Was Jack to be like this? It could not be! Passionately her heart cried out against it. And yet—and yet—even thus she was glad, glad, that Gitchemanitou had given him back to her. Only let him live, let him live, and——
But he could not live where he was. The ruined fort was a point of extreme danger. One war party bound for the north had already passed it on their way down the Auglaize, and at any moment another might follow. None would pass the ruins of the ancient fort without visiting it, even if no sign of the recent struggle were visible from the water or from the trail along the bank. If Jack was to be ill for a long time, she must get him back to Fort Wayne.
And she must do it all. Cato was a splendid servant but useless so far as initiative was concerned. On her and her alone the responsibility must rest. Desperately she looked around, seeking inspiration.
While she had worked over Jack the sun had mounted higher and higher. The tall forest trees that ringed the clearing shimmered in the golden downpour, the fretted tracery of their branches quivering against the burnished vault of the sky. The forest creatures had grown used to the presence of men and were going about the business of their lives unafraid. A huge red squirrel scurried up one of the few remaining palisades of the ancient circuit and sat upon its top, chattering. The water in the river rippled incessantly as fish or turtle or snake came and went. Great bullfrogs croaked on the banks. From every tuft of grass and every rock and log rose the shrill stridulation of insects. Gorgeous butterflies in black and gold and white fluttered about the stricken field. The mule and the two horses were uninjured and were cropping the sweet grass, heedless of the fate that had overtaken their masters.
But more than horses was needed. Jack could not ride and even if he could cling to the saddle he would do so at the peril of his life.
There was nothing to do but to make a travois—a structure of dragging poles by which the Indians transported their sick and wounded, their tents, and household goods. Calling Cato to saddle the horses, she picked up the hatchet that had split the negro’s scalp, and hurried out of the fort to return a moment later with two long straight poles. These, with Cato’s help, she firmly bound, butt up, on either side of her horse, which she knew to be the gentler of the two, then lashed together the long flexible ends that trailed out behind. Backward and forward, across the angle between, she wove the rope that had bound the pack. Upon this network she fastened blankets till the whole had become a sort of pointed hammock, with sloping flexible sides, one end of which rested on the ground while the other sloped upward ending well out of reach of the horse’s heels. By the time she had finished Cato had packed the camp equipment on the back of the mule.
With some difficulty the two dragged Jack upon the travois. Then Alagwa took the bridle of the horse.
“I lead,” she said. “You ride other horse.”
Willingly the negro climbed to the saddle. “I’se mighty glad to,” he declared, gratefully. “Lor’, Massa, if you knowed how my feet hurt! I reckon Mars’ Jack was right. I must ha’ been standin’ on a rock.”