His keen, mental agony was shown in his face. General Harrison was surprised. Advancing, he laid a hand upon the young man’s shoulder and said kindly:
“You mustn’t take the matter so to heart, my boy. Hiram Bradford deserves to die. He shall have full justice; but no mercy will be shown him, if proven guilty. I cannot fathom why you—a pure-minded patriot—are so anxious to have a traitorous deserter escape merited punishment.”
“Let me tell you, General Harrison,” Ross cried, springing to his feet. “Then do as you will. Hiram Bradford, the English spy—the American deserter, is John Douglas—my father!”
Had a British shell exploded within the tent, General Harrison could not have been more dumbfounded. He tried to speak, but failed. After staring blankly at his companion for some time, he commenced to pace rapidly up and down the room, clasping and unclasping his brown hands, in an agitated manner. At last he stopped in front of Ross, and said calmly:
“Sit down and tell me all about it.”
A number of officers entered the tent, before the tale was concluded. The commander paused long enough to say:—“Be seated, gentlemen; I shall be through presently.”—And again he gave Douglas his attention. At last the two arose. Taking Ross’s hand, the commander murmured:
“Circumstances change the aspect of many plain cases. Your father shall not be tried for his crime; he shall go free. But the matter must forever remain a secret between ourselves—even your trusty comrades mustn’t know. This afternoon an officer and escort will bear a flag of truce to the British camp, to complete arrangements for an exchange of prisoners. You will take your father and accompany them. Bring the young woman back with you; but leave your father there, with the injunction that he is to make his way to Canada and never set foot upon American soil again. Wait a moment—I’ll give you an order for his release.”
A quarter of an hour after, father and son issued from the blockhouse together—and John Douglas was a free man. In the full light of the murky day, he looked bent, worn, and feeble; and he kept close to his stalwart son’s side, as though looking to him for guidance and protection.
Shortly after noon, the two joined the officer and escort, who were setting out for the British encampment. On their way toward the eastern gate of the fortification, they were joined by Farley, Bright Wing, and the hound.
“Where’ve you been all the forenoon, Ross?” the old woodman demanded in an injured tone. “Me an’ the Injin an’ dog’s been huntin’ you all over the place. Duke nosed ’round, an’ said you was down at that blockhouse”—pointing with the barrel of his gun.—“But me an’ the Injin knowed that couldn’t be, ’cause ther’s pris’ners in there—an’ you wouldn’t have no business with them. Then the houn’ took up a ’maginary trail, and tracked you to Ol’ Tippecanoe’s tent. We knowed that was a lie, too; ’cause we peeked in, an’ you wasn’t there. So we’ve kind o’ lost faith in the purp. The smell o’ blood, yisterday, must ’ave spiled his scent. But where’ve you been?”