"They've stopped their yowling. Look out for fresh deviltry!"

He nodded and walked to the front of the cabin. The horse neighed shrilly.

The call was repeated in the forest. The Indians continued silent. I heard it first; that is to recognize it. For I had heard it the day before. The voice of a man shouting fretfully, much as an angry child complains.

Cousin understood it when a whimpering note was added.

"Baby Kirst!" he softly cried. "Black Hoof will 'low his medicine is mighty weak. Baby's out there an' in a bad frame o' mind. Somethin' is goin' ag'in' the grain. It's good medicine for us that he wandered up this way."

I began sketching the happenings at Howard's Creek, but before I could finish the bushes on the hem of the woods were violently agitated and Baby Kirst rode into the clearing, his horse in a lather. When he beheld the dead cows and hogs he yelled like a madman and plucked his heavy ax from his belt, and turned back to the woods. He disappeared with a crash, his hoa.r.s.e voice shouting unintelligible things.

"Now you can go," quietly said Cousin as he unbarred the door. "Be keerful o' the Injuns to the east. They'll be a small band. I 'low I'll foller Kirst. If he don't drive 'em too fast there oughter be good huntin' for me."

That night I rode into the Greenwood clearing on Dunlap's Creek without having seen any Indians along the way.

CHAPTER IV

I REPORT TO MY SUPERIORS

A night at the Greenwood cabin and I resumed my journey to Salem on the Roanoke. Near this hamlet lived Colonel Andrew Lewis, to whom I was to report before carrying or forwarding Doctor Connolly's despatches to Governor Dunmore. The trip was free from any incidents and seemed exceedingly tame after the stress of over-mountain travel. All the settlers I talked with were very anxious to know the true conditions along the border.

As I pressed on and found the cabins more thickly strewn along the various waters I was impressed by the belief of many that the Cherokees would join the Ohio tribes before the war ended. One would expect to find this apprehension to be the keenest where the danger would be the greatest. But not so. Whenever I related how Isaac Crabtree had murdered Cherokee Billy, brother of the powerful Oconostota, the pessimists were positive that the Cherokee nation would lay down a red path.

Notwithstanding these natural fears the war remained popular with practically all the men with whom I talked. Various companies were being formed, and militia captains, to make sure of seeing active service, were not punctilious as to where and by what means they secured their men.

There was much ill-natured bickering over this rivalry, with several matters a.s.suming such proportions that only Colonel Lewis could straighten them out.

The war was popular because the people realized a farther western expansion would be impossible until the Indians had been crowded back and firmly held behind the Ohio. Anything short of a permanent elimination of the red menace was cried down.

Much resentment was felt against the hotheads in Pennsylvania for openly accusing the Virginians of inciting the war to establish their land claims. It was widely known that the Pennsylvania _Gazette_ had published charges against Doctor Connolly to the effect that his agents, acting under his orders, had fired on friendly Shawnees who were escorting white traders into Fort Pitt. Among these settlers east of the mountains the common complaint was about the scarcity of powder and lead.

When within a few miles of my destination I came upon a group of settlers who were gathered about a travel-stained stranger. For the first time since leaving Dunlap's Creek I found myself of second importance. This man was tanned by the weather to a deep copper color and wore a black cloth around his head in place of a cap.

I halted on the edge of the group and waited for him to finish his narrative which must have been of lively interest if the rapt attention of the men and women was any gage.

"--and using the ax I jumped over his body, got to the horse and rode away," his deep voice concluded. He spoke with a palpable effort and almost with a sing-song intonation.

I dismounted and pressed forward, and told him:

"You talk like an Indian."

"G.o.d's marcy, young sir!" cried an old dame. "An', please sweet grace, why shouldn't he? Isn't he Johnny Ward, took by the Injums when a boy, an'

just managed to scoot free of 'em?"

The man slowly looked me over, his face as immovable as any Shawnee chief's. Then with the slightest of hesitation between each two words he calmly informed me:

"Escaped as the white woman says. Named John Ward. Indian name, Red Arrow.

Now I am back with my people. Now I am John Ward again. I talk bad. I talked with Indians most the time all these years. With my old friends I will grow to talk better."

I congratulated him on his return to civilization. Many a man holding a high place in the colony's government and in the affection of the people had been held in captivity; but few were the men who returned after spending so many years with the Indians. In that respect Ward's case was unusual.

