“Then all the more reason to move against them, sir,” Washington answered. “They fancy themselves safe. I’ll not have our Indian allies say that when they sent for us with urgent call we preferred comfort to action. We will go at once.”
“I will show the way,” said Robert. “Maybe take a long time, but we find Tanacharison.”
“Well spoken,” Washington praised. “The Hunter came, he can go back.”
“We’ll need Indian senses, that’s sure, colonel,” laughed John Davidson. “You see the boy’s got his war paint on.”
“Maybe Injun now, but American too,” announced Robert.
Washington smiled.
“You may rest while the soldiers are getting ready. How many men has Tanacharison?”
“Scarouady there; White Thunder, Guyasuta, Aroas, Buck, two-three more.”
It was an hour before they all set off—Washington himself, and forty men, and Robert the Hunter as guide. Captain Vanbraam was left with the other men to guard the camp, so that it should not be captured.
The blackness was now so thick that nobody could see where to set his foot down. The rain poured, the wind blew, the men were constantly blundering into trees, and falling down, and losing one another, and voices were drowned. To follow a trail was impossible except by crawling and feeling; and every few minutes a halt had to be made, until the stragglers came in.