But they had left a plain trail in the snow; and now by daylight the enemy would follow at full speed; so they three did not dare to camp. They ate bread and meat while they walked. Gist said that a little creek here ought to flow into the Allegheny. Down along the creek they plodded, all this day, without sleep. Surely Washington and Gist were strong men. Robert resolved that Tanacharison should hear about this march.
“We can go no further,” gasped Christopher Gist, at dusk. “We’ll camp where we are. I think we’re safe until morning.”
“And where are we?” George Washington queried.
“The creek has broadened. The Allegheny’s within easy distance. We’ll strike it at daybreak and cross on the ice.”
“Once across, we’ll soon be at Fraser’s house and get horses,” Washington planned. “Then I can make quick time to Will’s Creek and on to the settlements.”
They slept this night under a lean-to of boughs, their feet to a little fire. To sleep was very good. Never in his life had the Hunter been so fagged. They had walked with scarcely a pause a half day, a night and a day, through snow and upon ice, in sun, darkness and cold, up hill and down, ever in a wilderness.
Washington and Gist were astir early, ere the sky had lightened. Truly, Indians who would catch these two men should travel like the elk.
“Forward, march!” bade Major Washington. “Come, Hunter. We cross the river.”
He hobbled, Gist hobbled, and Robert the Hunter hobbled after.
It was not far to the river. Robert had fallen a little behind when Washington, in the lead, halted stock still in the fringe of the woods. His voice carried clearly through the dawn light: