The Hunter kept away from the Delawares and the Pontiac Ottawas. His heart beat high, for he yet might be known through his paint. Where were the Mohawks? There they were, getting together, with the French Iroquois their brothers; and he hastened over and sat down, to wait the signal of the chiefs.
Ho! There went Beaujeu, turning with a shout—“Here, my children!”—and with gallant wave of hat. After him trotted the Anastase Hurons. The Mohawk and Caugh-na-wa-ga chiefs cried: “Quick! Or the Hurons shame us!” and with a great yell the jealous Mohawks and other Iroquois leaped to join the van before the Ottawas and Shawnees beat them.
The Delawares and Mingos had stood aside. They were not yet decided; and they stayed at the fort.
Seemingly as eager as any, Robert trotted with the Mohawks. Nobody had eyes for him; he was a warrior in full paint, like the rest of them. The Hurons travelled rapidly, taking a long, single file when they entered the woods; the Mohawks and Caugh-na-wa-gas also travelled rapidly, taking to single file. By the yells behind, the other bands were following. Then the forest swallowed the noise.
Pat-pat, scuff-scuff, sounded the moccasins. The attack from ambush along the trail of the English and Long Knives had started into motion. Robert the Hunter, in Mohawk paint, wondered how he was to get out of the scrape in time to find the red-coat column—but it would be better first to find Scarouady, or Gist, or the Virginians, and send word to Washington.
By the talk, now and then, the English were to be attacked at the second ford of the Monongahela. That was ten miles by rough trail. Wah! He did not know whether he could keep up this pace, for his strained ankle was hurting cruelly. If he could drop out, some way, and cut across, he could shorten the distance; and he’d have to wash off that paint or he’d be shot on sight by an English bullet.
Ho! And ever pat-pat, scuff-scuff, on the way to surprise Washington! Ho! He could make good use of that ankle. He began to limp more than necessary; and soon the Mohawk next behind him said:
“My young brother is lame. Let me go ahead.”
“Pebble in my moccasin,” Robert replied gladly. So he fell out and sat down, to rid himself of that pebble. While he was pretending to take his moccasin off the file passed.