“Wah!” uttered the Buck. “They have prisoners.”
Robert’s heart sank again. One of the prisoners was tall. The French had kept Washington! Washington would be a great prize. Those were either Long Knife officers, or else Mackaye men, for the Long Knife soldiers themselves had been poorly dressed in all kinds of clothes.
The French marched down to Gist’s; the Indians ran about, among the houses; the soldiers helped, and soon the buildings were burning and the ditch was being filled up. The two men with red coats and trousers sat apart, with French officers.
“They are being saved for torture,” said the Buck. “The Ottawa will eat them, to be made brave with their flesh.”
“No!” Robert cried. “One of them looks like Washington. I am going in.”
“What good will that do?”
“I will find out who they are. They will know me. You will run and tell Scarouady to come and help.”
“Ho!” Buck answered. “That will do no good either. They are being taken to the French big house first, as a show, and will be well watched. Nobody from the outside can help them.”
“I will go in and let them see me,” said the Hunter. “Then they will know that help is coming. I am American.”