On the south side of the lodge, across the fire from Black Hawk, sat the sinister Ne-a-pope, dark of visage and wrapped in his familiar, faded green blanket. The third brave, seated on the west, was none other than the burly young chief, Prairie Wolf. Ne-a-pope and the Wolf, together with the soldier deserter, Pat Fagan, had arrived at Sycamore Creek only an hour before, after their hurried journey across country from Fort Dearborn. “Ho, Ne-a-pope,” spoke up Black Hawk, “you are back from your long journey.” “Aye,” responded Ne-a-pope, “I have returned.” “You had talks with the British in Canada?” “Aye, we took council for many hours.” “What was decided?” “The British will send help, oh Black Hawk.” “It is well,” the chief rejoined, his eyes glowing brightly at the news. “When and where will the red-coats come?” “By way of Mil-wa-ke, so they said. It may be that they have started up the lakes ere now.” “Your words lift my drooping spirits, oh worthy Ne-a-pope,” confessed Black Hawk. “Your heart is heavy?” “My heart is heavy, very heavy.” “Why so?” “It is this way. When I took up the war-hatchet against the hated pale-face, I had reason to think that the Foxes, Winnebagoes and warriors of other tribes would rush to my side. They had sent me the red wampum.” “None have come in?” “Only a handful.” “Why is this so?” “The Pottawattomee chief, Shaubena, and others of his powerful nation, have passed among them, saying that Black Hawk is a madcap, a fool to fight the swarming pale-faces, who number as the leaves of the trees.” “The accursed Pottawattomees have been bought with pale-face gold!” cried Ne-a-pope, his face writhing with fierce anger. “It may well be,” admitted Black Hawk. “Also, I begin to fear that the Foxes and Winnebagoes are old women, afraid to raise the war-cry. The ancient courage of their fathers has gone. Their hearts are faint and their muscles feeble.” “Mayhap Fox and Winnebago await the day when Black Hawk gives battle to the pale-face soldiers,” put in the sullen Prairie Wolf, who had been listening silently to the conversation. “Did I not cross the Wapt-pa-ton-ga (Great River),” replied Black Hawk, somewhat stung by the Wolf’s blunt statement, “and throw down the gauntlet? What did noble Fox and brave Winnebago do then? I will tell you. They skulk in their lodges, like beaten dogs.” “Aye, but they only await a victory. That will bring out their war-paint. Advance, oh chief, with your valiant warriors.” “The Prairie Wolf speaks words of great wisdom,” nodded Ne-a-pope vigorously. “When Fox and Winnebago hear how the white soldiers ran at our fierce charge, and see the many scalps hanging from Sac girdles, they will flock to our side. We will drive the thievish pale-faces from our lands forever!” “Your tongues are sharp,” Black Hawk replied thoughtfully, “but it may well be that your advice is of the best.” “Ho!” said Ne-a-pope.