Donated by the
Grand Rapzds Publu: Llbrary
The May G Qulgley
Collectzon
of Ch1ldren’s L1terature
December 2001
The Umverslty of Mlchlgan Dearbom
Mardlglan Llbrary


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THE WHITE LEADER


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THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
lmw YORK - BOSTON - caxcmo - DAlJ.A8
ATLANTA - SAN mmcxsco
MACMILLAN & CO.. LIMITED
LONDON ' BOMBAY - CA]-CUTIA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO


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PL; i- .!_. .
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ALEX MC GILLIVRAY, THE WHITE LEADER

Al


COPYRIGHT, 1926
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

Set up and electrotyped.
Published September, 1926.
Pfmled in the United States of Amerka by
"rm: 1-Vmans PRINTING commuv, rmw YORK.


CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE SPANISH MAN’s LETTER . .
II THE MYsTERI0Us LQNE CAMPER . .
III THE EDUCATION OF A WARRIOR . .
IV THE PACT OF THE THREE Kmcs .
V OOMY AND GYPSY J0HN: PART1cU-
LARLY O0MY . . . . . .
VI NUMBER THIRTEEN . . . . .
VII THE BOAT ON THE DARK BAYOU .
VIII Two W1sE OWLS . . . . .
IX THE CURSE OF THE TURTLE-GOD . .
X THE PEACE OF OQMY . . .
XI OLD ONE-EYE’s GOLD . . . .
XII LACHLAN LEARNS THE CAUsE OF
WHITE ALEx’s HATE . . .
XIII LACHLAN SEEs WASHINGTON . .
XIV RINGO-DINGO . . . . .
XV QUAKING EARTH ¢ . .
XVI A LOOK INT0 THE FUTURE . .
PAC E
I
16
28
46
62
80
93
105
118
134
I47
162
172
187
199
213





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ALEX MC GILLIVRAY, THE WHITE LEADER Frontispiece
FACING PAGE
HE TURNED FROM THE BLAZING, WHIRLING ROOM TO
THE DARK, STILL SHADOWS OF THE OUTDOORS,
AND SAW BLUE ARROW . . . . . . . . . . .
HE HURLED HIMSELF AT VALDEZ, AND KNOCKED HIM
Ii 7! ((7
LET ME m, IIM, HE cnmn, "ms LACHLAN nouoms
COME TO MAKE PEACE w1’ YE 1-‘OR ALEX MC 0114.1-
van.”..................
I
58
76
I36





THE WHITE LEADER


;
I


THE WHITE LEADER
CHAPTER I
THE SPANISH MAN’S LETTER
“LACHLAN, laddie!”
The boy glanced up from the rifle he was
cleaning.
“We’re hittin’ the trail to-night,” his father con-
tinued. Ross Douglas’ rugged face was grave as
he stood looking down at his son. He went on,
“_Iim’s had a letter from the Spanish Man.”
Lachlan’s brilliant light-gray eyes kindled. He
tossed a wave of his ruddy hair ofl his brow and
said, with a trace of excitement in his voice, “Hittin’
the trail is grand news for me, Ross Douglas. For
I’m goin’ fair crazy wi’ bein’ cooped up i’ Nashville
so long. ’Tis become a jail to me. I’m terrible
excited, too, about the letter from the Spanish Man
that’s Governor o’ Louisiana. What’s his name
again ?”
“Miro.”
Lachlan did not speak again for a few moments.
He was busy putting the last touches to his rifle.
With the greasy fluid of crushed green hickory nuts
he carefully smeared all the metal, so that it could
I


2 The White Leader
not give back glints under the sun or moon or from
the flicker of a camp fire and thereby betray him to
some Indian of the small bands which lurked con-
stantly in the vicinity of Nashville. The precau-
tion Lachlan was taking in itself told the story of
those days in Middle Tennessee. No part of the
frontier, not even Kentucky, went through the con-
tinuous bloody agony which was meted out to the
Cumberland settlement during the Revolution and
afterwards. Under the leadership of James Rob-
ertson, “Jim” as Ross had called him, the small
group of settlers and traders stood firm in what was
practically an incessant Indian war. When the Rev-
olution ended, the ' had expected that the Indians
—who, they beli d, were set on them solely by
the British—we .withdraw. Where, except from
the British, could the Creeks, for instance, get
ammunition? But, instead of ceasing, the Indian
attacks had increased. The Creeks had made alli-
ances with the Choctaw and the Cherokee—in fact,
with all the southern red men except the Chicka-
saw. The Chickasaw had signed a peace with Rob-
ertson through their honorable chief, Opimingo.
Inspired and led by the terrible half-white Creek
chieftain, Alexander McGillivray, the allies had all
but wiped out the white men of the Cumberland.
At last, from Opimingo, Robertson had learned
enough to make him suspect that this Indian con-
federacy was encouraged, financed, and supplied by
Governor Esteban Miro, of Louisiana.
~Z


The Spanish Man’s Letter 3
When America and Britain made peace, the set-
tlements in Kentucky and Tennessee became the
special objects of foreign intrigue. Neither Spain
nor France, which were still powerful feudal
nations under the rule of the Bourbon cousins,
wished to see American democracy spread and
become strong. They agreed that the Appalachian
Mountains should forever be the western boundary
of the young Republic. But Americans had already
crossed the high mountain chain and made settle-
ments in the West. Therefore they must either
be driven out, or they must be induced to forsake
their allegiance to America and come in under the
banner of Spain. To this end, French and Spanish
agents'workcd among the In ‘Gains, who already
hated the settlers for having bl. . ‘homes and forts
on their hunting grounds.‘ '
“What’s the Spanish Man’s ganie ?” Ross Doug-
las had asked the old scout, Kaspar Mansker, only
a few days ago. i
Kaspar had slowly shaken his leonine German
head and answered: “Only vot I know is vot is my
game. Here I am und here I stick!” - '
That was the answer of Nashville generally.
They would not flee from scalping knife, torch, nor
tomahawk. They would stand their ground, or
perish.
“It’s verra bad times we’re in, Lachlan, my
laddie,” Ross Douglas said presently. “Ay, ’tis
bad. This mornin’ Opimingo came in. He says
some Creeks an’ a white man werefollowin’ him
J!


