The day was rainy and dark. Robert the Hunter hastened out, to find Tanacharison. It would not do to take the little trader’s trail leading northeast over the Laurel Hills, for no doubt the French spies were lurking along it. Besides, Tanacharison, ’twas said, had moved from Logstown to the Monongahela south of the Forks, to plant corn in a place safe from the French soldiers.
Therefore the Hunter made his own trail; and travelling his best he struck the Monongahela, flowing leaden under the leaden sky; and after a long time he discovered the new and muddy cornfields of the Mingos, skirted by rude shelters from the weather.
Now it was afternoon, but no Tanacharison was here, nor was anybody here except women and a guard of a few old men.
“Tanacharison is gone,” they said. They were in bad humor. “What do you want of Tanacharison, boy? If you pretend to be a warrior instead of a white runaway you can follow his tracks and find him, but our business is to plant corn so we won’t starve while the French and the English are fighting.”
Old Juskakaka or Green Grasshopper was lying in his brush hut, sore with rheumatism. He scowled.
“Tanacharison is spying on the French,” said Juskakaka. “He took men and marched east this morning. He will do better to let the French alone and stay friends with them. The French are fortifying everywhere; the woods are full of their soldiers; and when they have whipped the English they will not bother the Mingo. You will be wise to wait for Tanacharison here. He may not thank you for chasing him up with trouble words from Washington who has only a few men and knows little of fighting.”
“I shall find Tanacharison,” said the Hunter, much to old Green Grasshopper’s disgust.
He circled out, like a dog, searching the ground; and finally he did come upon a warrior trail washed by the day’s rain. Wah! That was it. It pointed east, into the forest; and into the forest again plunged Robert the Hunter, using all his wits. He had been sent to find Tanacharison.
Now the trail proved to be long, as if the warriors had travelled rapidly; and it was cold and thin and hard to see; and the gloomy forest darkened with drizzle and early night, and the Hunter was tired and hungry when suddenly an Indian sprang up beside him.
And that was Scarouady. Ho!