Then I would ask if
he were on the way to raise his tribesmen to fight with us.
"Bimeby; no have time now; big thing over yonder," pointing across the
river. "Manitou Cornwally fool Great War Chief, mebbe, hey?"
"How is that?" said Dick; and the query elicited a bit of news to make
us prick our ears. The Catawba had been in the British camp at Forney's,
posturing again as a Cherokee friendly to the king's side. Some sudden
movement had been determined upon, though what it was to be he could not
learn. At the end of his own resources he had crossed the river in a
stolen pirogue to find and warn us.
"What say you, Dick?" I asked, when we had heard the Catawba through.
The lad was holding his lip in his hand and scowling as one who pits
duty against inclination.
"'Tis our cursed luck!" he gloomed. Then he swore it out by length and
breadth, and, when the air was cleared, let me have what was in his
mind.
"After all, 'tis like enough we should find Appleby house deserted.
Gilbert Stair will cling to Lord Cornwallis's coat-skirt as long as he
can for sheer safety's sake. At all events, our business must wait; the
country's weal comes first." Then to the Indian: "If we can make the
beasts take the water, will you ferry us across, Chief?"
The Catawba nodded, and made the nod good by setting us dry-shod on the
farther bank of the brown flood. By the time we had the horses rubbed
down and resaddled 'twas twilight in the open and night dark in the
wood; but we were on our own ground and knew every by-path through the
forest.
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