4 The White Leader
an’ meanin’ to kill him, he thinks; but he gave them
the slip over yonder in the woods.”
“Why did they want to kill him?” Lachlan asked.
“Just Injun nature ?”
“He thinks not. He says the Creeks came to
his town wi’ the white man that said he was a trader.
Oh, ay, he had strouds an’ beads to show. But
what they really came for was to bring a message
from McGillivray.”
Lachlan looked up, his eyes flashing with star-
tled interest. “What does the White Leader want
wi’ Opimingo ?”
“Nothin’ much but to join wi’ him an’ his Creeks
an’ their friends, the Choctaw, an’ the Lower Chero-
kee. Wi’ Opimingo an’ his Chickasaw they’d make
a big army. An’ then, says McGillivray, they'll
wipe out Nashville first, then Watauga an’ Franklin
an’ every American settler in a’ Tennessee—that’s
all. Nothin’ much!” his father informed him with
grim humor. ‘__
“An’ what did Opimingo tell them ?”
“Oh, he talked clever to them, as crafty as he
could, an’ said he'd have to think it over. But he
says they suspected he might sneak over here an’
tell Jim. The Injuns all know Opimingo’s a man o’
his word; an’ they know he ma@‘le treaties wi’ Jim
when the British made them wi’ Benjamin Franklin
an’ the rest o’ our fine lads ’way yonder i’ Londo_n—-
or it maybe was Paris? An’ so they likely guessed
right that Opimingo would feel bound by his honor
- --—--—-' '*-“*1 '_ n | llfllllllllll


The Spanish Man’s Letter 5
to tell Jim what was intended by the White Leader
an’ his flock o’ bloody feathers.”
Lachlan nodded. “Does Opimingo think the
Spanish Man is puttin’ McGillivray up to it?"
“Well, he says ’twas Spanish trinkets mostly the
trader had wi’ him, like them he brought Jim afore.
But any lame-toed fox wi’ one squint eye could tell
ye that McGillivray needs no Spanish Man to put
him on to killin’ Americans.”
“Father, what’s the reason the White Leader
hates us so black?”
Ross Douglas shook his head, his brows drawn
together in a thoughtful frown. “Nobody knows.
But ye’re right when ye call it black hate, lad.
Black as night is the soul o’ Alex McGillivray
towards the Americans; an’ his hands drippin’ wi’
our blood; an’ him always reachin’ for another
bucket to soak them in.”
“Yet he’s got a white man’s blood in him, judgin’
by the name.”
“Oh, ay. But likely his father was some worth-
less low cur, half-Injun himself maybe. Ye know,
lad, how there’s traders—an’ traders! Some’s
decent, clean, honest white men ”
“Like Ross Douglas,” said his son promptly.
“Oh, ay,” said Ross, nonchalantly, his eyes lit
with a humorous glance. “An’ there’s others, low
whites; or, what’s worse, low whites wi’ a big slice
o’ bad Injun in them. An’ I take it that the White
Leader’s father must have been that sort. A bad
lot, ye see. An’ that likely accounts for the bloody


6 _ The White Leader
V_q ‘
nature o’ Alexander McGillivray as well as for him
havin’ a white man’s name. ’Twas a sad day for
Tennessee settlers that saw that red mongrel become
chief o’ such a large an’ warlike nation as the
Creeks! Jim believes the Spanish Man is helpin’
McGillivray. An’ ’tis the mtwo fiends that’s sendin’
us out on trail to-night. I feel bad about it, lad-
die.” He put his hand over his son’s briefly, then
withdrew it. “For ’tis more’n likely we’ll never get
back alive, even if we get to the far place Jim’s
sendin’ us. I don't care for mysel’,” he added.
“Well, Father, that’s nothin’ new i’ the Cumber-
land,” was all Lachlan said. It was true. Death
had walked with men as their own shadow, in that
lonely district of Middle Tennessee, for the past
half-dozen years.
“Seems to me I ought to be doin’ somethin’ better
for my only son an’ child than leadin’ him into one
danger after another,” said R0 with a troubled
look. There flashed across hiymind a poignant
memory of the Scotch Highlands, of green misty
hills, a peaceful cot, bands of gently moving, crop-
ping cattle or the smaller, whiter bodies of sheep,
coming and going in a tender ghostly calm through
the violet-gray wet haze, a tinkle of bells; and a
ipang smote him that he could not give his son a boy-
hood of safety among those loved hills.
“I’m thinkin’ there’s nothin’ better for a boy than
jus’ learnin’ to be a man; for a man’s what I’1l get
to be, an’ nothin’ else, if I live long enough. So ’tis
best I’m forced to learn now,” was Lachlan’s‘ very


The Spanish Man’s Letter 7
practical answer. “Is it the letter from the Spanish
Man that’s made Jim send us out ?”
“Ay. ’Tis the letter. The Spanish Man says in
it that Jim’s all wrong in thinkin’ he’s i’ cahoots wi’
that devil, the White Leader. Says the Spanish
Man, he’s full o’ friendship for Jim an’ all o’ us.
An’ to prove it, says he, this letter’s an invitation
to us to come in under the banner o’ Spain an’ for-
swear the States. What good can the States do us,
says he, when they're so far ofl to the east o’ the
mountains? Join wi’ Louisiana, says he, an’ take
the oath o’ allegiance to the King o’ Spain. An’
then, says the Spanish Man, he’ll send troops to
talk to Mr. McGillivray.”
“H’m,” mumbled Lachlan, “h’m.”
“Oh, ay,” his father nodded. “Ye can see the
way o’ it.”
“Ay. If we’ll turn Spanish, he’ll call off White
Alex. An’ if §~on’t, why then he'll keep on
feedin’- McGillivray- an’ his six thousand Creeks all
the powder an’ tomahawks they can swallow. Eh ?”
“Ay, lad—till there’s not one American settler
left i’ the Cumberland; an’ maybe till they’ve cleaned
out eastern Tennessee, too.”
“An’ what is it Jim wants us to do, you an’ me ?”
“We’re goin’ to try to get through to Watauga
wi’ a letter to John Sevier.”
“Oh, ay.” The boy’s eyes lighted up gleamingly.
“He’d sure be sendin’ word o’ it to Nolichucky Jack!
From the time they started Watauga together


