“Little Beaver and his Wyandots. Cap’n Jimmy, the whites call him. Poor Bryant told me. Chief has red stripe up and down his back.”
“That’s Little Beaver. All his men have red stripes till they quit his band. My name’s Kinsty. I’d like to obleege you. Too much risk. If Little Beaver is on your trail he’d cross into Kentucky quicker’n scat to overhaul you.”
“Good heavens! You’re a white man. You don’t refuse to help me?” pleaded Knight.
“I’m just saying I ain’t going to cross to t’other shore and run the risk of having a Wyandot or Shawnee ax sunk in my head. There’s a better way. Twenty-five miles down stream, by the Injun path, is Massie’s Station. It’s a bit longer by water. Know anybody there?”
“No one. Not a soul.”
“Makes no difference. They’ll be glad to take you in.”
“If you won’t go with me then set me on the path. I must get somewhere that’ll be safe to close my eyes in, and sleep.”
“I’ll lead you there,” assured Kinsty.
“Then let’s get into your canoe and start now.”
Kinsty shook his head.