The old hunter’s face lit up. “Say!” he exclaimed. “You ain’t never been here before, have you? Well, you got a treat comin’! Just wait till you see Madame Fantine and eat some of her cooking. An’ she’s a mighty fine woman besides. Jest tell her I’ll be along later. First I reckon I’d better go back to the fort. I’ve got some friends there, and maybe I can smooth things down for you some. There ain’t no use in makin’ enemies. The boys are pretty sore at you just now. But I c’n smooth ’em down all right if I can only get a chance to put a word in edgeways. The trouble is that people talk so blame much——”
“All right. Come to the inn when you get ready. You’ll find us there.”
Jack turned back to Stickney. As he did so he tore open his letter and glanced over its contents. It was from Colonel Johnson, acknowledging the receipt of his letter, commending his action in the matter of Wilwiloway’s murder, and promising to do all he could to find the girl of whom Jack was in search. “I know her well,” ended the colonel, “and I shall be glad to look for her. She was here recently, but she has disappeared and I rather think she may have gone north with Tecumseh. Your best chance of finding her would probably be to go down the Maumee and join General Hull at Detroit. As for Captain Brito Telfair, he has disappeared and has probably gone back to Canada.”
Jack handed the letter to Major Stickney. “This touches on the main object of my visit to Ohio, Major,” he said, when the latter had read it. “The girl of whom Colonel Johnson speaks is the daughter of my kinsman, Delaroche Telfair, who came to Ohio from France in 1790 and settled at Gallipolis. Later, he seems to have lived with the Shawnees, probably as a trader, and when he died he left his daughter in Tecumseh’s care.” Jack went on, explaining the circumstances that made it necessary for him to find the girl without delay. “If you can help me any, Major,” he finished, “I’ll be grateful.”
“I’ll be delighted. But I’m afraid I can’t do much. I’m a greenhorn up here, you know. But I’ll ask Captain Wells, my assistant. He’s been in these parts all his life. He was captured by the Miamis forty years ago and grew up with them and married a Miami woman. He’ll know if any one does—No! By George!”—Major Stickney was growing excited—“I forgot. Peter Bondie will know more than Wells. He and his sister were in the party of Frenchmen that settled Gallipolis in 1790. They were recruited in Paris and very likely they came over in the ship with your relation. Of course neither of them is likely to know anything about the girl, but it’s just possible that they may. Anyway, you’ll want to talk to them. Here’s their place.”
Major Stickney pointed to a log building, larger than most of its neighbors, that stood not far from the bank of the river. From the crowd of Indians and the piles of miscellaneous goods at one of its entrances it seemed to be as much store as dwelling.
Jack stepped forward eagerly. “Talk to them?” he echoed. “I should think I would! This is great luck.” Jack knew that many of the French settlers of Gallipolis had quit their first homes on the banks of the Ohio river and had scattered through the northwest, but he had not expected to find two of them at Fort Wayne. Perhaps his coming there would prove to be less of a blunder than he had thought a few moments before. So eager was he to see them that for the moment he forgot Alagwa.
The girl was glad to be forgotten. Her heart was throbbing painfully. For a moment the necessity of sending word to Tecumseh about the ammunition had been thrust into the background. To most persons the thought of finding of people who had known their father would have caused little emotion. To Alagwa, however, it came as a shock, the more so from its unexpectedness. Her memories of her father were very few, but she had secretly cherished them, grieving over their incompleteness. Fear of betraying her identity had prevented her from questioning Jack too closely about him; and, indeed, Jack was almost as ignorant as she concerning the things she wished to know. But here were a man and a woman, who had crossed the ocean with him when he was young and vigorous. Surely they knew him well! Perhaps they had known her mother, whom she remembered not at all. Her heart stood still at the thought. Dully she heard Cato’s voice expounding the family relationships to Rogers, who seemed to be for the moment dumb. “Yes, sah!” he was saying. “Dat’s what I’m tellin’ you. Dere ain’t nobody better’n de Telfairs in all Alabama. Dey sure is—Lord A’mighty! Who dat?”
Alagwa looked up and saw a little round Frenchman, almost as swarthy as an Indian, running down the path toward them, literally smiling all over himself. Behind him waddled an enormously fat woman, who shook like a bowlful of jelly.
A moment more and the man had come up. “Ah! Is it my good friend, Major Stickney?” he burst out. “He brings me the guests, yes!”