The day was Sunday, December 16, said Washington. This evening, after sixteen miles of headlong, crooked course down the silent creek, camp was made. But Tanacharison passed by. The French canoes were not in sight, so that was all right.
The next day they found Half-King in camp below with Juskakaka and White Thunder.
“You are not travelling,” Washington accused.
“No,” said Tanacharison. “Guyasuta is out hunting and we cannot leave him.”
“I think you wait for the French canoes and their liquor,” answered Washington. The lines in his thin face had deepened; he looked worried again. “You see the water is falling, and ice forms. You know I have to go on, with my letter for the governor. Will you let the French steal your brains again?”
“Washington may go on. We will follow as soon as Guyasuta comes, but for the French we care nothing,” declared Tanacharison.
After this it was see-saw—a race for Venango, where the horses waited. And ever the cold tightened, and the ice increased, and the creek grew shallower. Its channel was blocked, and they were obliged to get out and wade and carry the canoe around, from open stretch to open stretch.
First the French canoes passed, together with the Half-King’s canoe. Now there were only three French canoes; one, loaded with presents of powder and lead, had been upset and lost.
Then they overtook the French canoes, and camped ahead of them and Tanacharison.
Then they came to rapids, of icy rocks and foaming water. From the bows Gist called back to Washington: