Part 14

The French marched down to Gist’s; the Indians ran about, among the houses; the soldiers helped, and soon the buildings were burning and the ditch was being filled up. The two men with red coats and trousers sat apart, with French officers.

“They are being saved for torture,” said the Buck. “The Ottawa will eat them, to be made brave with their flesh.”

“No!” Robert cried. “One of them looks like Washington. I am going in.”

“What good will that do?”

“I will find out who they are. They will know me. You will run and tell Scarouady to come and help.”

“Ho!” Buck answered. “That will do no good either. They are being taken to the French big house first, as a show, and will be well watched. Nobody from the outside can help them.”

“I will go in and let them see me,” said the Hunter. “Then they will know that help is coming. I am American.”

“You can do no good, and the French will keep you and send you to Onontio; or else the Huron will eat you.”

“I go,” repeated the Hunter. “You can wait here and see what happens, and then you can tell Scarouady.”

The Buck laughed.

“Wah! You are a boy but you are brave. You speak my own mind. We will go in together. We are Mingo, and the French try to make friends of the Mingo. They and the Ottawa and Huron will pretend to be glad to see us. Let us wipe off our paint. Come, and we shall fool them.”

The Buck stood up, and with Robert at his heels went right down for the enemy camp.

XVI

IN AND OUT OF FORT DUQUESNE

Huzzah! Neither of the two red-coated men was Washington. The tall one who might have been Washington was the young Long Knife captain named Strobo, who had planned Fort Necessity. And the other, short and square, was Captain Jacob Vanbraam of Dutch Land.

They were not tied, but this counted nothing, because they could not run away. Captain Vanbraam seemed to be sputtering in his funny French with the French officers, while the handsome Captain Strobo sat silently, sending his brown eyes roving about. And whether he saw Robert, Robert did not know; but of course it would not do to take any notice of him or Vanbraam.

So they two went straight in, with the Hunter’s heart beating a little swiftly at the sight of the sleek Ottawas and bristle-headed Hurons, of the French north, painted for war. First a sharp-eyed Ottawa gave an alarm call, then a French sentry shouted; and soldiers sprang to arms and the Ottawas and Hurons raced with their guns.

But when they all saw only two boys, they waited in silence, until the Ottawas and Hurons cried:

“Mingo!”

Then Ottawas and Hurons met them, and grabbed them and jostled them, seized their guns and, threatening them with the hatchet, marched them to the French captains.

The French captain who was chief called:

“Enough, my children! These are friends.”

Thereupon the Ottawas and Hurons stood aside, while the captain smilingly questioned by the mouth of a darker, wiry man who spoke in the Iroquois and wore gay buckskin beaded with the Ottawa chief-sign.

“My young brothers are from our friends the Mingo?”

“I am Oneida; he Seneca,” replied the Buck. “Mingo.”

“The children of Onontio welcome the Mingo. My young brothers have come on a visit?”

“We wish to see the French and rest at their fire,” said the Buck.

“That is good. My young brothers are alone?”

“Yes. We are hunting, and are tired and hungry,” said the Buck.

“Very good. My young brothers shall rest and eat. By what name shall we know our brothers?”

“I am Deer-With-Horns, he is Panther-Killer,” said the Buck.

The captain chief smiled and gave smooth words.

“Let Deer-With-Horns and Panther-Killer rest and eat with their brothers of Onontio who owns this country. When they wish to leave they will go to tell the Mingo that the French father is generous and strong. He invites all the Mingo to come in to the big house at Dekanawida and receive presents. For now the English have been driven away forever. Your brothers from the north will tell you so.”

With that, the Ottawas and Hurons who had been listening were about to step forward and bid to a feast, and the Buck and the Hunter might have moved about freely, and everything would have gone off well, had not Jacob Vanbraam suddenly sprang up and hailed Robert with stupid greeting.

“It is the Hoonter! Yah! Now I know him. Goot boy. Maybe you been from Washington, eh? You coom to see how we get along, eh?” And he grasped the Hunter’s hand and shook it.

“Wah!” grunted the Buck, turning away quickly. “He is drunk.”

That was so, but made no difference. All had heard; and whether the words were understood or not, all had seen, too, and knew that the man in the red coat and the Hunter had been together before.

The French officers exchanged glances. Captain Strobo sat flushing as if vexed. Vanbraam gabbled in broken French and English, and patted the Hunter’s shoulder and called him “goot boy,” and Strobo called sharply to him.

The French laughed. The captain chief and another captain who was the same Mercier that had summoned Ensign Ward to surrender talked together rapidly; then the interpreter mingled with the Ottawa and Huron, passing word to them.

“Go with your brothers of Onontio,” said the French captain, now. “Sit by their fires and eat.”