8 The White Leader
before the war, Jim an’ Sevier have loved each
other like brothers.”
“ ’Tis natural they should. They’re two o’ the
finest men ever put on this earth. Jim says ’tis a
big Spanish plot to seize the whole o’ the western
country, Tennessee an’ Kentucky, too. An’ he wants
Sevier to send word o’ it into Kentucky to Isaac
Shelby that’s gone there now. Shelby’s an old chum
o’ Sevier’s. They fought at King’s Mountain
together, where they killed the Wolf, Ferguson.”
“Ay,” Lachlan nodded. “Cousin Andy Mac-
Phail used to tell me about how he once met Fergu-
son at a battle i’ Pennsylvania. ’Twas the year
they fought at King's Mountain that we came here
wi’ James Robertson. I’m thinkin’ if the Spanish
Man had seen Jim on the trail that year, he’d not
be sendin’ silly letters to him, writin’ him to turn
traitor jus’ to have an easy time 1”
Ross Douglas smiled. Lachlan saw the smile,
and laughed. They were both thinking of James
Robertson’s strong, heavy-set body, his large, pow-
erful head, his unsmiling, rather stern, yet not
unkindly face, his slow speech and economy of words
which seemed to enhance his outstanding quality of
immovableness. It was impossible to think of James
Robertson as being turned, alive, from any pur-
pose to whichhe had dedicated himself.
“Jim’s got the worst fault o’ all Scotchmen,” said
Ross. “The Scotch never know when ’tis time to
give in.” ‘


The Spanish Man’s Letter 9
“Ye’re jokin’,” his son charged him, reprovingly.
“For I know that,Vmysel’, an’ I’m only a lad yet.”
“Ye do? Well, tell me then, what ye consider the
time to‘ give in.” He regarded the boy curiously.
“The time is never,” Lachlan informed him cheer-
fully. His gray eyes sparkled. Ross laughed.
“Ye trapped me!” he said. “For I sure thought
ye’d found out the one wise thing yer race has never
discovered yet. Jim will never give in to the Spanish
Man, nor to the White Leader. So he’s for warnin’
Sevier an’ askin’ him to come, or to send men to help
us if possible. We need help sorely.”
“Well, Father, we’ll go an’ get help, you an’ me.
I’m not fearin’, an’ I know ye’re not, save for yer
boy. ’Tis a long trail to Watauga an’ maybe ’tis
crossed somewhere by the White Leader. But bein’
rocked to sleep wi’ tomahawks isn’t a bad lullaby
for men; an’ ’tis almost sure to be the end o’ a
trader in this country sooner or later. So, if ’tis
sooner ’stead o’ later—” he rose and stretched his
arms over his head. “I’m not worryin’,” he added,
with a yawn.
“We ought to have another man along,” said
Ross. “But there were no volunteers. An’ the truth
is, too, there’s none to be spared.”
“I’ll go an’ tell Blue Arrow to come wi’ us,”
Lachlan answered, starting off hastilyf
“Lachlan !”
The boy paused and looked back.
“We need a~man an’ we need him bad,” Ross


IO The White Leader
said. “But maybe ’tis walkin' straight to death to
trust that redskin.”
“Blue Arrow’s all right. Rusty likes him.”
Rusty was Lachlan’s hunting dog. Lachlan always
declared that Rusty had more sense than most men.
“A dog can be mistaken,” Ross said doubtfully.
“Ay. But ye know we’ve got to have a third
man. An’ Blue Arrow’ll go, if I ask him. That’s
what comes o’ findin’ a redskin half dead from
wounds an’ hunger, off there i’ the brush, an’ fetchin’
him home on my back. I don’t doubt I’ve got Blue
Arrow on my back for the rest o’ my life 1”
“That may not be long enough for him to begin
to lie heavy on ye, lad.” The troubled look settled
like a cloud on Ross Douglas’ face again. “Laddie,
I’ve never been a fearfu’ man, nor one that’s always
thinkin’ about death an’ ghosts an’ such. But I’ve
got a chill on me about this trip to-night; like some-
thin’ was tryin’ to tell me here’s terrible sorrow
ahead o’ me.”
“Ye’ve been doin’ sentinel duty too long. Ye
need sleep. Doze ofl for a couple o’ hours. I’ll
get our stufl ready an’ call ye in time for a good
supper afore twilight. To tell ye the truth, I’m
keen for the trail, whatever we meet on itl I’ve
been shut up i’ this little fort so long, I’m smothered
—like a mouse sewed up i’ a flour sack. I’m about
ready to eat my way outl”
He shook his fist playfully at his father and
bounded off, whistling. Ross watched him out of
sight.


The Spanish Man’s Letter II
“ ‘A thousand shall fall at thy right hand; it shall
not come nigh thee,’ ” he murmured a line from the
Psalms, never far from the lips of the Scot. “Oh,
Lord, save the laddie!”
Yet, though a dark apprehension had settled on
his own spirit, and though the perils of the venture
in prospect were so great that disaster seemed
almost certain, neither Ross Douglas nor his son
thought of refusing to go. Not even to save his
boy would Ross have forbidden Lachlan to do the
duty which the time, and the needs of his fellow-
settlers, demanded of him. As a matter of fact,
even Ross’ command would not have restrained
Lachlan from taking the dangerous trail with his
father. Since his mother’s death, when he was six,
Lachlan had gone wherever Ross went and shared
his every hazard.
Lachlan found Blue Arrow busy splitting kindling
for Mrs. Robertson. The young Indian paused for
an instant to stroke Rusty’s foreleg, somewhat awk-
wardly; because the dog had run up to him and
thrust its nose against his hand. -He did not look
up at Lachlan nor answer his “How-d’y.”
Lachlan stood silently beside him, studying his
scarred and unhandsome face and thinking there
was little wonder that the settlers were not attracted
to Blue Arrow. The Indian’s countenance had a
gloomy, even sullen cast, though the black eyes
were mournful rather than fierce.
“He always looks like he was broodin’ over some-
thin’,” was Lachlan’s thought.


I2 The White Leader
That brooding look of Blue Arrow’s repelled
men. In their experience the brooding Indian to-day
was the killing savage to-morrow. Several in
Nashville had said openly that‘ Lachlan should have
left the Indian to die where he found him, and not
have brought him into the fort. How, they asked,
had he been wounded? Most probably by one of
the settlers when he was raiding their settlement
with his fellow Creeks! That he was a Creek,
Blue Arrow had admitted.
“Well, the rest is easy guessin’!” they said.
Lachlan had no excuses. He just couldn’t leave
a wounded human being to die of starvation or the
fangs of wolves: and he couldn’t shoot a lone,
wounded Indian, even if that Indian were a Creek.
There had been nothing for him to do, being the
sort of boy he was, but to hoist Blue Arrow on his
back, bring him to safety, and nurse him into health.
Lachlan did not pretend that he knew anything
that was in Blue Arrow’s mind. He only saw what
the others saw; namely, a morose, taciturn savage
keeping to himself as much as possible, never asking
for food even if he knew it was being prepared in
this or that cabin,', and only obtruding when there
was some job to be dope which he understood, like
chopping kindling or tanning hides or making new
ax handles. Probably he was industrious, thought
Lachlan, because he felt that his sole chance of life
was to make himself useful. But there was the odd
fact that Rusty liked him: and Rusty, like all set-
tlers’ dogs in those days, hated Indians. Of course,


