“Udder shore of lake. Want to find the Great William. You help or Yellow Nose die,” went on the Indian, pointing to his silent companion.
Dave and Henry drew closer and lowered their muskets. What Blue Crow said was true—the Indian in the bottom of the canoe was wounded both in the breast and the stomach. He was breathing in loud gasps, and it was easy to see that his earthly career was fast approaching its end.
“I am sorry, but we can do nothing for your friend,” said Dave softly.
“Nothing?” repeated the Indian on the seat. “Nothing,—and Yellow Nose tried to do much for his English brothers.” He drew his mouth down bitterly. “His reward must come from the Great Spirit alone.”
“If you want to find Sir William Johnson we can take you to him,” said Henry. “The fort is only a short distance up the lake. We can paddle the canoe.”
“Let us bind up your wounds first,” said Dave, and this was done, and they also tried to do something for the Indian at the bottom of the canoe. But in the midst of their labors Yellow Nose breathed his last.
Having covered the dead Indian with a coat, and done all they could for Blue Crow, Dave and Henry took up the two paddles the canoe contained and lost no time in moving the craft up the lake in the direction of the Niagara River. They soon reached one of the usual boat landings, and here fell in with a score or more of soldiers. By this time Blue Crow had fainted away, and it took all the skill of one of the fort surgeons to revive him.
“He wants to see Sir William Johnson,” said Dave. “I believe he carries some sort of message.”
“Then we’ll take him up to the fort on a litter,” said the surgeon. “I do not believe he can recover. He has lost too much blood.”
By the time the fort was reached Blue Crow was in danger of another relapse. Sir William Johnson was speedily summoned. As he came in he recognized the Indian as one he knew fairly well.