This time he spoke in French; for the tipsy Jacob Vanbraam was babbling in spite of the angry Strobo:

“He iss a goot boy. He iss a smart boy. He speak English and a leetle French, and why not should I talk with him. Mebbe he coom from Washington. I am no prisoner. We but stay a leetle while and den we go home. Yah! He shall tell Washington we all right.”

That had finished things for the Buck and Robert. They were taken away by the French Indians, to a fire, and given food; but while they ate they knew that they were under suspicion.

The interpreter came and sat with them; and a haughty, piercing-eyed Ottawa chief, plainly a great warrior, but not of councillor age yet, put shrewd questions to them.

“My young warrior brothers are from the English?”

“No,” said the Buck. “We have heard the French are strong and wish to see them.”

“My young brothers have been in war paint,” said the Ottawa chief. Yes, his eyes were quick eyes. “Do they wear war paint for the French or for the English?”

Ho! This was a poser.

“The Ottawa chief does not know the Mingo war paint,” the Buck retorted. “When Oneida and Seneca put on the war paint the Ottawa stay home.”

“Ho!” the chief exclaimed. “You speak to Pontiac. Those are the foolish words of a boy.”

Pontiac! He was a great war chief of the Ottawa and he was angered. But the dark man in Ottawa dress interrupted.

“They are brave boys; we can see they are warriors. There is no war between the Mingo and the Ottawa. All are brothers under the flag of Onontio.”

“Langlade knows that the Mingo helped the English kill the brother of Villiers,” said Pontiac. “They have French scalps. The Mingo are dogs that bite the hand that feeds. The red-coat fat man says these boys come from the English. The Mingo send in their boys as spies.”

And another Ottawa who had been eying the Hunter cried:

“This boy was at Venango with the Englishman Washington. He is the son of Tanacharison. He will take word of us to Tanacharison and Washington. He is a spy.”

Then Ottawas and Hurons began to jeer and threaten, and their words were not pleasant.

“Give them to us, Langlade,” they begged. “Let them go back without eyes and tongues, and tell what they have seen.”

Langlade held up his hand. His was a famous name, too; for he was half Ottawa, and was a French Ranger captain, and had led the Indians who had wiped out Pickawillanie of the Miamis and had eaten old Chief Britain.

“Wait, brothers!” he bade. “Would you harm boys who come in boldly? What have we to fear?” And he smiled upon Robert. “Tell me why you came and you shall be safe,” he said. “I am Captain Langlade. Who sent you?”

“Nobody sent us. We saw you from the woods and we came down,” answered the Hunter.

“Is Tanacharison your father?”

“Feather Eagle, Delaware, my father; my mother the White Woman,” answered the Hunter. “I live with Tanacharison, but I am American.”

“Where is Tanacharison, that he does not come in too, to his friends from Onontio?”

“Tanacharison is sick. He goes to Aukwick.”

“You know that red-coat captain, who spoke to you?”

“Yes. I went with the red-coat captain to hunt for him and Washington on the trail to Venango two winters ago.”

“I can see you are a brave boy and speak the truth,” said Langlade, smoothly. “You will be a warrior.” And he asked of the Buck:

“You are Oneida. You have a father?”

“Wah!” the Buck uttered proudly. “I tell no lies. My father is a great chief of the Oneida Mingo. He is Scarouady. The Ottawa and Huron have heard of him.”

“Scarouady!” The word was repeated. Yes, the French Indians had heard of Scarouady.

“It is well,” said Langlade. “We do not wish to war with Tanacharison and Scarouady. The French father has sent for them, and we wait for them to come. If they have listened to lies and have thought of taking up the hatchet for the English, that shall be forgotten. Onontio is generous, and loves the Mingo like he loves the Delaware, the Shawnee, the Ottawa and the Huron. All are his children. Now you shall stay and see what manner of men the men of Onontio are. Then when you go back safe, the Seneca and the Oneida will know.”

“When we go back safe,” remarked the Buck, a little later, to the Hunter. “Wah! That may not be for a long time.”

That sounded like sense. Following Langlade’s pleasant speech, as if they had received orders the Ottawas and the Hurons were very friendly indeed. They offered food, and dry moccasins, and even the haughty Pontiac wheedled the two “young warriors from our brothers.” Now all the talk was of the strong French and of the weak English, and of the love of Onontio for the Senecas and Oneidas, and of the presents to be had at Fort Duquesne, and of the French traders who were so much more generous than the English traders, and of the foolishness of depending upon the English anyway. The English had been driven out forever; the white flag of the King of France was greater than that red flag of the English King; all the Ohio Country belonged to the French and to their brothers the Indians.

“Our two young brothers shall come with us to the French fort and see, so that they may understand,” the Ottawas and Hurons prated.

“We thank the Ottawa and Huron, but the fort at Dekanawida is far and we must go to Aukwick,” the Buck answered. “We have seen the strength of Onontio and will go in the morning and tell the Mingo chiefs at Aukwick.”

“No,” smiled Pontiac. “You shall be guests in the lodge of Pontiac until your eyes are open and there are no English in them. Those two red-coats are the last of the English; soon they will be gone too.”

“Wah!” uttered the Buck. “The Ottawa will dance their scalps at Dekanawida?”

“The Ottawa will dance as many scalps as there are English, if the English come again,” laughed Pontiac. “But these two dogs are kept by the French until all the French that have been stolen by the Englishman Washington are sent back. This does not concern my young brothers,” Pontiac added, with a crafty look. “With the English they would be wet and hungry; but with the French they are dry and well fed. They have nothing to do with the English. The French have switched the English home like squaws; and Tanacharison and Scarouady will refuse to listen more to the false song of the little English bird in the woods.”

So the Ottawas and the Hurons cunningly bragged, flattered and pretended friendship, and promised great things at Fort Duquesne; and the Hunter noticed that his gun and the Buck’s were not given back, and that he was not permitted to move out of reach, or to get near Vanbraam or Captain Strobo; and it was plain that he and the Buck were in a trap. To the French fort they must go; and there, what?

“We shall be as wise as the bear,” said the Buck, at his first chance. “They will not harm us. They fill us with lies; and then they will tell the Mingo to come and get us. Let us pretend, too, and learn all we can. Already some of the Mingo are weak. Guyasuta has listened, and Joncaire has sent words and presents to Scarouady.”

“Scarouady will go to the French?” stammered the Hunter.

“No! He is true to Washington. But let us pretend and learn all we can, so that when we escape we shall have news to take.”

They each slept this night between two Ottawas. In the morning the French marched on, to the Monongahela at Redstone Creek. Here they burnt and pulled down the store-house and cabins of the Ohio Company. Canoes had been waiting; and they and the Ottawas and Hurons got in and down the Monongahela they all went, to Fort Duquesne.

What a tremendous welcome they got! The Ottawas and Hurons and many of the French Rangers fired their muskets in token of victory; the guns of the fort answered, the Indians there rushed for the bank, shooting and yelling; the canoes responded again, the men piled out, and were escorted by a mob into the clearing around the fort.

All the time up to now neither Robert nor the Buck had had a chance to speak with Captain Strobo or Vanbraam; but in the midst of the jostling and confusion the Hunter heard a voice in his ear.

“Quick! Did Washington send you?” hissed Captain Strobo.

“No. We came to help.”

“Good! Wait. See me later in fort. Be careful.”

Then they were separated. Strobo and Vanbraam were taken on into the fort; the Buck and Robert were lodged outside, where the Indians celebrated.

Whether they two could have slipped away, no one might say. The Buck was for trying, this very night; but when Robert told him of Strobo, he said:

“Wah! We will wait. I am your brother; we two are one.”

They knew that they were watched to see if they would try to escape. And they were well treated, for the French very much wished to win the Mingos over. A few Mingos were here, from up-river; a few Delawares from the west; but the main horde were Ottawas, Hurons, Potawatomis, and Ojibwas from the far north. The other Delawares and Shawnees were waiting to see what the English would do now.

After a couple of weeks the watchfulness lessened. Scouts reported that no English were coming. The fort gates stayed open. The Buck and the Hunter were even permitted to wander in and look about. Vanbraam and Captain Strobo appeared to be well treated also. They were not under guard; they walked and sat with the French officers; it was true that they were being held only until the Governor of Virginia sent back the prisoners taken by Washington when Jumonville was killed.

Vanbraam drank freely――a jolly man, he, and foolish. But Strobo was smart. He pretended to be happy, and yet his eyes were always darting about, and his mind was busy. Then, one morning as he passed Robert he said, without pausing:

“Meet me behind storehouse at sunset. Tell nobody.”

Something was to happen! “Tell nobody,” Captain Strobo had said; by that, Robert was not to tell even the Buck. There were many eyes and ears in this Fort Duquesne.

So at sunset he was behind the fort storehouse――in back of it where it stood near the pickets of the east side along the Monongahela River. And here, to his astonishment, the Buck was crouching; and around the corner of the house here came Captain Strobo, walking rapidly.

The place already was dim with shadow. Captain Strobo spoke to Robert and the Buck.

“Here are letters. One of you go to John Croghan in Pennsylvania, one to Washington. Will you?”

The Buck caught at the words.

“Wah! I find Croghan. Quick!”

“Good. The Hunter to Washington,” smiled Strobo. “One of you will get through. If these papers are captured, I die. If you lose them, tell what you have seen; all about the fort and the people. The Indians are not scouting; the French are careless. Let the English strike. They must not wait till we are safe out. They must keep La Force. He is dangerous. Our lives are nothing. We are not to be thought of. I would gladly die if the fort might be taken. You understand?”

