“Ericus Dale says for us to stop shooting or he can’t save us,” he informed us.
“He can’t save himself!” I yelled back.
“He thinks he can save all of us.”
“He couldn’t save the man at the lick-block,” I reminded.
“Aye. There’s sorry truth in that.”
“This valley’s a trap. John Ward, the white Indian, led him and his daughter into it,” I shouted.
“God help and pity us!” he groaned. Then more calmly, “Ward came back from the woods this morning and said there were no signs of Indians.”
“He met them and talked with them, and planned how they should surprise you people. The warrior at the lick-block knew Dicks would discover him, so he showed himself and made his kill.”
“Aye. That is reasonable thinking.”
“What losses in there?” I asked. I thrust my knife-blade between the logs so he might know where I was standing and cease rolling his eyes in his efforts to locate me.