It was late in the afternoon of an ideal Indian summer day that Lone-Elk returned to the Delaware town. He brought bullets and this time powder also. Only a shrug of his bare shoulders marked his interest in the news when told that the "witch" was captured; that Little Paleface was even at the moment safely held captive beyond all possibility of escape.

He did not so much as go to see and gloat over the unhappy prisoner; but a murderous gleam came in his eyes and he told Neohaw and several others that the stake and the fire would be the "witch's" portion when Captain Pipe came. He would not execute the death sentence before the chief's return, for then they would have a celebration which would be a lesson to all the Palefaces for many days to come, just as the burning of the "White Chief," Crawford, had been.

Nevertheless Lone-Elk quickly laid his plans to torture and torment the young captive, and to instill in the minds of all the Delawares a hatred of every Paleface, and a belief in the certain ease with which their country might be rid of them. He arranged a war dance. Every warrior, every buck and brave in the village answered his summons. Gentle Maiden guessed at once the meaning of it all, as in the early twilight the fighting men of her father's people began to gather. It was useless for her to remonstrate, and as the fierce, sharp cries that accompanied the horrid dance swelled in volume and in number, John himself was scarcely more apprehensive of the outcome than was she.

Bound and round the campfire the savages danced. Their contortions of face and body, their violent shrieks and awful fervor were terrible to look upon. Fiercest of all was Lone-Elk. Louder than all the others was the war-whoop of the Seneca, and at midnight he had wrought to the highest pitch of bloodthirsty ardor every Delaware partic.i.p.ating in the horrible revelry.

"Come!" called the outcast loudly at last, "Come! Will the Delawares close their eyes in sleep when so near them is a house of the Palefaces? A house that will draw others to it till the forests of the Indians are all cut down and they themselves driven away and killed? Come! Who will come with Lone-Elk!"

A fierce chorus of war cries greeted his words. Drunk with excitement, the Delawares paused not to consider. With terrible yells they surged after the Seneca and like a shrieking band of fiends hurried rapidly through the moonlit forest.

"Hold! Let the Delawares bring the Paleface witch!" cried Lone-Elk. "Let the murderer of the brave Big Buffalo see the nest where birds of his kind are hatched go up in fire!"

No sooner said than done. A dozen of the fiercest of the band, mad with the pa.s.sions that had been aroused within them, rushed back and in five minutes came dragging John Jerome after them. By a rope around his body, and by another about his neck, they both drove and pulled him. Their awful yells could have been heard for miles.

Following the portage trail to its end and crossing the river, the savages broke into the clearing about the cabin a little further on at a run. Up the hill they went and with whooping and yelling of impa.s.sioned fury they attacked the cabin, so humble, so quiet and so home-like and unoffending in its appearance that its destruction seemed the foulest crime in all of border warfare's awful annals.

With tomahawks the door was beaten in, though but to have pulled the string would have raised the latch, and the mad race of pillage and plunder began. Everything breakable was thrown down and destroyed. Table, stools, bedding and all the little conveniences that Ree and John had been at such pains to plan and construct were thrown indiscriminately about.

"Let the witch burn his own foul nest," the Seneca yelled in his native tongue, but the captive, trembling with anger and sickened by the awful scenes he was compelled to witness, understood and drew back. In vain two Delawares who held him sought to force him to take and apply the torch that a third held out. They burned his bare hands, set fire to his clothing and his hair, but to no purpose. He could not fight, but he could resist if it killed him, and resist John did, let the consequences be what they might.

"Ugh! Ugh!" loudly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed one of the older Indians impatiently, at last, and grabbing the burning hickory bark from the one who tried vainly to make the prisoner take it, he carried it quickly into the lean-to stable.

In an instant the dry hay and fodder were in flames. In another minute the fire had reached the cabin. Soon the terrible glare filled all the clearing and while the home the boy pioneers had held so dear, and all the things within it which long a.s.sociation made them fondly cherish, turned black, then red and yielded at last to the crackling, roaring destroyer, the Indians danced about in savage celebration, brandishing tomahawks and scalping knives, yelling and shrieking like the untamed demons that they were.

CHAPTER XXII-THE MAN IN THE RAVINE

Very little time indeed was required for Return Kingdom to make clear to Fishing Bird the work he wished to do. The Delaware was decidedly surprised to learn that a white man, or men, of whom he knew nothing, were encamped near the Cuyahoga and he also exhibited the liveliest interest in the information Ree gave him concerning the two men murdered at the salt springs.

The probability that John Jerome had been captured, however, interested the Indian more than all else, though it distressed him, too. Repeatedly he shook his head with an air of utmost gravity and regret.

Gen. Wayne was a man who did things. Once his plans were formed, their execution went ahead without a moment's unnecessary delay, and in a very short s.p.a.ce of time he had caused men to be detailed to accompany Kingdom and his loyal friend.

The boy's request that Sergeant Quayle be sent with him was promptly granted and that good-natured son of Erin with three others, all experienced woodsmen, gladly undertook the duty a.s.signed them. They agreed with Kingdom, too, that a large force of men would not be needed, and that by care a small party would be able to accomplish more than a greater number. They would be far less likely to attract attention or invite an attack from ambush.

Late in the afternoon the well-armed band set out. By common consent Kingdom was given general command, though he took counsel always with the others. Only one circ.u.mstance marred his perfect confidence in the expedition. This was the distrustful manner in which two of the woodsmen constantly regarded Fishing Bird. They were Indian haters and Indian fighters. They could "see no good in 'ary a single red mother's son of 'em," as one of them expressed it, "and didn't care who knowed it."

The Sergeant, however, was more charitably inclined. Being of buoyant spirits, too, when somewhat relieved of the camp's restraints, he kept everyone in a good humor with his droll remarks.

Even over the badly decomposed bodies of the two unfortunate men, killed at the "big lick," his manner was the same.

"Sure, they'd ha' be'an far better presarved if put in the brine! An' so much o' it, handy like, 'tis a shame, it is!" said he.

But notwithstanding, Quayle, as well as all the others, was much affected by the awful sight the removal of the brush heap disclosed. Ree knew from John's description just where to look for the bodies of the murdered men, and he hoped to find something that his friend might have overlooked, which would reveal the men's ident.i.ties. Sergeant Quayle and the woodsmen had also been anxious to see if they could not tell who the unfortunates were, and it was for these reasons that the springs were visited, though they lay somewhat away from the direct trail.

Nothing did the little party find to shed any light on the mysterious murder. The older woodsmen declared that both the dead men must have come from some distant point. If either had belonged anywhere in the vicinity of the Ohio river, they would have seen them at some time, they were sure. Sergeant Quayle was of the opinion, from the dress and general appearance of the murdered pair, that they had come from some of the British posts in the Northwest, probably Detroit. Yet he expressed the belief that Indians had committed the murder, and only when Kingdom reminded him of the evidence afforded by the pair of gloves that had been found, did he say: "Leastwise, we'll agree to this, lad; savages done it. White men or red men, they was blackhearted savages that done such a dirty deed!"

The party spent a night in the vicinity of the salt springs. Though regretting the least delay, and anxious always to be pushing on, Kingdom was greatly interested in the evidences of civilization having at one time had a foothold at the "lick," as John had been. He was fortunate in learning more about the matter than Jerome had learned, however, for one of the woodsmen-a great, broad-shouldered young fellow, whose name, oddly enough, was Small,-knew much about the springs.

In camp at night he told the others how, several years earlier, Gen. Samuel H. Parsons had come from Connecticut and attempted to establish a salt factory at the place. He undertook to purchase twenty-five thousand acres of land, embracing the springs and the territory about them, and expected to reap a great fortune. He was greatly disappointed in the quant.i.ty of salt the water contained, but might have carried out his plan, anyway, had it not been that, in returning from the springs to the east, he was drowned by the upsetting of his canoe at the Beaver falls. The purchase of the great tract he had intended buying, was, therefore, never completed.

"But as a rule, lad, ye'll note as ye go through life," said the Sergeant to Ree-he nearly always addressed his words to Kingdom "as a rule, ye'll note that parsons are more partial to poultry than to salt. Still, ye'll do well to tie to the parsons, Lord bless 'em! It's a preacher I'd ha' be'an me ownsilf but fur--"

The Sergeant left his exclamation unfinished and with a sigh, which was also a chuckle, lay down and drew his blanket close about him.

Kingdom planned to lead his party directly to the cabin on the Cuyahoga. He was hoping he would find John Jerome in that neighborhood or in hiding at the old poplar, even while he told himself how little ground he had for such a thought.