Robert nodded. The Buck did not understand all, but he understood a part.

“We hear a chief,” he said in Iroquois.

He stuffed his letter inside his belt; Robert did the same.

“Each for himself, Hunter,” said the Buck. “I will see you at Aukwick.”

Captain Strobo had turned away, to be gone before anybody should interfere.

“Now!” prompted the Buck. “It is time.”

He put his moccasins in his belt and clinging with his toes and fingers to the logs set on end twelve feet high and forming the stockade he shinned right up. Robert was after. They vaulted over, landing lightly; but they had no more than straightened after tying on their moccasins again ere a tall figure rose right before them.

“My young brothers are going to hunt owls?” asked Pontiac. “Or do they wish to see their fathers?”

He reached for the Buck. The Buck might have drawn hatchet or knife and struck to kill; but Robert doubled up and drove forward right into Pontiac’s stomach. Pontiac doubled up, too; and his breath gushed in a loud whoop. As the two messengers raced on they heard another whoop, a real alarm whoop, from Pontiac’s lips. He could not run yet, but he could yell.

The stockade was skirted by a ditch with dirt breastworks. They scampered along the stockade and were almost at the next corner. But people were running about inside the fort; there were shouts and thud of moccasins from around the corner, and a sentry’s musket flamed――Bang!――from the bastion there, calling for the guard.

They swerved sharply, and scrambled through the shallow ditch and fairly bounded over the breastworks seven feet high and were outside, between the breastworks and the Monongahela.

It was lucky that on the river side of the Forks the French had few guards. Now the Hunter and the Buck made for the water.

“I go down, you go up,” the Buck panted. He dived from the bank, into the Monongahela; Robert dived. And that was the last he saw of the Buck for some time.

The Buck could swim swiftly down with the current. No doubt he planned to enter the Allegheny and land and cut through the woods for the east where George Croghan lived. But to swim up the Monongahela was a different proposition for the Hunter. Besides, here came the Ottawas and Hurons pell-mell, to their canoes. They, of course, would think that the two boys were swimming across. The river was dark, the Hunter sank low, paddling just enough to keep afloat. The current tugged at him; he never could escape those canoes now spreading from the landing place above him. He turned back. Aha! His groping hands felt a snag――the roots of an old grounded tree, in an eddy of a curve of the high bank. He dragged himself forward, sinking still lower underneath the jagged roots and throwing his head back until only his nose was above for air.

On swept the canoes, bearing warriors to beat the river and to search the shore beyond. For a long time he waited, until the hue and cry had died. Then he left the roots, and was paddling out when he sank low again.

Here came another canoe, and it paused almost over him. It held two Indians.

“They are Mingos, and like eels,” said one. “It would be like them to hide along the bank until we passed.”

“You talk sense,” said the other. “Let us try along the bank up river; they are not down river.”

They dug with their paddles――one in the bows, one in the stern. The Hunter gently extended his hand; it closed upon the stem of the canoe, and kicking under water and gently stroking he went with the canoe. Pretty soon one of the Indians spoke again.

“The canoe is heavy.”

“Wah! It is the current. You are weak in your arms, brother,” answered the other. “Dig deeply.”

At this, Robert almost laughed.

With the two paddlers interested in searching the banks and the dim surface, the canoe towed him quite a distance up stream. Then it stopped, above the landing place, and the Indians whooped. Whoops replied to them. They were no-news whoops. The other canoes were coming back.

“They have found nothing,” said one Indian. “The two young rascals are hiding. Let us go home and wait till daylight.”

Robert drew breath and sank, swimming under water. When he broke out again the canoe had gone; and he veered for the shore and landed at last, and scuttling through the shallows he climbed out, well up stream. He rounded a cornfield and was in the woods. Whether he could yet get away he did not know; but they had not caught the Buck.

The night had settled; all the woods were black. After stumbling for a mile or two he also had to stop, and wait for daylight.

Now he was south of the fort, upon the fort side of the Monongahela. The Ottawas and Hurons would surely scout both sides of the river, in the morning, to find the trail of him and the Buck. He must be up at dawn, and making onward for Will’s Creek once more, to seek Washington. Before he curled to nap in a bed of leaves he clapped his hand to his belt. The letter from Strobo to Washington was gone!

Ho! He had lost it! It had slipped out, probably while he was running and stumbling from the river. Now what to do? He could go on and tell Washington about Strobo and about the fort――but if that letter were found upon his trail and taken back to the French, then Captain Strobo would die as a spy.

This should not be. He could see nothing now in the woods; his back trail was buried in the darkness: but he must hasten, the first thing, by morn light, and find that letter himself before the enemy pounced upon it. Of course, he would be heading right into the scouting parties――――

Well, he had to make the try. He might at least find the letter and hide it before he was caught.