“And never come back to them alive?” she insisted, and she leaned forward and stared intently into my eyes.
“Never alive, sweetheart.”
“That is much better,” she quietly remarked. “And here comes my sister. She has been very good to me. I wish we could take her with us. Over the mountains, or to death.”
“She refused to go over the mountains with her brother. We must tell her nothing,” I warned.
Lost Sister gave me a quick glance as she came up. She gazed at Patricia in silence for a moment, then warned:
“The white woman must keep close to her manito. The eyes of the eagle and the ears of the fox are in this village.”
“She is having bad thoughts,” I told her. “Lead her thoughts through new paths.”
As I strolled away I heard her beginning a Shawnee myth, in which it was explained why the wet-hawk feeds while flying, and how the small turkey-buzzard got its tufted head.
According to the notches cut in my long stick it was the first day of September. Now that Cornstalk was back and in conference with Black Hoof the village became a center of importance. Notable chiefs and medicine-men of the northern tribes began to assemble. Lost Sister pointed out to me Puck-e-shin-wa, father of a six-year-old boy, who was to become one of the most remarkable Indian characters in our history, under the name of Tecumseh.
Young Ellinipsico, son of Cornstalk, was there, gay in his war-trappings and eager for the battle. Blue Jacket, another famous Shawnee chief and warrior, was in attendance. Of the allied tribes I saw Chiyawee the Wyandot, Scoppathus the Mingo, Redhawk the Delaware, and most interesting of all, John Logan, chief of the Mingos.