Men coming to Wayne's camp from Fort Pitt had brought word that John had not been there, and where to look for him, excepting near the cabin, or among the Delawares, Ree did not know. He was depending on Fishing Bird to obtain information for him, however, and repeatedly, on the journey west, the Indian would go a long distance from the others of the party to find, if possible, some wandering redskins who might be able to give him news of the capture of the lad they sought.

Although at no time was the Delaware in any way successful, he never failed to rejoin Ree and his white friends at night. In every way, both then and later, he proved himself thoroughly trustworthy and loyal, despite the daily predictions of Jim Small that he would turn up missing when he was most wanted, and be found hostile when his friendship was most desired.

The march through the forest wilds was interrupted by no incident of importance. Ree had left his horse at Wayne's encampment, as he had no wish to ride while others walked, and, under the circ.u.mstances, the mare would be a hindrance. Rapid progress was made by the "expedition," as Sergeant Quayle always called the little band of six, however, and the increasing severity of the weather was almost the only hardship of the undertaking.

At the middle of an afternoon much pleasanter than the raw, cold days which had preceded it, the expedition reached a point only a few miles from the clearing and the river. A council of war was held and it was decided that Ree and Fishing Bird should go forward to look for John at the cabin, while Sergeant Quayle and the others turned off to the north to await their report at a certain rocky ledge of which both Kingdom and the woodsmen knew.

The chief reason for this action was the secrecy which must be observed to prevent knowledge of the presence of so large a party reaching the mysterious camp in the gully. The camp itself would be inspected under cover of darkness and a decision could then be reached concerning the best time and manner of surprising the murderers, and effecting their capture. If it were found that the camp seemed permanently occupied, and the occupants intending to stay indefinitely, they would be allowed to rest in supposed security while John Jerome was being located.

Ree had seen from the first that the men who accompanied him were more keenly interested in the lead mine than anything else. He would rather have made the finding of John Jerome the first object to be achieved, but he gave way to the wishes of the Sergeant in this instance, and now he and Fishing Bird hastened on to the cabin.

Cautiously Kingdom and the Delaware approached the clearing. The sun shone lazily, the air, though cool, was soft and still. Peace seemed everywhere. It was hard to believe the reverse was true. And then came the shock.

From the edge of the woods Ree saw the awful work Lone-Elk and his warriors had done. Not a muscle of his face moved. Though even Fishing Bird sorrowfully shook his head and put his arm before his eyes to shut out the most unhappy scene, the boy remained cool and collected. No sign of the tempest of grief and boiling anger that raged within him was visible on the surface. With surprise the Delaware observed his calm demeanor and heard him say: "Whose work this is, Fishing Bird, we don't know. Just what has been done, though, we can plainly see. I am afraid it means something worse. So what I want you to do, good Fishing Bird, is to hurry to the Delaware town. Hurry to the village and learn anything and all you can about what has happened to Little Paleface. Whether the Delawares know much, or nothing, come to me at the rocks where I am to meet my friends, tomorrow morning. Come early, Fishing Bird, and bring good news if you can. Bring bad news if you must. But most of all don't fail me."

"Every word Fishing Bird understands," the Indian answered, and in another minute was gone.

For a very short time Ree lingered at the clearing's edge. Tears came to his eyes, now that he was alone, when he looked at the fire-stained chimney rising like a spectre above the ruin of ashes around it,-the only thing left of his home. Quickly, however, he wiped the evidence of his sorrow from his face. He glanced around for old Neb, the cart horse, but saw nothing of the animal. "They've taken him too, no doubt," he thought, and his heart grew more bitter and his face more stern, as he turned away.

The ease with which Kingdom traversed the forest, up hill and down hill, and his familiarity with the country for miles around, enabled him to reach the meeting place at the rocky ledge almost as soon as Sergeant Quayle and his companions. Briefly he told them what he had seen. They asked questions which he could not answer, as he had not minutely inspected the clearing, but he did not tell them his reason for not having done so, though he knew it well. It was because he could not bear to undertake the heart-breaking task.

"Anyway," said Sergeant Quayle, "our business tonight is t' see this queer camp ye've tould us of, an' hear what the redskin tells in the mornin'."

So were plans made accordingly and after a cold supper all hands set out stealthily to inspect the haunt of the mysterious man in the gully. Ree led the way, nor was his task difficult. The light of a small campfire was seen reflected on the branches of the trees, even before the ravine was reached.

