Surveying before that."

"Then, by Harry, sir! You could be in better business," he snapped. "What with Dunmore at the top, and thieving, land-grabbing settlers at the bottom, this country is going to the devil! Dunmore cooks up a war to make a profit out of his land-jobbing! Settlers quit good lands on this side the mountains to go land-stealing in the Kentucky country and north of the Ohio. It riles my blood! I say you could be in better business than helping along the schemes of Dunmore and that trained skunk of his, Jack Connolly."

I smiled pleasantly, beginning to remember that Ericus Dale was always a freely spoken man.

"Do you mean that there is no need of this war? You say it is cooked up."

"Need of war?" he wrathfully repeated. "In G.o.d's mercy why should we have war with the Indians? All they ask is to be let alone! Ever see a single piaster of profit made out of a dead Indian unless you could sell his hair? Of course not. The Indians don't want war. What they want is trade.

I've lived among 'em. I know. It's Dunmore and the border sc.u.m who want war. They want to steal more land."

I had no wish to quarrel with the man, but I, too, had been among the Indians; and I could not in decency to myself allow his ridiculous statements to go unchallenged.

"How can the country expand unless the settlers have land? And if the Indians block the trail how can we get the land without fighting for it?

Surely it was never intended that five or more square miles of the fairest country on earth should be devoted to keeping alive one naked red hunter."

He fairly roared in disgust. Then with an effort to be calm he began:

"Land? Settlers? You can't build a profit on land and settlers. Why, the colonies already refuse to pay any revenue to England. Line both sides of the Ohio with log cabins and stick a white family in each and what good does it do? Did the French try to settle Canada? No! The French weren't fools. They depended on trade."

"But they lost Canada," I reminded.

"Bah! For a purely military reason. The future of this country is trade.

England's greatness is built up on trade." His trick of jumping his voice on that word "trade" was very offensive to the ears.

"Pennsylvania has the right idea. Pennsylvania is prosperous. Pennsylvania doesn't go round chopping down bee-trees and then killing the bees to get the honey. What good is this land over here if you can't get fur from it?

Settlers chop down the timber, burn it, raise measly patches of corn, live half-starved, die. That's all."

His crazy tirade nettled me. It was obvious I could not keep in his good books, even with Patricia as the incentive, without losing my self-respect. I told him:

"This country can never develop without settled homes. We're building rudely now, but a hundred years from now----"

"Yah!" And his disgust burst through the thick lips in a deep howl. "Who of us will be alive a hundred years from now? Were we put on earth to slave and make fortunes for fools not yet born? Did any fools work and save up so we could take life soft and easy? You make me sick!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dale, to hear you say that. However, the war is here----"

"The war may be here, in Virginia, among the backwoodsmen. It is also in Dunmore's heart, but it ain't in the hearts of the Indians," he pa.s.sionately contradicted. "The Indians only ask to be let alone, to be allowed to trade with us. Some canting hypocrites are whining for us to civilize the Indians. Why should they be civilized? Do they want to be?

Ever hear of Indians making a profit out of our civilization? Did the Conestoga Indians make a profit when they tried to live like the whites near Lancaster, and the Paxton boys killed fourteen of them, men, women and children, then broke into the Lancaster jail where the others had been placed for their safety, and butchered the rest of them?

"Did the ancient Virginia Indians prosper by civilization? I reckon if the old Powhatans could return they'd have some mighty warm things to say on that score. Why shouldn't the Indians insist we live as they do? They were here first. The only way to help the Indian is to trade with him. And when you help him that way you're helping yourself. That's the only point you can ever make a red man see.

"I know the Indians. I can go into their towns now, be they Cherokee, Mingo, Shawnee or Delaware, and they'll welcome me as a brother. They know I don't want their land. They know I'm their true friend. They want me to make a profit when I trade with them, so I'll come again with more rum and blankets and guns, and gay cloth for their women."

"You have the trader's point of view, and very naturally so," I said.

"Thank G.o.d I ain't got the land-grabber's point of view! Nor the canting hypocrite's point of view! Nor a thick-headed forest-runner's point of view!" he loudly stormed, rising to end the discussion.

But I was not to be balked, and I reminded him:

"I called to pay my respects to Mistress Dale. I hope I may have the pleasure."

