“You’re a durned scoundrel anyway.”
But Jim Crow was quite unabashed.
“See, it this,” he said, and for the moment his face had ceased to grin. “I see much. I learn much. See.” He waved an arm, comprehensively taking in the whole countryside. “White men all dead—all kill. Beacon—it gone. Fort—it gone. Farm—all gone. So. Miles an’ miles. They all kill. Soldiers, come by south. They, too, all kill. Indian man everywhere. So. To-morrow they eat up dis farm. So. They kill all.”
“Wal?” Seth seemed quite unconcerned by the man’s graphic picture.
At once Jim Crow assumed a look of cunning. His eyes became narrower slits than ever.
“So. It dis way,” he said, holding up a hand and indicating each finger as he proceeded to make his points. “Black Fox—him angry. Much. Big soldier men come from north. They fight—very fierce, an’ tousands of ’em. They drive Indian back, back. Indian man everywhere kill. So. They come. Chief him much angry. Him say, ‘They come. But I kill all white men first.’ So to-morrow he 325 burn the farm right up, an’ kill everybody much dead.”
“And the soldiers are near?”
The white man’s words were coldly inquiring, but inwardly it was very different. A mighty hope was surging through him. The awful suspense had for the moment dropped from his sickening heart, and he felt like shouting aloud in his joy. The Indian saw nothing of this, however.
“Yes, they near. So. One sun.”
Seth heard the news and remained silent. One day off! He could hardly realize it. He turned away and scanned the horizon. Jim Crow grew impatient.