For an hour they walked onward over the uneven ground, neither speaking. Squads of savages were on all sides of them, all bearing in a south-easterly direction. Some were mounted, some were afoot. All were in a panic to escape from the vicinity of Harrison’s army. Squaws and children bent and groaned under their burdens, as they stumbled along; but the haughty warriors, bearing their arms only, scorned to offer them assistance.
Another hour passed. The sun had almost reached the zenith. The way was growing rougher, but with dogged persistence the rabble pressed forward.
All this time the silence between Douglas and his companion remained unbroken. Now the latter laid his hand upon the former’s arm and said:
“You have had nothing to eat to-day?”
“Nothing.”
“I have some dried-beef. Will you share it with me?”
“Gladly.”
They drew out of the line, and seated themselves by the side of a small stream. Bradford produced a quantity of dried-beef and a horn drinking-cup from the pouch that hung at his side. Silently they ate of the food and drank of the water from the brook. Duke seated himself upon his haunches and begged for his share. Ross patted the hound’s head and tossed him several strips of the cured flesh. Seeing which Bradford remarked:
“You’d better eat that meat yourself or save it for another meal. The Indians, in their haste, have left behind nearly all their supplies. There’s not food enough among them to last twenty-four hours; and the chance of procuring more isn’t good. Don’t you see how the braves are scowling at you as they pass? When there’s scarcity of food, the Indian eats sparingly; his dog fasts.”
“Yes, I know,” Douglas returned as he dropped another piece of beef into Duke’s capacious mouth. “I’m not unacquainted with their customs.”