"She's in the field back of the house. I'll call her," he grumbled. "I have a man in my kitchen, a white man, who has lived with the Indians ever since he was a boy. He knows more about them than all you border-folks could learn in a million years. He's the most sensible white man I ever met. He agrees with me perfectly that trade is what the Indian wants; not settlers nor Bibles."

"Your guest would be John Ward!" I exclaimed, remembering the governor's errand. "I was asked by Colonel Lewis to find him and send him to Richfield. The colonel and Governor Dunmore wish to talk with him."

"Ho! Ho! That's the way the cat jumps, eh? Want to milk him for military information, eh? Well, I reckon I'll go along with him and see they don't play no tricks on him. I've taken a strong liking to Ward. He's the one white man that's got my point of view."

"He lived with the Indians so long he may have the Indians' point of view," I warned.

"The sooner white men learn the Indians' point of view the better it'll be for both white and red. Ward knows the Indians well enough to know I'm their friend. He knows I'm more'n welcome in any of their towns. I'm going to carry a talk to Cornstalk and Black Hoof. If I can't stop this war I can fix it so's there'll never be any doubt who's to blame for it."

"I tell you, Dale, that no white men, except it be Ward or Tavenor Ross and others like them, are safe for a minute with Logan's Cayugas, Cornstalk's Shawnees, Red Hawk's Delawares, or Chiyawee's Wyandots."

"Three years ain't even made a tomahawk improvement on you," he sneered.

"You mean to tell me that after all my years of friendship with the Indians I won't be safe among them, or that any friends I take along won't be safe among them? You talk worse'n a fool! I can send my girl alone into the Scioto villages, and once she gives belts from me she will be as safe as she would be in Williamsburg or Norfolk."

"Such talk is madness," I cried. "The one message your cousin, Patrick Davis' wife, on Howard's Creek, asked me to deliver to your daughter is for her not to cross the mountains until the Indian trouble is over."

"An old biddy whose husband is scared at every Indian he sees because he knows he's squatting on their lands. My cousin may not be safe on Howard's Creek, but my daughter would be. I'll say more; once the Indians know I am at Howard's Creek, they'll spare that settlement."

It was useless to argue with the man. It was almost impossible to believe that he meant his vaporings for seriousness. With a scowl he walked to the rear of the house and entered the kitchen. All the windows were open, and his voice was deep and heavy. I heard him say:

"Ward, I want you. We're going to have a talk with two white men, who don't understand Indians. Pat, that young cub of a forest-running Morris is out front. Hankers to see you, I 'low."

My leather face was still on fire when I heard the soft swish of skirts.

Then she stood before me, more beautiful than even my forest-dreaming had pictured her, more desirable than ever. She courtesied low, and the amazing ma.s.s of blue-black hair seemed an over-heavy burden for the slim white neck to carry.

She smiled on me and I found my years dropping away like the leaves of the maple after its first mad dance to the tune of the autumn's wind. I felt fully as young as when I saw her in Williamsburg. And time had placed a distance other than that of years between us: it had destroyed the old familiarity.

To my astonishment we were meeting as casual acquaintances, much as if a chin-high barrier was between us. It was nothing like that I had pictured.

I had supposed we would pick up the cordiality at the first exchange of glances. I stuck out my hand and she placed her hand in it for a moment.

"Basdel, I would scarcely have known you. Taller and thinner. And you're very dark."

"Wind and weather," I replied. "It was at Howard's Creek I learned you were here. I was very anxious to see you."

"Don't stand." And she seated herself and I took a chair opposite her. "So nice of you to have us in mind. It's some three years since."

"I reckon your father doesn't fancy me much."

"He's displeased with you about something," she readily agreed. "You mustn't mind what he says. He's excitable."

"If I minded it I've forgotten it now," I told her. I now had time to note the cool creamy whiteness of her arms and throat and to be properly amazed. She had been as sweet and fresh three years before, but I was used to town maids then, and accepted their charms as I did the sunshine and spring flowers. But for three years I had seen only frontier women, and weather and worry and hard work had made sad work of delicate complexions.

"Now tell me about yourself," she commanded.

There was not much to tell; surveying, scouting, despatch-bearing. When I finished my brief recital she made a funny little grimace, too whimsical to disturb me, and we both laughed. Then quite seriously she reminded me:

"But, Basdel, your last words were that you were to make a man of yourself."