The Spanish Man’s Letter I3
Rusty was no beauty himself; and he was rather
taciturn and undemonstrative, too, and nobody but
his young master thought particularly well of him.
“Maybe he feels a sort o’ sympathy for Blue
Arrow,” Lachlan thought. He noticed the Indian’s
awkward, almost timid way of stroking the dog’s
paw or his flank, instead of patting his head as a
man used to dogs, and liking them, would do. The
gesture told, of itself, how utterly unaccustomed
Blue Arrow was to any expression of tenderness or
even of comradeship.
Haltingly, partly in bad Creek and partly by
signs, because Blue Arrow knew hardly a word of
English, Lachlan told him of the journey in pros-
pect. Without waiting to be bidden, the Indian
said he would go, too. Lachlan explained, unneces-
sarily, that it would be very dangerous. Blue Ar-
row agreed, but stated that he, himself, would be
safer on trail with Ross and Lachlan than left behind
in the fort without them. If the Creeks came down
in a raid, he said, the settlers would almost surely
kill him first, fearing that he would open the gate
or kill Robertson or otherwise serve his tribe from
within. In the last raid, all that had saved him
had been Lachlan’s protection, and the fact that he,
Blue Arrow, had crouched close at Lachlan’s side,
greasing his bullets and handing them to him. Yes:
he would go—he preferred tol On trail a man had,
he said, at least the same chance as a hunted rabbit;
“here, no.”
“Well, Lachlan, so you’re leaving us to-night.”


I4 The White Leader
The boy turned quickly to answer the greeting.
James Robertson and Kaspar Mansker had come up,
With the noiseless tread which even huge men, like
Mansker, and heavily built men, like Robertson,
learned quickly on the frontier.
“I vish dot Injun vos oud of here,” said Mansker.
“He’s goin’ wi’ us,” said Lachlan, briefly.
“Den look oud for your scalbs,” answered the
old scout, shaking his head. Lachlan smiled. He
liked Mansker. Indeed, all the boys and young
men admired the famous scout. They loved to
hear tales of his early wanderings in Kentucky
before a cabin had been built there, in the days when
he had been one of the Long Hunters and the friend
of Daniel Boone.
“We need him,” Lachlan replied.
“I can’t spare you a white man in his place,”
said Robertson. “There is this comfort for you,
lad; you’ll be in no more danger than those of us
that stay here. We daren’t let the roofs dry, for
fear that any night the Creeks’ll be here throwing
torches on to them. The Spanish, too, are fiends
of cruelty, bent on destroying us all. And the big-
gest devil among them is that half Spaniard, half
Frenchman, half Scotchman, and altogether Creek
scoundrel, McGillivray!”
“Do ye know why the White Leader hates us
so?” Lachlan asked. “I can’t get over that. It
seems queer to me.”
Robertson made a negative gesture. He and
Mansker shook hands with the boy and moved off.


The Spanish Man’s Letter I5
Lachlan bade Rusty and Blue Arrow follow him
and started for the cabin. He saw his father asleep
inside. 'Tiptoeing silently, he gathered up their
rifles, ammunition, blankets, and their small hoard
of jerked beef; and, with Blue Arrow’s help, he
loaded the pack horse. The men would walk; for
they could go more silently afoot and hide more
securely. It would have been safer for them if they
could have done without the pack horse. But they
had to take food enough for three men for a good
many days, because they would not dare to hunt
until they were almost at their journey’s end, lest
the crack of a shot betray them to a wandering
band of the White Leader’s allies. If they came
suddenly on Indians, there was the likelihood that
the redskins would try first to secure the pack horse
for whatever it carried; and this would give skilled
frontiersmen a chance, at least, to make off.


The Mysterious Lone Camper 17
round quickly to Ross and, pointing into the black-
ness, grunted again. “Huh!”
The white men at first could see nothing; then,
after a few minutes, they realized that there was a
fire somewhere below the forest, probably on the
river shore, because a faint suggestion of color
thinned the farthest blackness.
“Injun,” said Blue Arrow. Then he added in
Creek, which Ross understood a little, as he had
traded with Creeks in a brief lull of peace: “It
must be a big camp or we could not see the upper
light of the fires so far olf. We must leave this trail
and go north over the rocks. We must travel only
at night and hide in the rocks in the daytime. That
is no hunting camp. It is a war camp.”
“You see, Father ?” said Lachlan. “Blue Arrow’s
all right.”
“Creek war camp, you think?“ Ross asked.
“N o. I think Chickamaugan. Creeks don’t come
by boat.” ,
“He’s probably afraid for his own scalp, too,"
said Ross. “The fact that McGillivray is sending
emissaries to the Chickamaugans wouldn't stop any
one of those river sharks from scalpin’ a lone Creek
anywhere he met him by way o’ cheerin’ himself
up I’,
“That’s true,” Lachlan admitted. “Do you know
McGillivray?” he asked Blue Arrow suddenly.
“Huh. Better not talk,” was all the answer
he got. Blue Arrow pushed ahead now and
assumed the lead, saying that, some distance in the


I8 The White Leader
direction he was taking, there was an old war trail
which the Cherokee had used before the redoubtable
Chickasaw had driven them out of Middle Tennes-
see. There was nothing to do but to follow him.
Lachlan did so trustingly enough. But Ross Doug-
las felt a chill tremor pass over his body, as he
turned_into the dark unknown, at the heels of this
morose savage, the White Leader’s tribesman.
They were still in the forest when dawn broke;
so they did not camp but pushed on, halting only
once to rest and to eat a frugal meal of their jerked
beef. The next day found them in more open coun-
try marked by ridges of clay and rock, the steps of
an ascending plateau. Now they traveled only by
night, because there was little cover to screen them
from the keen-eyed foe, if he should be within
seeing distance. It was dangerous travel, beset
with sudden gullies and small precipices.
On the fifth night out, Ross Douglas missed his
footing and fell into a shallow ravine floored with
loose rock. Lachlan plunged down after him. But
he had to call Blue Arrow to come and help him
carry his father out; for Ross had injured his shoul-
der and one ankle very severely. His leg collapsed
under him, when he attempted to stand. They
made camp and waited for dawn, which was only an
hour or so off.
With the light, came a vision of help. Looking
down from the height where they lay among boul-
ders, invisible to all eyes but those of a hawk hang-
ing in the sky over them, they saw in the distance
V u



