“Messenger from Talladega. Much hurt.”
In a few moments a group of Cherokees came forward, bearing a burden between them; they approached the fire and the white boys saw that it was an Indian brave whom they carried; as Running Elk had said, he seemed badly wounded.
However, he was strong enough to talk; impressively he began to tell his story to the Indians, but in the midst of it, catching sight of the white youths, he broke off. Holding out his hand to them, appealingly, he said in fairly good English:
“Young paleface, I, Black Bear of the Cherokee people, ask you to carry my message to your chief.”
“Speak, Black Bear,” said Jack, quietly; “and be sure we will do so.”
The wounded Indian lifted himself upon an elbow and proceeded.
“I am of the village of Talladega; we of that village are friends of the white man. Four suns ago the Red Sticks attacked us; they had us ringed about with spears and arrows, and they were as many as the leaves of the forest in summer. We fought, but we were too few to drive them away. Then we held a council, and our old men said we must get a runner through the enemy to bear the news to the white man, our friends.”
“And you are the chosen one, are you?” asked Frank.
“I am the fourth,” said Black Bear, steadily. “The others were killed before they got out of sound of the council lodge.”
“How did you get through?” asked Jack Davis.