The man slowly looked me over, his face as immovable as any Shawnee chief’s. Then with the slightest of hesitation between each two words he calmly informed me:
“Escaped as the white woman says. Named John Ward. Indian name, Red Arrow. Now I am back with my people. Now I am John Ward again. I talk bad. I talked with Indians most the time all these years. With my old friends I will grow to talk better.”
I congratulated him on his return to civilization. Many a man holding a high place in the colony’s government and in the affection of the people had been held in captivity; but few were the men who returned after spending so many years with the Indians. In that respect Ward’s case was unusual.
“Your talk sounds all right to us,” said one of the men. “Mayhap you l’arned some things about the red hellions that’ll help our boys to give ’em pepper.”
“I can lead you to their towns by the shortest trails. I can lead you to their new towns that white men can not find quick,” he replied, after a few moments’ pause, just as an Indian would wait before answering a question.
Young Cousin flashed into my mind, and I asked:
“Do you know of a white woman—she would be nineteen years old now—named Cousin? She was captured by Shawnees at Keeney’s Knob ten years ago.”
For half a minute I was doubtful if he understood my query. Then he shook his head. I was disappointed as it seemed to be an excellent chance to learn whether the girl be dead or alive. Still talking in his peculiar, halting way, he said:
“She, the white woman, was killed, probably. If not that she would be taken to Detroit and sold. Now married and living on a Canada farm, probably. Whites taken prisoners were not let to see each other. No whites were ever kept in the village where I lived.”
“What village were you kept in?”