"When other moons have waxed and waned, and when the Great White Father has made known unto us his commands, we shall return once more to the river and the plains to dwell by the Great Blue Water with our brothers, the Pottawattomies, whose kindness and whose wise counsels are forever written in our hearts."
"They say it is well," said Mackenzie, when the long speech and its brief answer had been translated; "and that they will pray unceasingly to the Great Spirit that the moons may be few ere the friends of the red men return."
Forsyth and Mackenzie went home thoroughly exhausted. Night brought no relief from the intense heat, and the guards paced listlessly to and fro. Under cover of the darkness a small company of soldiers, under Ronald's orders, broke up the muskets and flint-locks, wet down the powder, put the shot into the well in the sally-port, and knocked in the heads of the barrels containing liquor.
Careful as they were, noise was inevitable. Barrel after barrel was rolled to the river bank and its contents poured into the stream. A cask of alcohol shared the same fate, and the peculiar, pungent odour filled the air.
"It's too late, sir," said a soldier, when he came in, rolling the last empty barrel before him.
"What do you mean?" demanded Ronald.
"The Indians, sir. Three of them are lying in the grass downstream, drinking the river water for the sake of the grog."
"Where are the rest?"
"In the woods, sir, dancing, same as last night. The northern pickets told me, sir."