“Is he camped ther?”
“No, he didn’t tarry. Reports say he’s takin’ the trail up the east bank o’ the Rock.”
“Whew!” cried Bill, “right into the heart o’ Illinois. I’ll bet ther’s terror amongst the settlers.”
“Bound to be,” nodded Sandy. “I’ll wager that many outlyin’ places has been attacked afore now.”
“An’ that means scalps,” observed Bill sadly. “Scalps hangin’ from Sac belts.”
“Yep, it do. By now many a painted Injun has tumbled offen his pony, a white-man musket-ball in his vitals. On tother side, many a pale-face has wakened in his cabin at night, to hear yells, see the flamin’ arrers piercin’ the dark, an’ knives an’ war-axes flashin’ in the red light.”
“Not a pretty picture,” put in Ben Gordon, shivering in spite of his resolute spirit.
“Naw,” Sandy assented, “it ain’t. But it’s goin’ to git worse afore it gits better.”
“What’s the Gov’ner done ’bout it, Sandy?” continued Brown. “Did you hear?”
“Called fer volunteers to ‘repel the red murderers,’ as he puts it.”