“Has the scoundrel told them that I am here?” he asked.
“I can not tell. He is to come to the point above the island with the price of his guilt, to-morrow, and I will be there to help him over the river.”
A grim look crossed the face of Black-Hawk, as his son spoke.
“It is good,” he said. “One traitor shall die, because he has sold himself for the fire-water of the white men. As for us, we will not strike the first blow, but if they take up the hatchet against us, then we will fight. But I will not remove.”
“It is better for us to strike the first blow,” said Black Will. “That is the main thing in war—to strike such a terrible blow, that their hearts will turn water in their bosoms. Look at me; I am of the blood of the white men, but I am not all white. A chief of the Sacs was my father, and he is dead. He died in chains, because he dug up the hatchet against the cowardly Chippewas. You have known and loved him, for you fought by his side. Black-Hawk, Red-Bird was the father of the man who speaks.”
“Ha!” cried the chief. “Red-Bird was a man, but he could not bear the chains of the white man, and he died. Is my son the child whom he lost, who was born of the French squaw, who followed him from Detroit?”
Black Will inclined his head slowly, and Black-Hawk took his hand in his own and pressed it again and again to his bosom.
“Black-Hawk can understand how the son of Red-Bird should hate the white man,” he said. “We will fight side by side in this war, and if we die, let us die bravely. Are the warriors coming in, Na-she-eschuck?”
“They are gathering from every side. They have heard of the insult to Black-Hawk, and their hearts are hot in their bosoms. They will behave like men.”
“It is good,” said the chief. “Now we will go forth, and you shall see how Black-Hawk shall give a traitor his dues.”