He had been on a peaceful errand to Old Town, to dispose of his baskets, game and peltries, and was now quietly wending his homeward way.
No report of Herrod's death, and the consequent excitement and alarm among the settlers in the Scioto valley, had reached Wawillaway, and when he saw three white men, Wolf and two men whom he had hired to assist him on his farm, coming toward him, no thought of hostile intention on their part or his own was in his heart.
They met him in the trail and he shook hands cordially with them, inquiring about their health and that of their families.
A little talk followed and Wolf proposed to the chief to exchange guns, took Wawillaway's on a pretence of examining it with a view to purchase, slyly blew out the priming, and handing it back, said he did not care to swap.
Wawillaway had seen his treacherous act, but still unsuspicious, took his own gun handing back the other.
"Have the Indians begun war?" asked one of Wolf's companions.
"No, no," said the chief, "the Indians and white men are all one; all brothers now."
"Why, haven't you heard that the Indians have killed Captain Herrod?" asked Wolf.
Wawillaway looked astonished, and incredulous.
"No, no! Indian not kill Captain Herrod," he said. "Captain Herrod not dead?"