“Who’s he? Never heard of the old jigger.”
“Big Sac chief, second to Black Hawk.”
“Hm—! What’s he doing here?”
Bright Star put his finger to his lips; then listened with the utmost attention for a few moments.
“Ne-a-pope come from Canada,” he went on finally. “At Fort Malden, across river from Detroit, he make talk with British.”
“Don’t tell me the British aim to aid Black Hawk and his Sacs?” muttered Ben.
“Ne-a-pope say British help Black Hawk. Much gun, bullet, food, blanket come pretty soon. Come in big boats on big lake, by way Mil-wa-ke.”
“Hm—! Bill Brown was right. There’s big mischief afoot. Only he didn’t know the half of it.”
The Pottawattomee again put his finger to his lips, at the same time pointing violently toward the fire. A short, rotund Sac brave had arisen from the group about the fire and was advancing directly toward them! For a moment the hearts of the three watching boys fairly stopped beating, and they held their bodies so rigid and tense that they ached all over. Then they relaxed, all of a sudden, like punctured balloons, as the advancing brave bent low to pick up an armful of oak faggots, which he toted back to the lagging fire.
“Black Hawk also get red wampum and tobacco from many Indian nations,” continued Bright Star, after a period of further listening. “Ottoways, Chippeways, Foxes and Winnebagoes. All promise to take war-path at signal.”