The Indian shook his head. Kingdom scarcely knew whether he meant that he did not know or that he did not wish to tell. But he tried another question.
“Was it Lone-Elk?”
For a second or two there was no reply. “Yes, maybe Lone-Elk killed Big Buffalo,” came the answer, but the tone even more than the words expressed doubt.
“Well, can you tell me this, Fishing Bird: What is the secret of the Seneca’s power among the Delawares and why is he a wanderer and an outcast from his own nation and his own tribe? We all know that he is a sort of a fugitive, yet even Captain Pipe allows him the greatest liberty.”
“Listen,” said the Indian slowly and solemnly, “Paleface brothers must see always that no hurt comes to Lone-Elk, the Seneca. Yes, Lone-Elk is hated and Lone-Elk is hunted by his own people; but listen, White Fox, listen to this: Lone-Elk and no other knows where much lead for bullets is hidden in the ground. To Captain Pipe and to all the Delawares Lone-Elk brings lead—sometimes bullets, too—always lead. No, no! Lone-Elk will never show where lead comes from, so must no hurt come to him. Anything Paleface brother asks will Fishing Bird do, but if Lone-Elk dies who will know where lead is found! Lead placed in the ground by the Great Spirit for his children, the Delawares; for that is as Lone-Elk tells them.”
Kingdom could not help smiling slightly at the simple earnestness of the Indian, but he was interested, too, greatly interested. Once or twice before he had heard Delawares make secret references to the finding of lead in the earth somewhere in the locality of the Cuyahoga river. Now he was convinced that a mine existed, the location of which was known only to the scheming Seneca.
“So that is why Captain Pipe harbors the fellow though he knows that his history is so bad,” spoke Kingdom, partly to the Indian, partly to himself.
“White Fox knows how all the Indians look always now for much powder—much lead,” the Delaware returned. He was thinking of the trouble along the border and the fighting which was sure to follow the march of “Mad Anthony” Wayne’s army into the Indian country to avenge the killing of so many of St. Clair’s men the year before.
Kingdom read Fishing Bird’s meaning easily as print, though never until now had he realized how fully the redskins were planning for the expected battle, nor guessed how completely posted they were concerning the probable object of the troops Wayne was assembling on the Ohio below Fort Pitt.
“But you followed the Seneca, Fishing Bird. You watched him nearly all night, you say. Tell me, then, if Lone-Elk must not be harmed, what can you do, what am I to do if he makes trouble? Are we to let him drive Little Paleface from home—and me too? For of course if my friend cannot be with me, I shall not wish to stay here.”