A man brought water in a kettle and held it up for Knight to drink, but gave the old man none. The latter mused:
“Still treating you like a brother. But wait.”
“I’ll not wait. I’ll try to escape the first time my hands and feet are untied,” muttered the Virginian.
Because of their two wounded men and the loot taken from two cabins on the Sandy the band covered not more than a dozen miles a day. During the three days they traveled up Symmes Creek Bryant was loaded with plunder while Knight was compelled to carry nothing. He gladly would have shouldered the old man’s burden, but the later explained:
“Best this way. If you git a glimmer of a chance to scoot you’ll need all your strength. I couldn’t make a race of it if I had half a mile start. I’ve lived my years an’ I’ve sent a sizable number of them on ahead of me.” He paused and lifted his head the better to watch two men busy with something on the opposite side of the small fire. Then he was whispering, “They’re fixing black paint.”
“Black paint!” gasped Knight. “You said I’d be painted black.”
“Not yet. They’ll keep you to show at the village. Got to make some showing to offset the men he’s lost. The women folks would be mad if a prisoner wasn’t fetched in. Here they come. Keep a bold face.”
Two men briskly advanced bearing a bowl taken from some settler’s cabin. This was filled with a rough paste made from charcoal and water. The other Wyandots gathered around to witness the ceremony. A man released Bryant’s legs and jerked him roughly to his feet.
The old man belligerently demanded: