“Well?”
“He loves another.”
“How do you know that?”
“I had it from his own lips.”
Bradford playfully patted her cheek—which caused Duke to growl menacingly—as he replied:
“Pshaw, little one! You must give no heed to the vaporings of a delirious brain. Wait until he’s himself. You’ll see how easily you can win his love. He babbled of you when I was bringing him here.”
“Did he?” And a glad light sprang into her eyes.
“Yes. Leave everything to me. I’ve been your friend in the past; I’m your friend now. And both of us are his friends. Now go for a walk in the open air—and get some color into your cheeks.”
The days and weeks dragged drearily. Ross Douglas did not arise from the depths of fever and delirium, into which his wound had plunged him. Daily he grew weaker and thinner. In spite of the unremitting care of his nurses, he seemed slowly but surely drifting toward the shores of the unknown. November passed; December came—and Christmas was drawing near. And still the hosts of death laid siege to the citadel of his life.
In the meantime, disaffection again arose in the ranks of the Prophet’s followers. The winter was severe; and food was scarce. Many of the Indians drifted away from the Mississinewa, in search of game, or returned to their old homes. Tecumseh sat in his cabin, moodily pondering over the condition of affairs. Yet had it not been for his presence, his and his brother’s followers would have deserted, to a man. As it was, only the Miamis and a faithful few of the various tribes remained. In the latter part of November, Tenskwatawa sent messengers to Fort Harrison, to ask for a share of the annuities that were being distributed to the peaceable savages. These messengers succeeded in deceiving the agent at the post, and returned to Mississinewa with a large amount of provisions and other stores.