“We help,” grunted one of the Indians, and threw out a lasso he chanced to be carrying. It fell within Henry’s reach, and he quickly grasped it. Then the three red men hauled him to a place of safety.
“My friend Henry!” cried one of the red men, in amazement.
“White Buffalo!” gasped the youth. “Can it be possible? How came you here?”
“White Buffalo is journeying to the trading post. He heard that harm had befallen his old friends,” answered the old chief of the Delawares. “Is his friend Henry alone?”
“Yes. I was out with Sam Barringford, and we were captured by some unfriendly Indians,” returned Henry, and related his story in detail, to which White Buffalo listened with close attention. Then the chief asked about Joseph Morris, Dave, and also about Jean Bevoir and Moon Eye.
“Bevoir and Moon Eye are snakes, not fit to live,” said White Buffalo. “A runner brought me the news of what was being done. If they have slain my friend James Morris both of them shall die. White Buffalo swears it by the Great Spirit.”
“Have you only these two warriors with you?”
“No, close at hand White Buffalo has two score men—the flower of his warriors. Our tribe is united and in the future all will fight only for the English. We shall aid in driving the French and the bad Indians from the land.”
“Good for you!” cried Henry. The news made his heart give a bound. “If you intend to help us, the quicker you get to the trading post the better.”
“It shall be as my brother Henry wills,” answered the chief. “But Henry cannot travel while he is wet and cold. Here, let him take White Buffalo’s blanket,” and the chief passed it over.
“Thank you, the blanket and walking will keep me warm. Let us get your men together without delay and start for the post. For all I know the attack may have already begun!”
They left the vicinity of the Ohio and plunged straight into the forest. While hurrying along White Buffalo explained that he had been out scouting, to note how matters were going. In their march westward they had encountered several wandering Indians who had told them of some of the doings of Jean Bevoir and Moon Eye.
“I cannot believe that my friend and brother, James Morris, is dead,” said the old chief, sadly. “It is hard upon my young friend Dave.”