"Are you ready?" Townsley asked.
"Ready." Brown's metallic voice rang.
The horses were hitched to the wagon, the provisions and equipment loaded. Brown turned to his loyal followers:
"Arm yourselves."
Owen, Salmon, Henry Thompson, Theodore Weiner and John Brown each buckled a loaded revolver about his waist, and seized a rifle and cutlass.
Weiner mounted his pony as an outpost rider and the others climbed into the wagon. Oliver and Frederick agreed to follow on foot. The expedition moved toward the Southern settlement on Pottawattomie Creek.
Brown crouched low in the wagon as it moved slowly forward and a look of cunning marked his grim face.
He was the Witch Hunter now. The chase was on. And the game was human.
As the sun was setting behind the Western horizon in a glow of orange and purple glory the strange expedition drove down to the edge of the timber between two deep ravines and camped a mile above Dutch Henry's Crossing of the Pottawattomie.
The scene was one of serene beauty. The month of May—Saturday, the twenty-third. Nature was smiling in the joy of her happiest hour. Peace on earth, plenty, good will and happiness breathed from every bud and leaf and song of bird.