“Deerfoot. I saw him early this morning down by the river.”
Deerfoot was a Pottowattomie Indian, friendly to the white settlers and to the Halls in particular. He had taught Joseph and Robert much of what they knew of woodcraft and that he was a skillful teacher was attested by the prowess the two boys had acquired.
“Is it serious?” demanded Robert anxiously. He had been removing weeds from the newly sprouted cornfield and he leaned on his hoe as he waited for his brother’s reply.
“Deerfoot says it is,” replied Joseph. “He says that Black Hawk is very angry and means business this time.”
“But what’s it all about?” Robert insisted.
“The same old trouble. Black Hawk doesn’t want to leave this side of the Mississippi and doesn’t intend to either, if he can help it.”
“He signed a treaty nearly thirty years ago saying he would go, didn’t he?”
“I know it,” said Joseph. “According to Deerfoot, though, Black Hawk thinks he was deceived at that time and that the treaty doesn’t bind him. I think that if he had been made to leave at the time he signed that treaty down at St. Louis, everything would have been all right. They told him, however, that he could stay on until this country was thrown open for settlement and now that they want him to go he refuses. At least that’s what father thinks.”
“Is he going to fight?” exclaimed Robert.
“Deerfoot says so. He told me we’d better get to some safe place, too.”