“Listen, Hunter,” she said: “Do you want to be a warrior?”
“I am a warrior,” he answered. “I do not talk with girls.”
“Just because you wear panther claws!” Bright Lightning laughed. “Where is your war paint? I know you did find your way through the dark and you saw scalps taken, but now you cut trees like the white people. You have turned white. All right; be a tree cutter if you like, but I am going to find the French.”
“Where?”
“At their great house in the Forks, of course.”
“Wah!” exclaimed the Hunter. “You’re a girl. Who sent you? What can you do? You’re speaking foolish.”
“I can count them,” declared Bright Lightning.
“That is man’s work. Guyasuta and Buck and others are spying,” said Robert. “They bring word.”
“What word?” Bright Lightning answered scornfully. “One day one thing, one day another. The French are giving presents; they buy the Indians and send out lies to Washington. Even the heart of Tanacharison is getting weak. Yes, I am a girl, but I can go inside the French house, and see, and nobody will mind; then I can come out and tell you. You will tell Washington the truth.”