The Mysterious Lone Camper I9
below the farther wall of the ravine a wide creek
playing between grassy shores and, at its edge, a
small tent.
“There are no Injuns ’round, or one man wouldn’t
camp like that in the open,” said Lachlan. He con-
tinued to watch and presently saw a rider come
through the leafy trees, cross the stream, dismount
and hobble his horse. The boy could make out, for
an instant, a tall figure in frontiersman’s garb
carrying a rifle. As he looked, the man pulled off
his deerskin cap, tossed it aside, stretched his arms
over his head and then threw himself down on the
grass. These were a white man’s gestures! The
mysterious camper had barely touched the grass
before Lachlan was sprinting down the cliff.
“You stay here with Ross and keep Rusty with
you,” he called blithely to Blue Arrow. It was good
to know that aid was so near at hand, and that there
were no lurking savages to prevent him from getting
it. '
On the far side of the ravine, which inclined
gently enough to the creek, Lachlan found himself
among trees again, with a rough tangle of under-
brush. Having no longer need of silence, he
crashed through till he reached the wide sward that
ran along the creek’s edge.
“Hallo!” heicalled.
The lone camper was already on his feet; for he
had heard the noise Lachlan made in getting through
the forest. '
“Hallo!” he answered, and moved a few steps


20 The White Leader
forward to meet the boy. “And what do you want,
my lad?” he asked. “And where do you come
from? For the hill here does not usually vomit
copper-headed boys.”
Lachlan was too breathless for speech, but he
would not have answered frankly at once in any
case. The man might be an honest hunter who
would give help; or he might be a bandit who would
steal their pack horse and even shoot if they pro-
tested. -
“I was on a long hunt an’ I got lost,” he panted.
“Who are you?” There was no answer for a
moment, and the two eyed each other thoughtfully.
Lachlan was looking at the tallest man he had ever
seen, though the men of his own people were gen-
erally tall. The camper was about six feet three
or even more, finely proportioned, erect, with a
proud carriage. His abundant hair was a soft,
dark brown. His face was strikingly handsome,
the features being chiselled as finely as if done by
a great sculptor. His eyes were so remarkable
that Lachlan’s gaze quickly came back to them and
fixed there. They were, to begin with, dispropor~
tionately large for his slender, aquiline face, and
they were set very deeply in his head. They were
very dark and, had they been duller, would have
appeared black; but they burned, rather than shone,
with a sombre fire that seemed to send olf tawny
flashes as his look traveled over the boy’s face and
body. Lachlan’s first response to them was a sort
of pleased fascination. They were extraordinary


The Mysterious Lone Camper 2I
and beautiful eyes, and they reminded him vaguely
of others he had seen somewhere—he tried to
remember where—not another man’s—no—a
lynx’s? a wolf’s ?—not that any lynx or wolf ever
had such large eyes, nor of that color—yet— Then
suddenly his smiling pleasure vanished in such a sud-
den and terrifying sense of imminent death as he
might have experienced if a wolf and not a man
were poised in front of him to spring at his throat.
For, without being able to reason about it or even
name his thought, he became conscious in that in-
stant that the sombre fire in those extraordinary
eyes was hate, ferocity, madness perhaps, unbridled
and lusting for blood.
“Who are you ?” he almost gasped.
The man turned towards the leafy coppice on the
other shore and gestured. Then, even as Lachlan
saw feathered Indians spilling out, like an immense
covey of partridges rising, the man said in his coldly
smooth, cultured tones, with their faint trace of
Scotch accent:
“My name is Alexander McGillivray.”
“The White Leader.” The words fell from the
boy’s lips mechanically.
“I see you have heard of me. That will make
explanations unnecessary.”
He spoke in Creek to his followers. Stupefied
with horror, Lachlan heard him ask them what tor-
ture they preferred to inflict on their prisoner. And,
having glutted their cruelty to the full, by what
death should this boy die? In the flames?


The Mysterious Lone Camper 23
McGillivray’s eyes flamed, but he answered coolly,
in English:
“We were on our way to make a peace treaty with
John Sevier; therefore we did not paint our faces
for war. After the peace treaty and the friendly
vows in Watauga we were going to the Cherokee
towns to make a war pact. Then we would return
with the Cherokee to visit our new white brothers
in Watauga. Once inside the fort, we would kill
every white man, woman and child. But now we
are going home; because we have heard that some
men have gone to Sevier to warn him of our pur-
pose. So a Chickamaugan told me yesterday.”
Lachlan surmised that a scout from the Chicka-
maugan camp, which they had sighted the first night
out, must have found their trail later and made this
guess at the purpose of their dangerous jour-
ney. He spat on the ground in the Indian fashion
of showing contempt.
“What is more vile than a halfbreed? Only a
Creek halfbreedl” he sneered, in the Creek tongue.
At that an Indian rushed at him with uplifted
tomahawk; but the White Leader restrained him.
“That is what he wants, a swift death,” he said.
“You are a fool, Tustunnuc. Bind him to that tree
and pile the wood around him, but only as high as
his knees. All Americans shall die, because I will
not cease from war while one lives. But the Ameri-
can who calls me ‘halfbreed’ shall die slowly.”
“By what name should I call you?” Lachlan
shouted, struggling desperately in the rough hands


24 The White Leader '
of the Creeks, hoping always to rouse their ire, or
even McGillivray’s, beyond control. “Halfbreed is
the only name your worthless father gave you!
Son of a coward!”
He was startled into silence by the effect of his
words on McGillivray. Indeed, even the Indian
hands gripping him slackened their hold from the
shock. The White Leader’s tall, powerful physique
jerked as if from the long thrust of a knife, and he
emitted a hoarse cry. He stared helplessly at the
boy, with eyes that were like the eyes of a wild beast
in agony in the steel jaws of a trap. His voice was
husky and unsteady when, at last, he spoke.
“You will light to-day a memorial fire to the
man you have slurred.” He drew close to Lachlan,
who was now tightly secured to the tree and stood
in silence a moment, looking down at him sombrely.
“The red hair, like red gold; and the gray eyes like
sun glancing off the clean, steel blade of a knife
. . . ever since I looked at you, a secret voice
has been telling me to let you live. But, no. I
have made a vow. The voice must tell me some-
thing more before I dare break my vow. I am no
superstitious fool to listen to I know not what!
What is your father’s name? I will send him word
to tell him the end of his son—a burnt sacrifice in
Indian flames.” He stared gloomily into Lachlan’s
eyes, then continued, “His lot is happier than my
father’s, whose son was given up to a worse sacri-
fice.V And your lot is happier than his son’s; because


