Under the circumstances Rodney decided to run the risk, for evidently the little chap was the only friend he had found, so he said, “Well, you don’t want me killed, do you?”
“Non. I will have you to play with me. Ahneota is my friend. He will give you to me.”
They went to a wigwam at the farther end of the 65 village and found awaiting them an old chief. He was tall and gaunt. His face was long, the nose sharply aquiline, and his eyes were as keen and bright as those of a youth. The chief’s manner was very, dignified, even stern. Louis began his plea, but was ordered to call the Indian, Caughnega. Then, turning to Rodney, the chief asked: “Why come to Indian country and kill game? White man’s game below big river.”
Rodney hesitated. What could he say? He feared to confess that he already had escaped from Indians, it would not be a helpful introduction, to say the least; neither would he lie.
“I was lost and hungry. The bear was hungry, too. I had to shoot,” he finally said.
The searching look of the Indian embarrassed him.
“The pigeon dropped by the eagle spoke not truth but said he fell.”
Rodney flushed under the fierce gaze of the bright eyes of the aged chief. Then lifting his head he resolutely replied: “I have told you the truth, but not all of it. I am here through no fault of my own and am trying to get back to the big river and my people.”
“The big river is many days’ journey. There is blood on the pigeon,” replied Ahneota, pointing to Rodney’s wrists, which yet bore the marks of the thongs with which he had been bound.
“That is the work of Indians. I was on my way down the Ohio to meet my father near the Great Kanawha. The party I was with landed for supper 66 and was attacked by Indians, who killed some and made me a prisoner. I escaped from them and am here. Neither I nor my father ever wronged an Indian.”