The boy had listened to what the backwoodsman had to say with much attention. Now he spoke.
“Eph Taylor was along when I rode up to the Shawnee camp yesterday,” said he. “And as we went he told me how the young braves crowed over them last fall, and how they promised to beat them even worse this year. And when we got to the camp all the young warriors grinned at us and talked a lot among themselves. Eph knows some of their language and said it was all about us, and about the games and how they were going to run away from us in everything we tried.”
Boone looked at Henderson and nodded, grimly.
“Do you see?” said he. “That’s how it will begin. Five years from now these same young redskins will have a voice in the councils of their tribe. Let them carry this feeling of being better than us into those councils, and nothing will hold them back from a bloody war.”
“Well, Noll,” said Colonel Henderson to his nephew, “you see what you’ve got before you.”
The tone was half laughing; but when Oliver Barclay made reply it was with all the seriousness in the world.
“Eph and I talked about it as we rode back home,” said he. “And we made up our minds to give them a hard fight for each match as it came along. Eph and I are to arrange everything to-day; that’s why I am riding over to see him.”
“Well,” said Colonel Henderson, “I suppose you may as well go on if that’s what you are about. I have some business to talk over with Mr. Boone, and will ride back to his farm with him. Will you be home to-night?”
Noll shook his head.
“I don’t think so,” he replied. Then with a laugh: “When I get down to plotting with Eph Taylor there’s no telling when I’ll get through.”