The Mysterious _Lone Camper 25
you will sufler only a few hours’ torture and then
receive the blessing of death.”
Lachlan stared back at this strange being—fiend
or madman, he did not know which—who, even at
this dread moment, exercised so tremendous a fas-
cination over him. Then he asked:
“Did somethin’ verra terrible happen to yer
brother ?”
“I had no brother,” curtly.
The man must certainly be insane, Lachlan
thought, to say his father had lost a son through
a more horrible form of sacrifice than fire, and
then say he had “no brother !”
McGillivray gestured towards the faggots, and
a Creek began to light them.
“What is your name ?” he repeated.
The boy, watching the spurt and running trail of
fire, answered mechanically:
“Lachlan.”
McGillivray’s hands shot out and gripped his
shoulders.
“You lie I” he cried hoarsely.
“My name is Lachlan,” the boy repeated steadily.
The flames were running faster now, responding to
the little breeze that ruffled the grasses on the bank
of the brook.
“Lachlan! Lachlan!” the man repeated like one
demented. “And what else? Speak!”
Lachlan shook his head. He would not mention
Ross’ name; because there was always the faint
chance that Blue Arrow had not killed him before


26 The White Leader
stealing the horse. If Ross lived, Lachlan did not
want him ever to know of his son’s horrible death.
“The red hair, the gray eyes, and the name!
Lachlan! The voice knew. What was that voice?
His, perhaps.” McGillivray’s tone was one of awe.
“Lachlan McGillivray is your name. The voice
knew!”
He drew his knife and slashed Lachlan’s bonds,
and quickly lifted him out of the mounting circle
of flame.
“Put out the fire,” he ordered, in Creek. “The
Muskogee cannot burn their chief’s son.”
“The White Leader adopts the young paleface ?”
asked the warrior whom McGillivray had addressed
before as Tustunnuc.
“Yes. This is Lachlan McGillivray, my son.
Break camp. We go.”
A few minutes later, Lachlan, his body suddenly
gone limp from the terrible strain he had passed
through, was lifted into the arms of McGillivray,
who had ‘already mounted, and was borne at an easy
gallop across the stream and into the forest, south-
ward bound for the beautiful country of the Creeks.
“The same hair and eyes, the same name.” He
heard his strange captor murmur the words again,
as his head dropped helplessly on McGillivray’s
breast. - ~
“Who had the same hair and eyes and the name
of Lachlan?” he queried dully, in a faint voice. I
He heard a long heavy sigh, like a sob, almost
tear through the chest where his cheek rested, and


The Mysterious Lone Camper 27
felt the arm that held him—strong as iron and lithe
as a willow-——tighten spasmodically about him in an
embrace of anguish and tenderness.
“My father, Lachlan McGillivray. The most
foully wronged of men.”
“Where is he ?” Lachlan whispered.
Again he felt that profound sigh heave through
the man’s breast. The White Leader’s tone was
low and infinitely mournful as he answered:
“God knows. Only God knows.”
A"-IQ


CHAPTER III
THE EDUCATION OF A WARRIOR
THE country of the Creeks, into which Lachlan
entered as the son of Chief Alex, comprised most of
Georgia and Alabama. From the lowlands of the
south, which were in part stretches of sand, of bogs,
and of meadow, it sloped gently northward over
broad plateaus and valleys to a series of broken
blufls—the last echoes, fixed in stone, of that moun-
tain epic, the Appalachians. It was a green country;
from the vivid emerald of its grassy sod and the olive
and jade of its leafy trees to the more sombre hue of
the pines and cypresses rolling like waves of dark
wintry sea-green here and there across the ridges
and along the edges of miles of brighter green
sward. And all this glorious verdure was laced and
threaded, spattered and shot, with shining streams.
Like broad ribbons of silver, their pure surfaces
hardly touched by man, the larger rivers—Coosa,
Tombigbee, Chattahoochee, Mobile and Alabama—
curved through the living green tapestry, receiving
the waters of literally hundreds of creeks of all
sizes, from broad, quiet brooks, which mirrored the
green shade of their banks, to small foamy rills no
wider than a boy’s palm. The -territory had been
3- ' ——_~V_V_V_=V _ -—_..—.=. V_=._,=V_-H
28


The Education of a Warrior 29
christened by its waters, Muskoki, meaning Creeks.
This is an Algonkin word and, presumably, had been
given as a name to the country by French Canadian
traders of Algonkin blood. The word had become
1!/[uskogee in the Creek tongue. Their own word
for creek was hatchee. And their own name for
themselves was /1 bihka. It signified a pile of scalps
covering the base of the war-pole.
An early legend said that ldng ago the Abihka
had been driven out of their home far to the south
by a stronger nation: and that, after long wander-
ings, they had arrived in this earthly paradise where
the scene and the climate were perfect, and the deer
so abundant that the muted drumming of their hoofs
was always in the air. Then the chief who had led
them through all their hardships, looking on the
peace and plenty offered by this new land, thrust
his spear into the earth and cried, “Al-a-bama!”
or “Here I restllé Students of Indian languages
tell us that this is not the meaning of Alabama, and,
therefore, that the incident never happened. But
the story has its value, even if it be only a legend;
because it sprang out of the soil, inspired by the
beauty of the land.
These wanderers from the south or west had
absorbed whatever peoples they found in that vast
territory and had now become the Creek Confeder-
acy of the Four Nations with a central government
which was, to some extent at least, acknowledged
by all their tribes. They had about forty towns
and villages situated chiefly on the Coosa, Chatta-


30 The White Leader
hoochee and Tallapoosa rivers and their smaller
tributaries. Here and there through the prevailing
green, on some specially favored bankside over
sparkling water, the clusters of houses, made of logs
and plastered with red clay, glistened like mounds
of roughly cut carnelians. A hint of gold among
low-growing leaves told of squashes ripening in
the fields.
Lachlan had visited several of the major towns
with McGillivray, to be welcomed by the headmen
as the White Leader’s son. In spite of his fears
for his father, left helpless in the hands of the
treacherous Blue Arrow, his spirits began to rise.
The beautiful country entranced him. Under its
influence even his fears for Ross vanished, and he
began to believe that, like himself, Ross also had
miraculously escaped. Yet there was no reason
for his change of mind except the green and crystal
nwoodland with its flashing colored wings and its
bounding deer which, like gestures of hope, beck-
oned the boy out from the darkness of dread.
Though he had escaped the flames, he was none
too safe. He was a white boy, the only one of his
hated race in a country of Indians who numbered
several thousand warriors. His life was wholly
at the mercy of the powerful quarter-breed chief,
whose fiery eyes had the look of madness at their
centers. But Lachlan took the true frontiersman’s
view of a dangerous situation, as an exercise for
his wits. Even here the quick mind would be worth
more to him than the quick trigger finger. And


