By the time we reached the mouth of the Great Kanawha no guard was kept over me that I could perceive; nor were my limbs any longer bound at night. At each camp Lost Sister ranged the woods and brought in roots and herbs and made strange-smelling messes in a camp kettle and assiduously dosed the girl.
Rafts were quickly knocked together and the crossing made to the Indian shore. I had expected the band to dig out hidden canoes and descend to the mouth of the Scioto. Instead we struck into a trail across-country. The path was well worn, and the fork we followed ended at the Scioto above Chillicothe, the principal Shawnee town.
Much of the distance Patricia walked, although the litter was taken along for her convenience. Lost Sister talked with me at times and I began to feel that the barrier between us was much lower. But she never spoke of the settlements or her brother. Her talk was always a red talk and she never addressed me except in Shawnee.
From her I learned we were making for Cornstalk’s Town, some twenty-five miles above Chillicothe, located on Scippo Creek. Among border men this region was known as the Pickaway Plains. Near our destination was Grenadier Squaw’s Town, named after Cornstalk’s gigantic sister.
I suffered no incivility during the overland march. My status became that of an attendant on the great manito’s medicine-child. Patricia continued in a dazed state of mind, but after two days of arduous travel I detected her weeping. Lost Sister enigmatically warned:
“She is another woman. She is more like the woman she once was. She must keep close to her manito.”
I could interpret this only to mean that the girl was recovering from her mental shock and was recalling bits of the past, and that she was safe only so long as the savages believed her to be insane. At our last camp from Cornstalk’s Town Patricia insisted on walking beside me when the trace would permit it and she startled me by saying:
“My father was good to me.”
“Do you remember me?” I asked.
“Remember you, Basdel? Why, of course. What a queer question.” Then with a little frown she sighed and complained. “But I don’t understand why I am here with you and these Indians. I wonder if it is a bad dream, if I will soon wake up.”