“Young man, you’n me will be painted black once we git to the Lower Sandusky village. Better they treat us now, the worse they’ll treat us when we make the village. I won’t need much killing. But you’re younger an’ stronger. You’ll be stubborn an’ die hard. I’m nigh to eighty. Forty-odd year ago they’d had a rare time with me. My pride would a held me up. Now they won’t git much fun out of my dying.”
“Merciful heavens!” hoarsely whispered Knight, and he turned to stare at the leaping, gesticulating figures circling the scalp poles.
The older man casually explained:
“Of course I tried to git killed along with Ben an’ Tom. Didn’t have no luck. Chief there is Cap’n Jimmy, his white name. Red name’s Little Beaver. If you see the slimmest chance for ducking out, grab it. Don’t make over your back track. Strike west an’ lose yourself. If you live to hit the Scioto, travel southwest to the Ohio and follow it down to Massie’s Station.[[1]] As a fact you’ll prob’ly be overhauled mighty sharp an’ sudden. But that’s all right if they don’t take you alive. That’s the prime p’int I always tried to ding into our settlers. Never be took alive. Now see me! Trussed up like this! ’Low I’ll raise the chief’s dander. Sometimes you can git them mad enough to swing an ax and cheat themselves out of the torture.”
[Footnote 1: Manchester, Adams County, Ohio.]
He threw back his head and in the Huron dialect loudly called out:
“Ho! Ho! They say a chief runs back whipped from a red path. They say he throws away his warriors like a foolish man. Has a wolf stepped over his gun and spoiled his medicine? His young men break away and bring two scalps. Where are the scalps Little Beaver has taken?”
The chief stared at him ferociously. A man near-by reached forward and struck him across the mouth.
Bryant philosophically remarked:
“Well, it didn’t work that time. Mebbe next time.”