Immediately after the order to break ranks was given, the soldiers began to prepare their breakfasts, while the teamsters went to water and feed their pack and draught animals. The camp-fires were relighted, and soon the appetizing odors of cooking food pervaded the place.
Douglas left his companions to the performance of their various duties, and went to report at the tent of the governor. He found a number of scouts—who had returned to camp too late to report on the previous evening—in conversation with the commander and his staff. Ross took up a position near the door of the tent, to wait until the others should finish their business and take their departure.
The central figure of the group of scouts was a tall, broad-shouldered man of fifty years. His long black hair was plentifully sprinkled with silver, and his countenance was a crisscross of fine care-lines. His dark blue eyes were alert and beaming with native intelligence. But a puckered red scar on the right cheek drew up the corner of his mouth and marred the symmetry of his face. He wore the picturesque garb of a backwoodsman; but there was an indefinable something about him that gave the lie to his outward appearance.
Ross had seen the man almost daily since leaving Vincennes, but had not formed his acquaintance. Now, for some reason, the young man’s attention was closely drawn to the scar-faced scout. He heard him saying in answer to a question from the governor:
“Yes, I was clear inside of the Injin town; that’s why I didn’t git back till late last evenin’.”
Douglas started. The man’s husky voice sounded strangely familiar. Governor Harrison was remarking:
“And you found the savages friendly, Bradford?”
Ross strained his ears to catch the answer.
“Yes, governor, I did.”