“It is too bad, Gentle Maiden,” the white boy returned thoughtfully, and then, thinking suddenly of that unknown, lone Indian of whom he had seen or heard nothing for some time, he remarked:
“Perhaps the Indian who has been fighting the white men alone in these forests here was also in the battle. I have not seen him for a long time.”
“He was not in the battle, but a new scalp hangs at his belt.”
“Have you seen him? Has he been here?”
“He has not been here. The runner I told you of saw him; and a white hunter lies dead by the stream named the White Woman. It is his own battle the red brother fights, and he will go to war in no other way.”
“Who is he, Gentle Maiden?”
“My father, Chief Hopocon, may tell you. He is not of my father’s people.”
Knowing that further questioning would be useless, Ree said no more about that matter, but sought to ascertain to what extent his aid and John’s would be acceptable in furnishing meat for the people still remaining in the Delaware village. He quickly found that, whatever her feelings toward the Palefaces in general might be, the daughter of Captain Pipe looked upon himself and his friend in quite a different way, and she gladly heard his suggestion that, as they killed more game than they needed for themselves, he would see to it that the Delawares should not want.
This suggestion cost Ree considerable discomfort of mind, notwithstanding, and he was by no means certain that John would welcome the proposition after he had heard of the battle of which the girl told (the defeat of St. Clair, Nov. 4, 1791). And indeed it did seem to Ree himself almost unbearable to consider that he and John should be furnishing food to the helpless members of Captain Pipe’s village, while that honest but cruel and defiant chieftain and his braves were making war on the whites—his own people; also that they should be giving assistance to those who upheld the mysterious lone Indian in his secret, sneaking attacks upon solitary hunters and travelers. But he bade Gentle Maiden and the other Indians who came to see him off, a friendly farewell, and set out for home, thinking deeply of all he had heard.
The thought would come to him that he and John were bound to have trouble; for, though they might retain the friendship and good will of Captain Pipe, it was more than probable that he would be unable to restrain his warriors, and especially the warriors of other tribes, the Wyandots, Senecas and, most of all, the Mingoes, from making a bold attack upon them, now that their blood was heated by a deeper hate and their minds inflamed by the victory they had won. So, wearily, Ree plodded through the snow.