“I have seen many places which were fair to look upon, but none more fair than Ella Dell,” said he. “In days to come the spot will bring many doubloons to the pockets of the Morrises. The game love the spot, the deer and the fish cannot stay away from it, and the river makes sweet music as it passes it by.”
“Yes, my brother told us of it before,” answered Joseph Morris. “It was continually in his mind. I sincerely trust we can make our title good to it. But what do you know of the French around there?”
At this the brow of White Buffalo clouded. “The French are not my friends, nor are they the friends of the English who have gone toward the setting sun. The French would keep that fair land for themselves, and send away both the English and the Indians. Sooner or later there will be war because of this.”
“War!” cried Dave.
The Indian nodded gravely. “The French and the English are at peace, but when they buried the hatchet many moons ago none of the great warriors spoke of the lands between here and the Father of Waters,” he went on, meaning by Father of Waters the Mississippi River. “I have heard the story from White Thunder, and also from Tanacharisson, the Half-king. The French have sailed upon the Father of Waters and claim all the lands which drain therein; the English claim this land because of a treaty made many winters ago with the Iroquois. And the Indian who lives upon the land, what of him, with his squaw and his pappoose? If the French or the English take the land he will have nothing, and he and his squaw and his pappoose can starve. Yes, the hatchet will be dug up again.”
“It sounds reasonable, White Buffalo,” answered Joseph Morris, after a thoughtful pause. “But if war should come because of this, I think the Indians ought to stand in with the English.”
“White Buffalo will stand with his white friends. But he cannot speak for those of other tribes. Many will fight with those who promise the most, for we are but children when it comes to dealing with the white man. I have lived with you long and I know you better than do most of my people. The Indian is wise, but his wisdom is of the woods and not of books. The white man can cheat him if he will, and the Indian will be none the wiser.”
Here the conversation changed and Joseph Morris went over the list his brother had sent him. Before retiring that night it was decided that he should depart for Winchester and Annapolis the next day, leaving White Buffalo to remain at the cabin until his return.
“Can’t I go with you and help buy those things?” asked Dave of his uncle.
“Would you like to go very much, Dave?”