Stooping low, and taking every step with care, all five approached the edge of the bluff. For a few minutes nothing more than the small blaze could be seen. But the fire had lately been replenished with fresh wood and, with this evidence that some one was near, the watchers were content to wait.

Soon a man came into view. He carried several slices of meat and, sprinkling them freely with salt from a pouch at his belt, prepared to broil them. Little did he suspect how intently his every movement was scrutinized, for he mumbled to himself, and spread his great hands out to the warmth of the blaze, as if he had no thought but to enjoy the meal he was preparing. When the meat was cooked he ate greedily, then disappearing for a few seconds, returned with more. This he disposed of in the same way.

For perhaps half an hour he continued to sit near the fire, but rising in a regretful manner, at last, he covered the embers with ashes, then disappeared and returned no more.

Until far into the night Ree and his four companions remained watching, then cautiously withdrew. The moonlight filtered through the leafless branches of the trees and the air was very frosty. For warmth and rest Kingdom led the party to the hollow whitewood. Here a conference was held and the decision reached to return to the camp in the gully just before daybreak.

Whether the others slept Ree did not know. They all were wrapped in their blankets and very quiet. But he knew that he did not sleep, nor could he had he tried. The loss of John, the burned cabin, the whole sorrowful end of all the bright hopes of a few weeks before kept his thoughts too unhappily occupied, and he was glad of the darkness that it concealed his grief and pain.

Sometime before dawn Sergeant Quayle stretched himself and sat up. Kingdom did likewise and the others were also soon astir. With the same care as before, they moved upon the haunted ravine, and chose their places, each a little distance from the others, but all where they could hurry down the steep hillside at a moment's notice.

The sun was just rising as the tenant of the lonely camp came suddenly into the light, stretching himself and yawning.

The click of the Sergeant's rifle as he c.o.c.ked it was the signal, and it sounded loud enough. Silently, swiftly and almost noiselessly the five men descended the bluff, and, almost before the murderer's yawn permitted his mouth to close, it was open again, but this time in extraordinary astonishment. He was surrounded by stern, strange faces.

CHAPTER XXIII-ONE MYSTERY CLEARED AWAY

It was daylight when with parting war-whoops the Indians left the scene of the terrible fire they had kindled, dragging John Jerome by the thongs which bound him. But they took with them flames which threatened even greater danger to the Paleface boy-the fires of excitement, hate and merciless cruelty which the night's barbarities had kindled in their brains. John realized this full well. Though the savages had been rough and brutal in their treatment of him before, now they were still more so. No indignity, no suffering was too great to be inflicted upon him.

Little wonder is it that on his own account poor John wished for but two things-the slightest opportunity to escape, or the end of it all quickly. Only the thoughts of Return, and how his friend would be searching for him everywhere, as soon as news reached his ears, buoyed up the wretched lad's drooping spirits and gave him strength to endure the cruelties heaped on his defenseless head.

Tired out after their night's carousal, most of the savages lay down to rest upon their arrival at the village, and John was allowed also to sink into a troubled sleep, though watched constantly. It was about noon when he fully awoke, to find that something out of the ordinary was taking place. By degrees he discovered what it was, learned that Captain Pipe had returned and that explanations were being made concerning the burning of the cabin.

Lone-Elk took upon himself the whole responsibility for the offense. The Little Paleface was a witch, he declared, and his brother, the White Fox, was a spy upon the Indians, and on the pretext of befriending Fishing Bird, had gone to Wayne's camp to carry word of the movements of the Delawares.

The Seneca would have put the loyalty of Fishing Bird himself to the Delawares in question had he dared to do so, but he gained his point without it; gained all he sought-praise for his own loyalty to the cause of the Indians as a whole; no censure for the pillage and destruction of the white boys' cabin, and last and greatest of all, the a.s.surance that the captive, Little Paleface, would be put to death.

Let him be burned at the stake, Lone-Elk argued. Some of the younger Delawares had never seen a prisoner suffer by fire. It would warm their blood and teach them how to punish their enemies.

"By fire, then, let the witch be killed," Captain Pipe had ordered, and the terrible sentence reached John Jerome in his guarded hut a little later.

Four warriors came. They roughly stripped him of all clothing excepting his fringed buckskin trousers, and painted his face and body black. Thus he was left for the time, as the hour of his torture was to be the following morning. But he was told to prepare for death and formed bluntly that with the rising of another sun he would bid farewell to earth forever.

