“How him know it?” returned the chief; “look here, Winnebeg fight him English,” and baring his thigh, just below the left hip, he showed the scar of a superficial flesh wound still encrusted with blood.
“Where did you get that, Winnebeg, and how long since?”
“Two week,” he replied, holding up as many fingers, “near Canard Bridge, close, to Malden, Canada—General Hull angry—say Winnebeg no business fight—carry him despatches.”
“General Hull! How long has General Hull been there? Where, then, is Colonel Miller, of the fourth regiment, who commanded the other day?”
“Colonel Miller Detroit too; but Hull big officer—great chief—come with plenty sogers—send Winnebeg with despatch to Gubbenor here.”
“Indeed! This is important; I must hasten to see Captain Headley, and learn from him the contents. Alas! my good friend Winnebeg, this news may, and I fear will, be the cause of my utter ruin. Of course, you have no idea of what the despatch contains?”
“Yes, Missa Kenzie, Winnebeg know. Winnebeg wish to speak to you about despatch—say go directly to Fort Wayne.”
“The troops ordered to Fort Wayne, and all we possess left wholly unprotected. This is indeed a calamity,” said the trader, raising his hand to his now thoughtful brow.
“You no take him goods on pack-horses to Fort Wayne?” remarked the Indian inquiringly.
“Impossible, Winnebeg! I might take a few packages of peltries, but the great bulk must be left behind; yet it seems to me folly to go to Fort Wayne. We shall be cut off before we get there.”