Mr. Hibbs gave him no time to say more. Furiously he turned upon him. “It seems best to you, does it,” he yelled. “Yes, I reckon it is just the sort of thing that would seem best to a greenhorn like you. But you might as well understand here and now, that I’m in command here and that you nor anybody else can tell me what to do.” He turned to Jack. “Go on,” he roared.
Further objection was evidently useless. Jack spoke out. “I charge this man,” he said, pointing to Williams, “with the deliberate and uncalled-for murder of a friendly Shawnee chief, at the moment that he was making the peace sign. This man shot him down without any provocation and without any warning. After he had shot him the Indian sprang at him and at his companion, a man named Wolf, tore Wolf’s gun from him, and brained him with it. Then he sprang at Williams, who struck him down with his hatchet and then scalped him.”
“Good! Good! Bully for you, Williams.” A roar of applause rose from the soldiers. Mr. Hibbs did not check it.
Jack hurried on. “You understand, sir,” he said, “what terrible consequences this might have led to at this particular time. Tecumseh has already led several hundred Shawnees north to join the British, and the murder of a friendly chief, if it had become known in its true aspect, might have roused the remainder of the tribe and turned ten thousand warriors against the white settlements. I did the only thing I could to prevent it. I placed this man under arrest and took him to Girty’s Town, where I hoped to turn him over to Colonel Johnson. Colonel Johnson was not there, however, and so I gave out that the Indian had been killed by Wolf in a personal quarrel. I left a note for Colonel Johnson explaining the true circumstances of the case. Then, knowing your urgent need for ammunition and thinking this wagon was loaded with it, I came on here as quickly as I could, bringing this man as a prisoner to be dealt with as you might think fit.”
Mr. Hibbs was rocking on his feet. Scarcely did he wait for Jack to finish. “Shot an Injun, did he?” he burst out. “Well, it’s a d— good thing. I wish he’d shot a dozen of the scurvy brutes. And you’re complaining of him, are you? How about yourself? What were you doing while the fight was going on?” He swung round on Williams. “What was he doing, Williams?” he asked.
The wagoner laughed scornfully. “He warn’t doing nothing,” he sneered. “He sat on his horse and watched the Injun kill Wolf without raisin’ a hand to stop him. But he was mighty forward in stopping me when I started to wipe out that half-breed boy yonder.”
A snarl rose from the crowding men. But the reference to Alagwa served momentarily to divert their attention.
“That boy was with the Injun,” went on Williams; “and he come at Wolf with a knife. Wolf shot him through the leg and he fell, and after I’d done for the Injun I started after the cub. But this here sprig run me down with his horse an’ took my gun away before I could get up.”
Again the crowd snarled. “Duck him! Flog him! Hang him!” it cried. The calls were low and tentative, but they were gaining volume.
Mr. Hibbs made no effort to check them or to keep his men in hand. Rather he urged them on. “Well! sir!” he demanded, truculently. “What have you got to say?”