In vain did John ask to see Captain Pipe. The chief would not go near him. He asked for Gentle Maiden, knowing that she would intercede for him if she could. No word was taken to her. He asked for Neohaw. The old medicine-man came. He heard the lad's appeal, and shook his head.

"Neohaw can do nothing," he declared. "Lone-Elk is in favor with all the Delawares and with their great chief, Hopocon. No one can help the Little Paleface. Neohaw believes not that the Paleface brother killed Big Buffalo. Yet all the Delawares have harkened to the tale of the Seneca and the white boy must die. Let him then go bravely to the fire. Let him sing boldly to the last the death songs that his fathers taught him."

John thanked the aged Indian for his sympathy and said no more. He did feel better, somehow, to know that there was one friend left in the village, where so many times he had been received with greatest favor in days gone by, and resolved that if die he must, it would be bravely.

Something very like tears, however, dimmed his eyes as he thought of his unhappy end. He held them back with an effort and, lest they come again, and be taken as evidence of fear or cowardice, he prayed for strength to meet the awful fate he must suffer like a man. He breathed a prayer for comfort for Ree Kingdom and for the dear ones in far-away Connecticut, when the news of his death should reach them.

It was night now. The Indians made the most of it. Their war cries, as once again they engaged in the terrible dance, led, as always, by the bloodthirsty Seneca, were frightful. But to John Jerome a peace which pa.s.seth understanding had come, and with thoughts of all the happy days his young life, so soon to close, had known, and in his heart a trusting faith that One who died for others would be with him to the end, he fell at last into soothing, restful slumber.

At dawn John awoke. The village was quiet. The two savages who stood guard over him seemed to be the only ones not still asleep, save for a trio of squaws rekindling the fires before their wigwams. The air was chill and raw, but crows were cawing l.u.s.tily, and a bluejay screeched his harsh song near by. Soon the sun rose, pale but clear. It was a pleasant morning to be alive, a most gloomy one to die.

Patiently the prisoner of the Delawares awaited the executioners. They soon would come, he thought, and nerved himself to meet them without a tremor. His lip quivered the least bit and a lump came in his throat, but outwardly he was so calm that the Indians watching him marveled at his courage, and told one another in whispers that witches were more than human.

The morning went quickly by. Expecting each minute to see Lone-Elk and others coming for him, time seemed to John to go both slow and fast; slow, that no one came; fast, because each minute was so precious. Hope had not wholly left him, either. It might be, even now, he thought, that Neohaw or Gentle Maiden, or maybe Long-Hair or Little Wolf, had successfully interceded in his behalf.

At last two Indians came to relieve those who guarded the prisoner. The Delawares were stirring about in numbers now. John asked the new guards for food and it was brought to him. Then Neohaw came. In a kindly way he told the boy that the time of the burning had been changed and the torture fire would not be lighted until night. Against Lone-Elk's wishes, Captain Pipe had decided on this, as he had no wish to partic.i.p.ate in the terrible festivities. He planned to go away near evening and leave everything to the Seneca.

All day the more cruel of the Delawares exhibited their impatience. All day squaws were busy adding to the collection of wood about the burning-post, set firmly in the ground at the edge of the collection of huts and wigwams that comprised the town. Between the logs of his prison John could plainly see all that went on.

It was late in the afternoon. Night's shades were deepening. The sun had nearly sunk from view and a soft, golden light rested for a time on the bosom of the little lake.

With a glad cry an Indian came leaping into the village. Fishing Bird it was, and his joy at being safe at home once more was great. In a moment, however, his happiness vanished. In a trice he discovered the burning-post and the f.a.gots piled near it. He guessed its meaning instantly, and his fears were immediately confirmed as he made inquiry.

Captain Pipe was just leaving the village but stayed a few seconds to give Fishing Bird greeting. He listened gravely to the younger Indian's plea that the Little Paleface be spared. He shook his head. Then Fishing Bird told of the rapid ride Return Kingdom had made through the woods to save a Delaware's life, and called Long-Hair and Little Wolf to tell of the part they had had in that undertaking.

"A council shall be held. The Delawares will give the one accused of witchcraft a fair trial," said the chief at last. "If then it is found that, as a witch, the Little Paleface killed a warrior of the Delawares, he must suffer the penalty. Fishing Bird can ask nothing more."

