“You’re a keen and intuitive observer. By birth I am an American; but I’m in the service of the British, and bound to do their will. To return to Tecumseh, he’s the noblest Indian I’ve ever met. He is the soul of honor—the personification of manly courage. His word is as good as his bond. His people trust him, love him. Had he been at the Prophet’s Town there would have been no battle. He wished to avoid a conflict until he was ready for it. But a general Indian war is coming—inevitably. The Americans will be arrayed on one side; the Indians and British on the other. The Americans will fight to hold what they have gained; the savages, to regain what they have lost; the English, to add to their territory. You have learned much since you’ve been a prisoner. It wouldn’t do to have you escape and return to your people. A captive you must remain.”
Bradford ceased speaking, but Douglas offered no word in reply. The former resumed:
“Tenskwatawa, also, is a wonderful man. He’s eloquent, cunning, forceful.”
“He’s a cowardly scoundrel!” Ross said savagely.
“Yes,” Bradford admitted, “he’s a coward. I don’t admire him. He’s a hypocritical knave. But he’s devoted to La Violette, and you can’t deny that he’s shrewd and eloquent.”
“No.”
“Nor can you explain the power he exercises over his people.”
Ross shook his head.
“It’s something wonderful, startling, uncanny. The more I see of it, the more I’m puzzled. I have felt it——”