"If they dig up the hatchet too often they will be wiped out," said James Morris. "They may fight all they please—in the end both the English and the French will conquer them."
"How large do you think our country will get in time, father?" questioned
Dave.
"That is a hard question to answer, Dave. I think you may live to see strong settlements on the Ohio, and your children may see towns on the Mississippi. About the great Western countries I know nothing, nor does any other white man. I suppose they are overrun by Indians and all sorts of wild beasts, or perhaps there is nothing there but beasts and trackless forests."
"It's too bad the Indians won't live as the white people live," went on
Dave thoughtfully. "We might get along famously together."
"It is not the Indian's nature to till the soil, my son. He loves to roam about and to hunt and fish and then take it easy. More than this, when the spirit stirs him, he must fight; and if he cannot fight the white man he will fight his fellow Indians. You have often heard White Buffalo tell how one tribe will fight another tribe for several seasons, and how the tribes sometimes split up and fight among themselves."
"Of course; didn't the Delawares to whom he belongs split up, one side going to the French and the others fighting under White Buffalo for our cause? But when a war is over they might settle down."
As the time passed the others concluded that Henry and Barringford had found the buffalo hunt longer than they had anticipated.
"Perhaps the animal has led them such a chase they won't come back until morning," suggested James Morris. "It is no fine thing to travel in the wet and darkness."
"Right you are," said Sanderson. "Sam may hunt in the wet if he wants to, but none of it for me."
An early supper was had, and something was kept hot for those who were missing, for it was felt they would come in chilled to the bone and with tremendous appetites.