Indians of North America -- Wars -- 1812-1815 -- Fiction; United States -- History -- War of 1812 -- Fiction
“No! There’s no telling. You can go along if you want to, but I’ve got
to warn you--warn all of you.” Rich’s eye swept the group. “We got
news this morning that there was a big council at Wapakoneta last
night. There was a British officer there in uniform and he and Tecumseh
tried to get the Shawnees to go north. Black Hoof (Catahecasa) stood
out against them, and our news is that less than two hundred braves
went. Still, there’s no telling, and the country’s dangerous. Colonel
Johnson’s at Wapakoneta now. Better wait till he gets back.”
“Wait nothin’.” Wolf spat loudly into the road. “General Hull rushed
us here with supplies for Fort Wayne and we’re going through. If any
darned Injun gets in our way he won’t stay in it long. My pluck is to
shoot first and question after.”
The deputy’s brow grew stern. “You’ll be very careful who you shoot and
when,” he ordered, sternly. “A single Indian murdered by a white man
might set the border in flames and turn thousands of friendly Indians
against us. I’ll let you go through, but I warn you that if you shoot
any Indians without due cause Colonel Johnson will see that you hang
for it. We’ve got the safety of hundreds of white people to consider
and we’re not going to have them endangered by any recklessness of
yours. You understand?”
Wolf shrugged his shoulders. “I reckon so,” he muttered.
“All right, see that you heed.” Rich turned away from the men and
greeted Jack. “And where are you bound, sir?” he asked smilingly.
“I’m looking for Colonel Johnson,” returned Jack. “I’m looking for
a young lady who was to have been left in his care. Have you heard
anything about her.”
“A young lady?” The deputy stared; then he laughed. “No! I’m not young
enough,” he remarked, cryptically.
“Then, with your permission I’ll just tag along after our crusty
friends in the wagon.”
The deputy hesitated. “I have no power to stop you,” he said. “But
you’d better wait here for Colonel Johnson.”
“I can’t. The matter is urgent. Come, Cato! So long, boys!” Jack nodded
to the group around him, shook his bridle and cantered off after the
wagon, which had just vanished among the trees.
CHAPTER V
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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