Aye, there
goes more dry brush on the fire to brighten up the picture, and
daylight is almost eclipsed. As I live, they have a prisoner among
'em!"
"A prisoner!" exclaimed Margery, in the gentle tones of female pity.
"Not a white person, surely?"
"No--he is a red-skin like all of them--but--wait a minute till I
can get the glass a little more steady. Yes--it is so--I was right
at first!"
"What is so, Bourdon--and in what are you right?"
"You may remember, Blossom, that your brother and I spoke of the two
Injins who visited me in the Openings. One was a Pottawattamie and
the other a Chippewa. The first we found dead and scalped, after he
had left us; and the last is now in yonder hut, bound and a
prisoner. He has taken to the lake on his way to Fort Dearborn, and
has, with all his craft and resolution, fallen into enemies' hands.
Well will it be for him if his captors do not learn what befell the
warrior who was slain near my cabin, and left seated against a
tree!"
"Do you think these savages mean to revenge the death of their
brother on this unfortunate wretch?"
"I know that he is in the pay of our general at Detroit, while the
Pottawattamies are in the pay of the English.
Pages:
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162