“Wouldn’t s’prise me a whit. You know how I been lookin’ fer thin’s to explode any day now.” “Let’s get down there and find out for certain,” proposed Tom, hurriedly pulling on his jacket. “What are we waiting for?” cried Ben. As the trio hurried across the old log bridge, they could see a cluster of people gathered about the river gate of the fort. There were soldiers, trappers, traders, half-breeds and villagers talking animatedly, with much waving of hands and nodding of heads. “Somethin’s poppin’, that’s fer certain,” affirmed Bill, at the same time breaking into a trot. “What’s brewing, Sandy?” called Tom, a moment later, as they reached the fringe of the crowd and caught sight of the friendly trapper. “Plenty! Chief Black Hawk’s crossed the Mississippi with his Sacs!” “When?” asked Bill Brown, his face muscles very taut. “’Bout five days ago, I guess, on the twenty-sixth of April.” “Wonder where he crossed?” the big scout went on. “At the Yellow Banks, they say, jest below the mouth o’ the Rock.” “Is he camped ther?” “No, he didn’t tarry. Reports say he’s takin’ the trail up the east bank o’ the Rock.” “Whew!” cried Bill, “right into the heart o’ Illinois. I’ll bet ther’s terror amongst the settlers.” “Bound to be,” nodded Sandy. “I’ll wager that many outlyin’ places has been attacked afore now.” “An’ that means scalps,” observed Bill sadly. “Scalps hangin’ from Sac belts.” “Yep, it do. By now many a painted Injun has tumbled offen his pony, a white-man musket-ball in his vitals. On tother side, many a pale-face has wakened in his cabin at night, to hear yells, see the flamin’ arrers piercin’ the dark, an’ knives an’ war-axes flashin’ in the red light.” “Not a pretty picture,” put in Ben Gordon, shivering in spite of his resolute spirit. “Naw,” Sandy assented, “it ain’t. But it’s goin’ to git worse afore it gits better.” “What’s the Gov’ner done ’bout it, Sandy?” continued Brown. “Did you hear?” “Called fer volunteers to ‘repel the red murderers,’ as he puts it.” “Whar’ll the volunteers rendezvous?” “At Beardstown.” “Well, they should raise a pile of volunteers,” Tom remarked, “with excitement running high, as it no doubt is.” “Yep,” nodded Bill, “ther’ll be a sight of ’em flock in. But how hard they’ll fight is a horse of a diff’rent color.” “You said it, pardner,” agreed Sandy, with a dubious look on his grizzled face. “I don’t put much stock in the fightin’ qual’ties o’ these fly-by-night volunteers. Ther purty much a rabble. Chances are ten to one they’ll run like sheep when they clap eyes on ther first screechin’ Injun.” Bill Brown was about to make further comment, when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning quickly about, he found a blue-coated orderly waiting to talk with him. “Major Whistler wants to see you at his quarters at once,” said the orderly. “Also the two lads here. Better get up there as soon as you can, as he’s in a thunderin’ sweat over this Injun monkey-bus’ness.”