“We don’t belong to nobody’s command,” was the prompt reply. “We jest got away from the dang Winnebagoes—after bein’ pris’ners a year an’ a half—an’ come here. We hain’t ’nlisted yit. All the duty we’ve done was to go with Cap’n Oliver, to meet Gener’l Clay.” “You were Captain Oliver’s guides?” “We were, Gener’l.” “You’re brave and true men,” the commander said kindly. “You’ve not hesitated to risk your liberty and your lives in the service of your country—not once, but many times. I appreciate your patriotism and your devotion to your friend. I’m very sorry to know he was in that—that dreadful fight across the river. But I can’t grant you permission to throw away your lives to no purpose. If your friend be dead, you can be of no service to him; if he be wounded or a prisoner, he has been removed to the British encampment, ere this. You can’t aid him. If he be alive, he will be exchanged in due time. Now I must bid you good-morning—I’m very busy. But, believe me, I sympathize with you more than you know. I remember your friend, and grieve to know that such misfortune has befallen him. Good morning.” Farley and Bright Wing shook hands with the commander and quietly withdrew, followed by the pitying glances of the officers. On reaching the open air, Joe heaved a deep sigh and remarked: “Well, that settles it, Injin; we can’t go. An’ I wouldn’t wonder Ol’ Tippecanoe’s right, after all. We’d only lose our scalps by goin’—an’ do no good. The Gener’l used us mighty kind, anyhow.” “Ugh!” rumbled up from the Wyandot’s deep chest. “Tippecanoe him all much good heart—no bad.” “Well,” Farley sighed in return, “as I said before, all we can do is to wait an’ watch, an’ hope an’ pray. Le’s go an’ hunt somethin’ to eat. I’m pow’rful hungry; an’ the purp must be ’bout starved. This life’s a kind o’ tangled snarl anyhow—it is, ’r my name ain’t Joe Farley!” On all sides the battle was ended. The heavy guns had ceased to belch flame; the querulous voices of the rifles were silent. The powder smoke had lifted and disappeared; the groans of the wounded and dying no longer fell upon the ear. The sun shone brightly; and the birds in the adjacent forest sang gleefully. Shortly after noon, a small boat was seen crossing the river. In the stern sat a British officer bearing a flag of truce. One of General Harrison’s aides met him at the landing, and inquired: “Who are you, and why do you come?” “I’m Major Chambers of his Majesty’s service,” was the reply; “and I’m sent by General Proctor, to demand the surrender of this fort.” “You’ll have your labor for your pains,” answered the aide. “However, I’ll blindfold you and conduct you to General Harrison.” Ushered into the American commander’s presence, Major Chambers said: “General Proctor has directed me to demand the surrender of this post. He wishes to spare the effusion of blood.” General Harrison smiled blandly, as he replied: