“Come here!” I sharply called. “They want a pow-wow. One’s waving a green bough.”
Cousin climbed to the hole in the roof, holding his rifle out of sight by the muzzle. He yelled in Shawnee for the man to advance alone. The warrior strode forward, the token of peace held high. So far as I could see he did not have even a knife in his belt. Overhead Cousin’s rifle cracked and the Indian went down with never a kick.
“Good God! You’ve fired on a flag of truce, after agreeing to receive it!” I raged.
He stood beside me, a crooked smile on his set face, his eyes gleaming with triumph, his shapely head tilted to enjoy every note of the horrible anger now welling from the forest. “You fired——”
“I ’low I did,” he chuckled. Then with awful intentness, “But the folks who lived here an’ was happy didn’t fire on the Injun fetchin’ ’em a bundle o’ peace-talk. They believed the Injuns meant it. Do you reckon I treated that dog any worse than the Shawnees treated my father and mother and little sister ten years ago? If you don’t ’low that, just keep shet. When a Injun sends you a flag o’ truce you want to tie your scalp down, or it’ll blow off.”
The chorus of howls in the forest suddenly ceased, then were succeeded by sharp yelps of joy. Cousin stared at me in bewilderment. Darting to the back of the cabin, he peered through a chink. “Come here,” he softly commanded. I joined him and took his place at the peephole. There was a haze of smoke in the eastern sky.
“That’s why Black Hoof an’ his men are hangin’ round here,” he sighed. “He sent a small band farther east. They’ve made a kill. That’s a burnin’ over there.”
“That would be Edgely’s cabin,” I decided. “But they moved back to Dunlap’s Creek three months ago.”
“Thank God for that!” he exclaimed. “But we’ll have more Injuns round us mighty soon. I wish it was dark.”
“They’ve stopped their yowling. Look out for fresh deviltry!”