“War,” Ross answered promptly and emphatically. “The reasons for your opinion, if you please,” the commander said quietly. “Had they desired peace,” was the quick reply, “a deputation of their chiefs—headed by the Prophet himself—would have met you ere this. They have been aware of your coming. They mean to give you battle.” Several of the officers nodded their heads in acquiescence of the opinion expressed, but the governor murmured in a low, musing tone: “You may be right, Douglas; but I can hardly believe that you are.” Then huskily, a shade of alarm in his voice: “You don’t think they will attack us here—under cover of the darkness?” “I do not.” “Very well. I believe that’s all. Call at my tent early in the morning. I want you and the Wyandot to act as interpreters, as we approach the town. But why doesn’t he come forward—why does he stand off by himself?” “He is an Indian,” Ross answered simply. Smiling at the reply he had received, the governor turned and rode away in the gathering darkness, accompanied by his staff. “Bright Wing,” Douglas called. “Ugh! Me here,” the Wyandot answered, gliding to his friend’s side. “Where is Duke?” Ross asked, glancing around. “Duke him gone hunt meat—him big heap hungry dog,” was the guttural reply. “Well, I’m big heap hungry myself,” Douglas laughed as he shifted his gun from one shoulder to the other. “Come; let’s find Joe and have some supper.” By this time the wagons had been arranged in a semicircle inclosing several acres of prairie. Soldiers were busy erecting tents and lighting camp-fires. Teamsters were watering their jaded beasts at the river and feeding them in the inclosure. The two scouts threaded their way among the mass of men and animals, until they reached the farther end of the area. There Farley had picketed his two yoke of oxen, and, assisted by a number of militiamen, was unloading his vehicle. Their camp-fire blazed and crackled cheerily; and about it a half-dozen soldiers were preparing to cook their evening meal. As Douglas and Bright Wing drew near they heard Joe saying whimsically: “Go ’way, Duke, an’ behave y’rself. Have some manners, an’ wait till y’r victuals is cooked. Drat it all, I never _did_ see such a hungry dog! I’ve give him ’bout two pound o’ raw meat, an’ he’s lickin’ his chops fer more. By cracky! If he gits much hungrier, he’ll eat me an’ the oxen. Git out o’ the road, you rascal, ’r I’ll fall over you. Wher’ve you been all day—an’ wher’s y’r master? No use to roll y’r eyes an’ whine—I ain’t a-goin’ to feed you no more. I wish you could talk—I do, by Samanthy! It makes me feel sort o’ creepy an’ uneasy—you a-comin’ in here, an’ no sign o’ y’r master ’r the Injin. “Ding-it-all-to-dangnation! Why _can’t_ a dog talk? They’ve got sense an’ they’ve got souls, an’ they _ort_ to have the power o’ speech. Do git out from under my feet, ’r you an’ me’ll have a fallin’ out d’rectly. Hello! Here comes y’r pardners.”