Feeling, strong and intense, spoke in the boy’s tones. Alagwa could not mistake it. A sudden intense desire for his friendship possessed her. She wanted--oh! how she wanted to be cared for by one of her blood. “And--and what of me?” she faltered. “You?” The sudden turn in the talk took Jack by surprise. “You? Why? I reckon we’ll learn something about your friends at Fort Wayne and----” “No! No! I have no friends.” The girl’s tones were full of tears. Jack put out his hand quickly. “Yes, you have, you poor little devil,” he declared. “You’ve got one friend, anyhow. I’ll see that you’re provided for, whatever comes!” Alagwa shook off his hand. “I will not stay alone in the white man’s camp,” she protested. “They are all liars and robbers and murderers. I hate them, hate them, hate them.” “Poor little chap!” Jack reached out his arms and drew the girl toward him. For a moment she hung back, then her head dropped upon his breast and she began to sob softly. Jack let her cry on. Always he had despised boys who cried, and Alagwa was bigger than any boy he had ever seen with tears in his eyes. Yet, somehow, he felt only pity for her. “Poor little chap,” he murmured again. “You’ve had an awful day of it, haven’t you? You ought to be asleep this very moment instead of sitting up here talking to a chump like me. Come! let me help you into the wagon.” He rose, drawing the girl to her feet beside him. “Come,” he repeated. But Alagwa held back. “You--you will not leave me at Fort Wayne?” she begged. “You will take me with you. I--I can help you find the girl.” Jack started. “By Jove! So you can!” he exclaimed. “All right. We’ll leave it so. If we don’t find your friends you shall stay with me. Now you must go to bed and to sleep.” CHAPTER IX ALAGWA went to rest willingly enough, but for a long time she did not sleep. She was thinking of what Jack had said about the ammunition that he was taking to Fort Wayne and of its importance to the garrison there. If she could destroy it or give it over to the Indians she would have done much to carry out her pledge to Tecumseh. Carefully, she felt the boxes on which she lay, only to find their tops nailed hard and fast, far beyond the power of her slender fingers to loosen. Could she get word to the runner? She was sure he was near. Perhaps there were others with him. Perhaps they could capture or destroy the wagon. It would cost Jack his life; she knew that and was sorry for it, but the fact did not make her pause. Against his life stood the lives of dozens of her people, who would be slain by this ammunition. No! The white men had dug up the tomahawk; and Jack and they must take the consequences.