Very soberly the friendly Indian approached the place of the white boy's confinement and told him that for the present his life was spared.

John's happiness in seeing the loyal fellow once again, and in having another friend at hand, was inexpressible. Soon he had learned all that the Delaware could tell him concerning Ree and what the latter had been doing.

"One thing, then, Fishing Bird, you must do for me," he said. "Let Ree Kingdom know that I am to have a trial. Get Captain Pipe to let you bring him and his friends here."

"Fishing Bird will bring them. Tell n.o.body," the Indian whispered, and withdrew.

Before the coming of another day the Indian friend of the boy pioneers had left the village. He had found that the time of the council the Delawares would hold to place Little Paleface on trial would be the following afternoon. The torture fire would be lighted in the evening, if the boy was found guilty, as was very certain to be the case. It was with great news to tell and many conflicting thoughts in mind, therefore, that he sped through the woods to meet Return Kingdom at the spot agreed upon.

Thus while Fishing Bird hastened to the meeting place from one point, Ree was making his way toward the same ledge of rocks from another. Without the least difficulty the lone occupant of the mysterious camp had been captured and taken away. While Jim Small and another of the woodsmen watched the camp from the bushes to surprise and make prisoners of any confederates of the fellow, should such put in an appearance, Sergeant Quayle and the fourth of his squad held the murderer in close quarters at the hollow whitewood. Search of the camp would not be made, it was agreed, until Kingdom's return with Fishing Bird.

Ree and the Delaware reached the place of meeting at about the same time. As the redskin came up, Kingdom searched his face anxiously for some clue to the tidings he brought. It was vain to do so. Indian-like, he could conceal his thoughts completely and he wanted the pleasure of telling what he had accomplished before its substance was surmised.

He soon did tell, however, all that had happened and very soberly, indeed, did Ree receive the news. How glad he was that Fishing Bird had reached the village so opportunely need not be told. The great question was what could be done to rescue John Jerome?

"We'll ask the Sergeant what he thinks about it," said Kingdom as the Delaware told more fully of the desperate situation their friend was in. "Come, we must hurry. There'll be not a minute to lose."

Another surprise awaited Ree when the old poplar was reached.

"Whist! The dirty British pig has tould iverything!" whispered Sergeant Quayle, meeting Kingdom and the Indian at the edge of the thicket. "A foine thing it is, too, so it is!" And with these words the disgusted Irishman led the way forward.

Within the hollow tree there lay a great bulk of a fellow groveling on the leaf-strewn earth, bewailing his fate, pleading for mercy, and altogether making of himself a most miserable, loathsome spectacle.

"Oh, if I'd knowed it would come to this!" he blubbered. "Don't let them punish me! Oh, kind gentlemen, save me! Let me go away and sin no more! Won't some one speak a kind word to me?"

The abject fear of the craven, now that his crime had found him out, would have been pitiable had his whole manner not been so utterly contemptible.

Giving little heed to the guilty wretch, however, Ree at once apprised the Sergeant of the news Fishing Bird had brought and the latter was immediately sent to summon Jim Small and his companions for a conference.

While he was gone Sergeant Quayle told, with many expletives and many invectives against the British, the confession the murderer had made. The fellow's name, it developed, was Lobb. He had been connected in an unofficial way with the British garrison at Detroit and had served a number of times as a go-between for the English officers in certain of their more or less secret dealings with the Indians. In consequence of these services he was chosen to accompany two men sent to encourage hostilities among the savages to the south of Lake Erie and as near the border of the American settlements as they should deem it prudent to go.

The party traveled by canoe, Lobb had said, and coasting along the southern sh.o.r.e of Lake Erie, readied and ascended the Cuyahoga river. In the course of this trip they fell in with Lone-Elk, roaming the woods alone, as his frequent custom was. The Seneca was not unknown to the men, for he had visited Detroit and offered his services to the British when forced to flee from his home among his own people.

For various reasons, but princ.i.p.ally because they feared some news of their presence would reach Fort Pitt or Gen. Wayne, the men concluded to do all their business with the Indians of the locality through Lone-Elk. He would distribute their bounty, the powder and the bullets they brought, also gold for those who cared for it.

Not long had the men been in the vicinity when they decided to visit the salt springs of which they had heard a great deal. To conceal their ident.i.ty they concluded, also, that they would make some salt while there, pretending that such was the sole purpose of their presence.