32 The White Leader
For a short time on certain days these youths might
associate with one another, but no one else might
approach them. Even Okee was not allowed to
speak to them when she set their frugal fare before
them. The \Vhite Leader himself could not visit
his adopted son, who was supposed to be imbibing
much wisdom from the spirits by means of hunger
and chill, if not actual cold, a hard plank bed and
fantastic dreams.
Though the ordeal was unpleasant enough, Lach-
lan did not sufler under it. He had borne worse
privations on the trail with Ross; especially during
the years of the war, when they had marched in hun-
ger and cold for days, not daring to fire a shot at a
deer because of Indians, nor to light a fire to dry
their clothing soaked by heavy rains. Having a
practical head on his young shoulders, he used the
opportunity in trying to make friends with the four
other boys; because it was possible that their friend-
ship, which would win him also the goodwill of their
elders, might serve him in the hour of need. Lach-
lan did not trust McGillivray’s sudden affection for
him. The fact that he had red hair and the same
Christian name as Chief Alex’s father seemed to
him too slender a thread to hang upon safely. And,
as to McGillivray’s “secret voice,” Lachlan knew
the capricious nature of such companions! The
same spirits who told an Indian to-day to spare a
life, to-morrow would say, “Kill.” In short, the
counsel of the spirits was usually, “Do as you please,
brother. If you want that chap’s scalp badly


The Education of a Warrior 33
enough, take it. If you don’t particularly care about
it, why then, leave it on him!”
Lachlan entered into his new friendships from
policy, but almost immediately one of them became
quite genuine. He took an immense fancy to a boy
named Wewoca, which, translated literally, means
Barking Vvater. Wewoca had been named in honor
of some noisy falls that broke the flow of a stream
near his village. It was on the third day of his
initiation that Lachlan discovered this new friend.
The five youths had sat for an hour together,
reciting their dreams of the preceding night with
religious solemnity. Lachlan still stumbled badly in
grammar; but he was always able to convey his
meaning, sometimes by calling in the aid of a Creek
word-book which McGillivray had compiled, and
which Lachlan had studied busily ever since his
arrival. The other boys moved off, but Barking
Water remained squatting on the ground near him.
He was a thick-set youth of very dark skin, with a
decided kink in his hair and a large and ready smile.
There was a good deal of African blood in Barking
Water, and it showed plainly in his irrepressibly
jolly disposition as well as in his hair, his round
rolling eyes, his throaty voice and his thick laughing
lips.
Tapping his chest, he said:
“Iste Semole.”
Now while this literally meant “wild man,” Lach-
lan knew that Wewoca was really informing him
that he was a Seminole. Many years before, some


The Education of a Warrior 35
Water looked about carefully to see if any one of
the other boys was within earshot.
“Fortunately they have gone back to their cabins
to meditate on the meaning of the dream I told
them. I told a good dream on purpose, to get rid
of them. Also because I was angry with Bilka for
telling a dream about a roasted deer. My empty
stomach creaked with jealousy and hunger. To tell
the truth, I don’t think much of this thin meal and
water we are getting. However, we were talking of
white men, and you asked me if I hated them all,
didn’t you ?”
Lachlan nodded.
“I felt sure I had remembered your question cor-
rectly. Because that is what caused me to look
around to see where Bilka and the others were.
And that, again, is what caused me to take up the
subjects first of dreams and then of food. It is my
nature to do so. I begin to speak of something;
and immediately I think of something else connected
with it; and that again causes me to think of other
things; and all these things are very interesting and
must be mentioned. So that in the end it frequently
happens that the people who listen do not know in
the least what I am talking about. Nor, as a matter
of fact, do I myself. Unless some one present is
able to remember what it was that started me ofl.”
“It was your hatred of my race,” said Lachlan,
stifling a chuckle.
“So it was. You are very clever to have remem-
bered that all this time. I shall like you better


36 The White Leader
because you are clever.” Barking Water grinned at
him expansively. He lowered his voice. “The
truth is that I only really hate Spaniards; for my
father’s sake. Because, you see, the white people
you belong to do not come into the swamps and
forests of the Seminole and build towns and drive
away the game. Therefore, I have no reason to
hate them. But you must never tell that to -the
Creeks, who are friends with the Spaniards; or Tus-
tunnuc will have me whipped with hickory twigs, or
scratched with twisted briars. Which would be
unpleasant,” he added as an afterthought.
“I won’t tell,” said Lachlan, smiling. “I, too,
hate the Spaniards because they set the Creeks on
my people.”
“So you see it is not really at all strange that we
should be already such great friends,” Wewoca con-
tinued; “though you are iste hutke (white man) and
I am iste semole. I am so black that I can’t call
myself iste chate (red man), but I don’t mind,
because I have my color from my father who was a
great man. Only a very great man could make peo-
ple turn blue and shake with fear one moment; and,
the next moment, fall on the ground screaming with
laughter. Because he could do these two things,
my father was undoubtedly the greatest man who
ever lived; since there can be nothing in the world
more remarkable than this power,” he concluded
complacently.
Lachlan agreed with him cheerfully. He was
having no end of fun out of his new friend. ‘


The Education of a Warrior 37
“It is great luck for you that the White Leader
chose you for his son instead of burning you,”
Barking Water went on. “I have heard all about it.
It is because you have hair like fire or red clay and
the same name as his father who came from far
ofl, from a place called Shalleeson (Charleston)
and became a very great man among the western
Creeks. He always said that the Creeks must be
good friends with his white people. And so did
the White Leader tell the Creeks ‘be friends’ for
many years. Then the white people did something,
I don’t know what, but it was a great wrong, to
Laklan Chats (Red Lachlan). And for that the
White Leader hates all your people and will never
cease from warring against them. Yet his own
blood is more white than red.”
“Wasn’t his mother pure Creek, so that he is
half Indian?” Lachlan asked.
“Though I like you, I see that you are very igno-
rant of many things. No. His mother was Sehoy,
the daughter of a Creek woman, whose father was
a Flenchee from the south.” By this Barking Wa-
ter meant a Frenchman from Louisiana. “And
Sehoy’s mother was the daughter of a Spaniard
from the same place. And all these women were
named Sehoy: and so is the White Leader’s sis-
ter, who considers herself a very great princess and
much too grand to marry even Tustunnuc though he
asked for her. She says she will marry only a
Spanish Micco (King). But, so far, no Micco has


