“Waal! them Injuns was so scared, they commenced gettin’ their prisoners together right off, and they trotted two hundred on ’em up to the front door of Colonel Boquet’s tent inside them ten days. An’ there was doin’s for sartin then!—Pow wows among the sojers who found all sorts of relations that the Delawares or the Wyandots or the pesky Mingoes had carried off, an’ pow wows among the men, an’ the women an’ the children that was brought out o’ their captivity like the Children of Israel.
“Then Colonel Boquet marched ’em all back to Fort Pitt an’ he sent for me an’ told me what he’d done, an’ asked me what I thought on it. I was scoutin’ out of Fort Pitt then, and I jes’ shook his hand an’ says: ‘Colonel Boquet ye’re a reg’lar rip-snorter.’”
“Did you ever hear of the terrible Captain Archer, the outlaw of war times?” asked the fun-loving John, inventing the name to see what Tom would say; for he had his own opinion as to Colonel Boquet having asked Thomas Fish what he thought of that Indian expedition.
“Cap. Archer? Old Cap. Archer! Well I rayther guess I knew him, an’ if he ain’t forgot it, he carries a little lead pill out of my old steel bottle of Injun medicine, clean to this day. Yaas, many a scrimmage I had with old Cap. Archer.”
John was for carrying his questioning further, though he could hardly keep from laughing, but Ree shook his head, unwilling to make fun of one who was so kind to them.
The travelers made excellent progress that morning, finding a very fair road for that rough country, along the river. They met occasional settlers and hunters and whether he knew them or not, Tom Fish always stopped to talk and always asked whether everything was quiet along the border. Many shook their heads, and spoke gloomily of the outlook for peace with the Indians remaining long unbroken.
From a couple of friendly Indians they met, Ree secured a quarter of venison in exchange for a cheap trinket, and although he accompanied the performance with a great deal of bragging, Tom did show the boys that he was a past-master in the art of broiling venison steaks. The fine dinner they had as a result, set his tongue wagging more than ever, however, and John Jerome was more than anxious to take some of the vanity out of him.
They had camped upon a hillside sloping down to the river—the Ohio. The day had come on bright and warm as Indian summer could be, and John had thrown off his coat.
“Now, Mr. Fish,” he said with a laugh, “You see the river down there? I’ve been thinking there may be some one of the same name as yourself in that water, and I’ve a mind to send you to visit your relations.”
The merry laugh of the hunter rang shrill and clear.