"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 mass 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.