Washington replied quickly:
“He is coming with Captain Vanbraam and my pack horses, but their whereabouts are uncertain. An interpreter you should have. This boy will serve you. He is the adopted son of the Mingo Half-King at Logstown, and I vouch for him. He speaks English, and understands a little French. He will be of great help to you. His name is the Hunter, and a hunter he is, and knows the country. He has been all the way to the French with me, and has borne himself bravely.”
Washington turned to Robert.
“I wish you to go with these men,” he said gravely. “You are willing?”
A lump had risen in the Hunter’s throat. He had travelled far, he had had a hard time, he was almost at the end of the trail in the comfortable country of Washington’s Americans where he was to learn to be white—! So he hesitated for just a moment. Then he said:
“I will go. I am American.”
“Bravo!” smiled Washington. “It is the part of an American to serve his country.”
The Hunter gulped.
“You will come, Washington?”
“If I am honored with an appointment to the wilderness again, I will come.”