About sixty miles above Fort Meigs, near the junction of the Auglaize and the Maumee, lay Fort Winchester—formerly Fort Defiance. Within its walls, General Green Clay and his Kentucky militiamen were encamped—resting after their long and arduous march, and knowing nothing of the urgent need of their presence at Fort Meigs.
In the early morning of the thirtieth of April, three men entered the gateway of the fortification. They were Captain Oliver and his two guides. The former immediately made inquiries for the commander, and was directed to the officers’ quarters. Farley and Bright Wing stopped with a squad of men near the gate, and the loquacious Joe entered into conversation with them. While the white men were talking, the Wyandot leaned upon his gun and swept his eyes about the place. Suddenly he gave a grunt of astonishment and laid his hand upon his comrade’s arm.
“What is it, Injin?” Farley inquired, as he whirled about upon his heel.
“Dog—dog Duke!” muttered Bright Wing in awe-struck tones, his gaze fixed upon a distant part of the inclosure.
“Duke?” exclaimed Joe. “What do you mean? Where?”
“Dog Duke him over there—now gone,” came the soft guttural reply.
“Say, Injin, you’re gittin’ loony,” Farley asserted solemnly. “Ther’ ain’t no dog over there—n’r hain’t been.”
“Me see dog,” the Wyandot insisted. “Look heap much like Duke.”
“Yes, he saw a dog—’r a bloodhoun’, to be more exact,” affirmed a raw-boned Kentuckian, pointing toward one of the corner blockhouses. “I saw it, too. The animal was jest passin’ into the blockhouse. He’s an unsociable brute, an’ belongs to one o’ the guides.”