Several of the officers nodded their heads in acquiescence of the opinion expressed, but the governor murmured in a low, musing tone:
“You may be right, Douglas; but I can hardly believe that you are.”
Then huskily, a shade of alarm in his voice:
“You don’t think they will attack us here—under cover of the darkness?”
“I do not.”
“Very well. I believe that’s all. Call at my tent early in the morning. I want you and the Wyandot to act as interpreters, as we approach the town. But why doesn’t he come forward—why does he stand off by himself?”
“He is an Indian,” Ross answered simply.
Smiling at the reply he had received, the governor turned and rode away in the gathering darkness, accompanied by his staff.
“Bright Wing,” Douglas called.
“Ugh! Me here,” the Wyandot answered, gliding to his friend’s side.