“Between here and La Belle Riviere are many Mingoes, Delawares and Shawnees. Little Knife cannot fly nor leap from tree to tree like panther. He must be brother of Ahneota.”
The boy was startled. It seemed to him that the Indian had been reading his thoughts.
“The paleface comes and Ahneota’s brother must take his scalp. That Little Knife cannot do,” Rodney replied.
Silence of many minutes followed. Rodney became uneasy and was about to leave when the chief, taking a stick in his trembling hand, drew it over the sand and began to describe the country which lay between them and the Ohio River.
“Before another moon,” he said, “the palefaces will come in many canoes to the Indians’ country. Little Knife will run to meet them. He will not be the brother of the chief. He must go to his people. He must go like the fox.”
The following day Ahneota called in several men of the village and Rodney. Then, giving his rifle to the boy, he said: “Little Knife has been brother of Ahneota, has brought him meat when he starved. He must have gun to bring more meat, for the chief is old and cannot hunt.”
The Indians did not look pleased, for the rifle was a valuable one and much coveted. One said, “White blood must be washed away,” but, as the old chief made no reply, they went away.
As the boy started to leave the lodge the Indian lifted his head and said, “When Little Knife points the old chief’s gun at man, let him not see the colour of skin.”
Rodney now began to store up, against the emergency he knew was approaching, a stock of dried venison, and hominy and parched corn. His experience 117 when surrounded by hostile savages had taught him the difficulty of securing food on the march.