“But I do believe, John,” he said, “that the shot which wounded North Wind was intended for me, and the fellow who shot, then, fired again to-day.”
“You are thinking of Big Pete; I know you are!” John answered. “But I am sure you are mistaken, Ree. Why it was miles and miles away that North Wind was shot, and there hasn’t been a day since then but what we could have both been killed, perhaps, by some one hidden along the road.”
The woodsman, when he had heard the story, coincided with John’s opinion and Ree said nothing more, though he was not convinced that he was wrong.
The brisk talk of the stranger turned the boys’ thoughts to other subjects as the journey was resumed. He was by no means a disagreeable fellow. His real name was “Thomas Trout,” he said, but he was everywhere known as “Tom Fish.” He had tramped over all the hills and valleys for miles around and seemed to know the country thoroughly. He accepted the boys’ invitation to eat dinner with them, and gave a share of the pounded parched corn he carried in a pouch at his belt, in return for venison and coarse corn bread, John having baked the latter on a flat stone beside their camp-fire, the previous night.
When in the afternoon, Tom Fish left the boys he told them they would be likely to see him at Fort Pitt, and gave them many directions as to where they had better “put up” while at Pittsburgh, as he called the place, such being its new name at that time.
John declared he would not sleep a wink that night, but remain on guard until morning. “For we must be prudent,” he said, in a very sober tone, which from him sounded so funny that Ree laughed outright.
And yet John was probably as prudent a boy as Ree; for the latter was so almost entirely fearless that he rushed into danger in a way not prudent at all, and many severe lessons which he learned afterward did not make him cautious as he should have been.
The night passed without one disturbing incident and the rising sun found the boys on their way once more; before its setting they reached Pittsburg.
“Fort Pitt,” as they were accustomed to call the straggling hamlet, stood at the foot of the hills at the confluence of the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers. Because of its location it was an important place and even at the time of which this is written (1790) was a point much frequented by traders, trappers and hunters.
It was with a feeling of awe, that Ree and John drove into the town, and noticed its old fort, its brick and log buildings and general air of pioneer hospitality. People stared at them, and some called to them in the familiar way of the border; but everyone was good-natured and helpful and almost before the boys knew it their horse had been unhitched and fed and they themselves were eating supper in a long, low brick building which served as a sort of public house.