American fiction -- 19th century; Historical fiction; Indians of North America -- Fiction
Nevertheless, the savages were aware that the country around the burned
hut, for a considerable extent, differed, in this particular, from most
of that which lay farther east, or more inland. On the last a trail
would be much more easily detected than on the first, and a party,
under the direction of a particularly experienced leader, was dispatched
several miles to the eastward, to look for the usual signs of the
passage of any toward Detroit, taking that route. This last expedient
troubled Peter exceedingly, since it placed a body of enemies in the
rear of the fugitives; thereby rendering their position doubly perilous.
There was no help for the difficulty, however; and the great chief saw
the party depart without venturing on remonstrance, advice, or any
other expedient to arrest the movement. Bear's Meat now called the head
chiefs, who remained, into a circle, and asked for opinions concerning
the course that ought next to be taken.
“What does my brother, the tribeless chief, say?” he asked, looking at
Peter, in a way to denote the expectation which all felt, that he ought
to be able to give useful counsel in such a strait. “We have got but
two scalps from six heads; and one of THEM is buried with the
medicine-priest.”
“Scalps cannot be taken from them that get off,” returned Peter,
evasively. “We must first catch these pale-faces. When they are found
it will be easy to scalp them. If the canoes are gone, I think the
medicine-bee-hunter and his squaws have gone in them. We may find the
whole down the river.”
To this opinion most of the chiefs assented, though the course of
examining for a trail farther east was still approved. The band was so
strong, while the pale-faces were so few, that a distribution of their
own force was of no consequence, and it was clearly the most prudent to
send out young men in all directions. Every one, however, expected that
the fugitives would be overtaken on, or near, the river, and Bear's Meat
suggested the propriety of their moving down stream, themselves, very
shortly.
“When did my brother last see the pale-faces?” asked Crowsfeather. “This
bee-hunter knows the river well, and may have started yesterday; or even
after he came from the Great Council of the Prairie.”
This was a new idea, but one that seemed probable enough. All eyes
turned toward Peter, who saw, at once, that such a notion must greatly
favor the security of the fugitives, and felt a strong desire to
encourage it. He found evasion difficult, however, and well knew the
danger of committing himself. Instead of giving a straightforward
answer, therefore, he had recourse to circumlocution and subterfuge.
“My brother is right,” he answered. “The pale-faces HAVE had time to
get far down the stream. As my brothers know, I slept among them at the
Round Prairie. To-day, they know I was with them at the council of the
spring of gushing waters.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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