XVIII
A LITTLE BEAR IN A TREE
Scarouady, White Thunder, Aroas, the Buck and Robert had been scouting in front. They had to be very careful. It was near evening, and they had turned back, when White Thunder saw figures stealing through the trees of a little dip.
“Hist!” he said. “There are Ottawa!”
And they, too, stole rapidly to head the Ottawa off. Then when they were running among the trees, here came soldiers, running too; and the soldiers halted and leveled their guns.
“Ho!” cried Scarouady. He stopped short and stood out and grounded his gun and held up a leafy bough that he tore from a bush. This was the sign agreed upon between the scouts and the soldiers, as a friend sign.
But the soldiers were excited. They paid no attention to the sign; their guns spoke, the bullets spatted, and the Buck fell. The soldiers saw their mistake too late. They saw it when Scarouady ran with a wild shout and looked at the Buck, and sat beside him with his hands over his face.
In a moment he uncovered his face. He drew his paint from his belt pouch and by the time the soldiers had come in he had painted his face black. That was the mourning color.
The soldiers were sorry and tried to explain, but this was no time to listen to them. As for Robert, he felt cold and sick. Instead of scolding the soldiers Scarouady uttered no word; he let them lift the Buck and carry him back to the camp. He and White Thunder, Aroas and the Hunter trod after.
Washington had just arrived at the camp, in a wagon. Thin and pale he was from his sickness. The wagon trip must have hurt him, but evidently he had been determined not to miss a battle.
His eyes saw the procession as it wended through among the soldiers; he read Scarouady’s paint; and he hurried upon unsteady legs.