“Have you seen that man Bradford, to-day?”
“I have not, governor.”
“Do you know what has become of him?”
Douglas silently shook his head.
A fierce scowl darkened the commander’s face as he said in a low tone:
“Nor do I—but I have an opinion. He’s an infernal traitor—and has deserted. I have no doubt that at this moment he’s in the Prophet’s Town. Dark and devilish treachery is afoot. But thanks to you, my young friend, I shall not be taken by surprise. When I again have that man before me, I shall know how to deal with him. The black is a mere tool—an ignorant dupe. Keep your knowledge to yourself. I’ll defeat Bradford’s purpose—whatever it may be.”
The army reached the elevated piece of ground three-quarters of a mile from the village, and went into camp. It was late in the evening. The sun was sinking in a bank of dun-colored clouds—an indication of a dark and rainy night.
The teamsters disposed of their wagons, as on the previous evening. Wood and water in abundance were near at hand, for a clear creek, bordered by trees and bushes, flowed at the rear of the camp. Night shut down and a drizzling rain began to fall. But supper was under way, and the appetizing odors of broiling meat and boiling coffee cheered the hearts and loosened the tongues of the tired men. The merry snap and crackle of dancing flames drowned the doleful voice of the wind sweeping across the open prairie and soughing among the scrubby trees.
While the men were unloading the vehicles and pack-horses and preparing supper, several Indians from the town ventured within the lines. Having in mind the mysterious disappearance of Bradford and the open desertion of Ben, Governor Harrison promptly ordered the red warriors to betake themselves to their own camp. At the same time he requested them to send back the negro—whom the staff officer had failed to find, and who was still in hiding at their village. This they promised to do.
Ross Douglas listened silently to the idle tales of his companions, but his thoughts were far away. He was thinking of Amy Larkin—as he had thought of her a hundred times that day. He wished that he might see her, if only for a few seconds. He felt lonely and depressed. Then the disfigured countenance of Hiram Bradford arose before his mind’s eye and shut out the fair face of his sweetheart.