning meal and forgot there was much work to be done. They were eager to renew their fires of this new faith by listening to him. And after his exaltation had softened enough to permit of speech the trader once more harangued them on his influence over the natives. He was constantly in motion, his swinging arms keeping a path clear as he strode through the group and back again and addressed the mountains and horizon. He was too full of the sweets of a peaceful victory to confine his utterance to any individual, and he spoke to the whole frontier.

He concluded a long and eloquent speech by saying:

“So after all, as you settlers have learned, the Ohio tribes, yes, and all tribes, will always hark to the one word—trade. They are now dependent upon the white man for traps and guns, even their women’s clothing. Trade with them and they will remain your friends, for your goods they must have.

“You can plant your war-posts three feet apart along the whole length of Virginia, and you’ll always have work for your rifles and axes until the last Indian-hunter is killed. I admit they can be exterminated, but you’ll pay an awful price in doing it. But give them a chance to live, carry trade-belts to them, and you shall have peace.”

Even Uncle Dick, the aged one, had nothing to say. But it was Patsy I was watching while Dale talked. She never took her eyes from him, and her gaze was idolatrous in its love. She believed in his powers implicitly; and to bask in the reflection of his greatness was the sweetest triumph she had ever experienced. Throughout that day the scouts were busy in the forest, ranging very far on the track of Black Hoof’s band. When they began dropping in after sundown all their reports were alike.

There were no Indian-signs besides those left by the departing Shawnee band. This band, said the scouts, was very large and quite sufficient to cause the settlement much trouble and inevitable losses. There was no mistaking the story told by the trail. The Indians had marched rapidly, swinging north.

Every emotion, unless it be that of love, must have its ebb; and by nightfall the settlers were returning to their old caution. Dale did not relish this outcropping of old habits. Throwing open the door of the Davis cabin after Davis had closed and barred it, he cried: “Let us have air. There is no danger. You’re like silly children afraid of the dark. Your scouts have told you there are no Indians near. Yet the minute the sun sets you imagine the woods are full of them. I will go out alone and unarmed and I will shout my name. If any Shawnee who was not in Black Hoof’s band hears my voice he will come to me. After he learns I have friends here on Howard’s Creek, he will go away. Give me time to act before that scoundrel Connolly can stir up more trouble and I’ll make a lasting peace between the Greenbriar, the Clinch and the Holston and the Ohio tribes; and I’ll make Dunmore look like a fool.”

His overpowering personality, his massive way of asserting things made a deep impression on the simple folks. They asked only for a chance to plant and reap. When he went out alone that night he brought them deep under his spell. As he plunged into the forest and stumbled about he took pains to advertise his presence. Unknown to the settlers, I trailed him. I was within ten feet of him when he halted and shouted his name, and in their language called on the Shawnees to come to him.

For half an hour he wandered about, proclaiming he was the Pack-Horse-Man, the ancient friend of the Shawnees and Mingos. Let him be a fool according to Jesse Hughes’ notion, yet he was a very brave man. He had the courage to attempt proof of his belief in the honesty of the Shawnees.

I trailed him back to the cabin door. I saw the girl’s radiant face as she proudly threw her arms about his neck. I saw the great pride in his own face as he stood in the middle of the floor and harshly demanded:

“Now, who will you believe; Dale, the trader, or Hughes, the killer?”

It was all mighty dramatic, and it was not surprising that it should affect the settlers keenly. It shook my skepticism a bit, but only for the moment. If I could not feel a full confidence in John Ward, born white, how could I place a deep and abiding trust in those who were born red? Had not Cornstalk and other chiefs, the best of their breed, sworn friendship to the whites in Virginia in 1759 and during Pontiac’s War? Had they not feasted with old friends, and then, catching them off their guard, chopped them down? Black Hoof had drawn off his raiders; so far, so good. But I looked to my flints none the less carefully that night and made the rounds to see that reliable men were on guard. The night passed with nothing to disturb the settlement’s rest.