“Nothing. But hold, chief. Where had we best camp to-night—here or across the river?”
“Here,” and, with a curious smile, the Indian described a circle with his hand. “We safe this side Beaver—not so safe, p’r’aps, on other side.”
Preparations for a sojourn till day, on the bank of Beaver river, were at once inaugurated by the party, and several of the outlaws employed themselves in catching fish below the falls.
Spagano, the Wyandot guide, lingered about the little camp.
To him the outlaws owed their lives. It was in this manner:
Immediately after rounding the bend that shut the exiles from Splitlog’s sight, an Indian made his appearance on the river-bank, and Funk was induced to take him in. He proved to be the bearer of startling news, and declared that he was acting in accordance with the wishes of the Wyandot sachem—Splitlog.
Colonel O’Neill and two hundred soldiers (the Indian’s exaggerated statement) were waiting for the outlaws at Dead Tree Bend. They were well armed, and the colonel was determined to rid the “fire-lands” of the Night-Hawks at one blow.
Royal Funk believed the Indian and ran his boats ashore. Then debarking, he wrote the message that so irritated the Briton, and sent the canoes adrift.
The journey to the lake-shore had now to be performed overland, and as the Wyandot was desirous of visiting Detroit, he was made the head guide of the party. Before the brave’s appearance, Funk felt that his red-coated rival lay somewhere in ambush; but now he believed that he had successfully eluded him, and that they would not meet in the forest again.
Spagano was impatient, and ill at ease as he helped prepare the camp.