"Your talk sounds all right to us," said one of the men. "Mayhap you l'arned some things about the red h.e.l.lions that'll help our boys to give 'em pepper."

"I can lead you to their towns by the shortest trails. I can lead you to their new towns that white men can not find quick," he replied, after a few moments' pause, just as an Indian would wait before answering a question.

Young Cousin flashed into my mind, and I asked:

"Do you know of a white woman--she would be nineteen years old now--named Cousin? She was captured by Shawnees at Keeney's k.n.o.b ten years ago."

For half a minute I was doubtful if he understood my query. Then he shook his head. I was disappointed as it seemed to be an excellent chance to learn whether the girl be dead or alive. Still talking in his peculiar, halting way, he said:

"She, the white woman, was killed, probably. If not that she would be taken to Detroit and sold. Now married and living on a Canada farm, probably. Whites taken prisoners were not let to see each other. No whites were ever kept in the village where I lived."

"What village were you kept in?"

"First in Lower Shawnee Town. Then in more towns. As I grew old they took me to the towns farthest from the Ohio. Then came a time when I went where I pleased, but they never took me on their war-paths south the Ohio."

By this time the country folk began to remember that I, too, was a newcomer, and should have much information or gossip. They turned from Ward and plied me with questions. I briefly recited for the twentieth time since leaving Dunlap's Creek the conditions west of the mountains.

Detailed cross-examination brought forth the happenings at Howard's Creek and the murder of the four Grisdols, and the firing of the Edgely cabin.

When I said that Black Hoof was in command of the Grisdol raiders my audience displayed nervousness, and more than one glance was cast toward the west. The effect on Ward was p.r.o.nounced, also. Rising, he asked:

"Cataheca.s.sa led that path? I must be going. It was from his band I escaped. His warriors followed me. I will go to the east before camping for the night."

"He'll never dare come east of the mountains!" loudly declared one of the men.

Ward's face was inscrutable as he walked to his horse. As he vaulted into the saddle he remarked:

"Black Hoof has a long arm."

So it happened that John Ward, the returned captive, and I finished the distance to Salem. Temptation a.s.sailed me as we reached the edge of the settlement. I had planned all the time to finish my business with Colonel Lewis at his home at Richfield. I had planned this even after learning from Mrs. Davis of the Dales' presence in Salem.

Now, of a sudden, it seemed that I must hunt them up and look on Patricia once more. But Colonel Lewis was waiting for me. I had endured three years without a glimpse of the girl; and leaving Ward to ride on and relate his experience to the Salem people I skirted the town and pressed on to Richfield.

Arriving at the Lewis home I was informed by a colored man that the colonel was not at the house, but somewhere about the grounds.

"An' please goodness, ma.s.sa, I's gwine to fotch him in two shakes of a houn' dawg's tail," he told me.

I threw myself on the gra.s.s and waited. Either the servant's powers of "fotching" had been exaggerated, or else the colonel was quite indifferent to my arrival. Nearly an hour pa.s.sed before my meditations were interrupted.

This was not my first visit to Richfield to report to the colonel, but I felt no better acquainted at the last meeting than at the first. There was a certain reserve in his manner which held folks at arm's length. This impression of aloofness was increased by his personal appearance. His tall figure and stern dark eyes made for austerity.

In military affairs he was said to be overstrict in discipline; this from those who had served under him in former wars. Yet he stood very high in the esteem of the county militia and his superiors. Perhaps his severe mien was the natural result of a life filled with stormy experiences. From early manhood he had been employed in fighting Indians.

He was a captain of militia at the age of twenty-two. Twelve years later he was a major, serving under Colonel George Washington. He was seriously wounded at Fort Necessity. He would have played a prominent part in Braddock's first and last Indian battle had he not been detailed to complete a chain of frontier forts. He was in the disastrous Sandy Creek expedition the year following Braddock's defeat.

In 1758 he was an officer under Forbes, and was one of those captured with Grant's detachment. He escaped the stake only to be held a prisoner in Montreal. Later he led a force against the Cherokees; and in Pontiac's War he commanded two hundred and fifty riflemen under Colonel Bouquet. Now he was picked to command one of the two armies that Governor Dunmore proposed to send against the Indian towns above the Ohio.