“Oh, Henry, please don’t go out among the Indians again!” cried little Nell, to her brother. “And don’t you go either, Cousin Dave,” she added.
“We are not going just yet,” said Henry, giving his sister a kiss.
“Oh, I hate the Indians so!” went on the miss, with a stamp of her foot.
“Not all Indians,” replied Dave, with a smile. “Don’t forget White Buffalo.”
“Oh, he is only an Indian in looks,” answered Nell. “He has a white man’s heart—Uncle Sam told me so.”
“By the way, where is White Buffalo?” asked Henry.
“He has gone to visit his tribe,” answered Rodney. “He thinks the different factions will unite now and sue for peace. Sir William Johnson is going to give them all a chance to bury the hatchet, and White Buffalo thinks it is a grand chance for his tribe to unite once more and live in peace.”
What Rodney said about Sir William Johnson was true. The Indian Superintendent had sent agents to all of the chiefs of the Six Nations, and also to the chiefs of the tribes along the St. Lawrence and in Canada. The Indians were to meet the Superintendent at Johnson Hall in central New York State. Many came to the conference, which began early in September and was productive of some good, although not a great deal. The Iroquois were induced to send messages to other tribes in the west, urging them to bury the hatchet, and they also sent word to the Delawares telling them not to listen to the western tribes that desired to plunge them into further bloodshed. The Senecas would not come to the conference, and they continued to kill and plunder whenever the opportunity presented itself, and the tribes from along the Mississippi did likewise. White Buffalo’s tribe of Delawares continued to remain split, much to the old chief’s sorrow, one part aiding the English, and another part aiding the Indians, and the French who still held certain trading posts and refused to give them up.
The regulars and frontiersmen to sally forth from Fort Pitt after the enemy, were gone four days. When they returned they announced that practically all the red men had departed either for the north or the west. They had encountered one band of fleeing men under Moon Eye and had slain two of the Indians. One regular had been shot in the arm, a wound that was painful but not serious. They had come upon the torn carcass of the bear, which the wolves had used for a feast after the Indians had cut away the hide and some choice steaks, and had found the torn body of one cub. Sam Barringford had also gotten a long-distance shot at a buffalo, probably the one followed by Dave, but the animal had gotten away from him.
“I think we can make the trip eastward in safety now,” said Rodney, to his uncle. “Evidently the redskins are pretty badly scared. It may be safer to make it now than later on. Besides, we don’t want to wait till winter is on us.”