“Is it well with you, Monacathuatha?” Gist asked, using Scarouady’s other name as Half-King.
“One chief has talked to another,” said Scarouady. “I have heard good words.”
Then came Croghan and a squad of red-coat soldiers, under an officer, with a litter. They took the Buck to a tent, and put him in it on a bed, and a guard of soldiers walked before it.
After supper the Buck was buried by soldiers. Many officers shook Scarouady’s hand; General Braddock was there, and Washington, and the other head men. When the Buck had been covered up soldiers fired volleys over him—to drive off the evil spirits, said White Thunder, but Croghan explained that the guns were soldier honors, announcing the burial of a brave warrior.
This camp was named Monacathuatha, in Scarouady’s honor, and should always be known as such. All that pleased Scarouady.
“I can see that the Buffalo (who was Braddock) has a good heart,” he said, after everything had been done. “But he should not send his red-coat men alone into the woods. They have no eyes. Now my son is lost to me. The Washington men would have looked before they shot.”
Pretty soon Washington came with Andrew Montour and Doctor Craik to sit by the fire. Washington had put off his red coat and was in buckskin hunting-shirt, like a Long Knife Ranger.
“Wah!” Scarouady approved. “My brudder no turkey gobbler on bare limb. He a panther in the bushes.”
“You are feeling stronger, colonel?” Gist asked. “We rejoice to have you at the front again.”