38 The White Leader
come asking for her; and I am sure none will,
because she is no longer young.”
“Do you know a man named Blue Arrow ?” Lach-
lan asked.
Wewoca’s round eyes rolled with excitement.
“Now you have asked me again of something about
which I know everything! That is excellent. At
this rate you will soon become wise and well-filled
with information, with which you, in your turn, can
instruct others. Yes; I know Blue Arrow. He is a
kinsman of the White Leader, but that is not men-
tioned here. He had to run away after the last
Boosketah ” i
“What is the Boosketah?” Lachlan wanted to
know.
“Do not interrupt me; for the Boosket-ah makes
me think of so many interesting things that, if I
speak of it now, the danger is that I shall never
leave the subject to speak about Blue Arrow. He
drank too much of the ace, the Black Drink which
the Creeks make from the cassina yupon. And,
being at all times a cross and sullen man, he became
much worse and stabbed another Creek, named
Willogee. Then he fled; and Willogee’s kinsmen
followed him and overtook him far north in Tennes-
see and there killedhim. The funny thing about it
is that, when they returned, they found that they
need not have taken all that trouble: because Willo-
gee was not dead. He lives still and is just the same
except for some scars.”


The Education of a Warrior 39
“Now I can tell you something, Wewoca, which
you do not know.”
Barking Water looked at Lachlan doubtfully,
shaking his head. “I cannot imagine what you can
tell me that I do not already know. For, from the
beginning, it is I who have given all the informa-
tion. Nevertheless, I will listen to you.”
“Blue Arrow also is not dead.”
“What do you say?” Wewoca’s round eyes
nearly popped out of his head.
“No. He is alive.” Lachlan went on to relate
the whole story of his dealings with Blue Arrow.
To his surprise, Barking Water was presently roll-
ing on the ground on his stomach, emitting roars of
thick chocolatey darkey laughter. “What are you
laughing at?” Lachlan demanded.
“Oh, ho! Haw, haw, haw! I never heard any-
thing so funny. Why don’t you laugh? Well—ho-
ho-ho—you are iste hutke and perhaps your race is
solemn. But I am my father’s son—haw-haw-haw
—and therefore I know—ho, ho—when something
is funny. To think of Blue Arrow fleeing for fear
of the murder penalty—since the Creeks never par-
don a murderer—and all because he had killed a
man who was not dead—haw, haw! And Willo-
gee’s kinsmen rushing off immediately after him all
the way to Tennessee, which is a long trip, you
know, to take blood vengeance for Willogee who
wasn’t dead in the least—hee, hee-e-ee. And the
kinsmen coming home to tell of killing Blue Arrow,
who you now tell me—ho, ho—wasn’t dead in the


40 The White Leader
least either; and finding the dead Willogee sitting
up chewing the roasted tail of a hickory shad from
the creek—haw, haw——and then being obliged
(since they had killed a man in vengeance who didn’t
deserve it) to undergo all sorts of fasts and purifica-
tions to appease his spirit—which was still in his
body, you tell me-hee, hee, heehaw, huh-uh-
uh

Wewoca gave up trying to talk and rolled and
bounced about on the ground like a huge, black ball
with some queer, husky, chortling mechanism inside
it. At last he sat up, wiping the dusty tears from
his face.
“Oh, if my father were only here,” he almost
sobbed. “There was a man who could laugh!
Everything amused him but Spaniards. And I am
exactly like him.” After a while, when he had
fully recovered, he said, “Blue Arrow will perhaps
learn of Willogee’s recovery. In that case he can
come home for the next Boosketah, which will take
place as soon as our initiation is finished.”
“What is the Boosketah?” Lachlan asked again.
“Ah, the Boosketah./” Barking Water rolled his
eyes in ecstasy. He rubbed his hand over his
stomach. “For one thing, there is food! But that
is not all, though it is very much. The Boosketah
comes soon after midsummer; when there are nuts
of the echee-ub (hickory tree) and squashes and
fruit and honey. It is the noble thankfeast of the
Creeks. It lasts for eight days in the large towns.
Ours will last eight days. Besides all manner of


The Education of a Warrior 4I
good things to eat, which I, in particular, shall
appreciate, there will be different dances. When I
am well-fed I can dance all night without getting
tired, just as if I were a full-grown warrior. What I
love best is the last dance which ends the Boos-
ketah. It goes on all night and one can shout as
loudly as one likes and jump as high as the roof.
Because it is called the Obungah Hahjo, the Mad
Dance.”
“But, tell me, Wewoca, why do you think Blue
Arrow will come here for the Boosketah? Won’t
he be in danger still from Willogee and his kins-
men? Because, after all, he almost killed him.”
Barking Water leaned forward and gave Lachlan
a condescending little pat on the arm. “Laklan
Chate—for so I shall call you, unless the White
Leader objects—how fortunate you are to have
made a friend of me! Because I know all the things
of which you are ignorant, and I am kind and do not
mind instructing you. For an hour, now, I have
poured out my knowledge and my wisdom to you,
like water from a pot that has no bottom and is
therefore never dry. Since it is my nature to speak
of many things at once, I will first tell you how I
know that there is nothing in the world so marvelous
as the Boosketah. Do you wish to hear ?”
“Yes, of course I do, Wewoca,” Lachlan said
quickly.
Wewoca smiled, pleased. “I have already told
you that I am of the Seminole. Well, then, you
realize that I am a great traveler. For I have trav-


42 The White Leader
eled across most of the world from the Seminole
country to the Mississippi and back to this town.
And on my journey I saw many wonderful sights;
but nothing so wonderful as theVB00sketah. That is
how I know that the Boosketah is the most wonder-
ful thing in the whole world. And now you also
know it; because I have informed you.” He patted
Lachlan’s arm again.
“Thank you,” said Lachlan. “Now tell me about
Blue Arrow.”
“To be sure. Well then, according to the Creek
custom, the Boosketah wipes out the memory of all
offences except murder. Therefore, if Blue Arrow
returns on the last day of the Boosketah or imme-
diately afterwards, every one—even Willogee and
his kinsmen—will greet him like a good friend who
has come home. Though, if he comes at night,
Willogee’s kinsmen will think it is his ghost—hee,
hee—haw—hee-e.”
Presently he gave Lachlan a very searching look.
“Laklan Chate, did you believe it when you heard
me tell my dream to-day—about the squirrel as big
as a fox that ran along the oak tree balancing the
moon on his tail ?”
“I-I’m,” Lachlan drawled thoughtfully. “Let me
ask you something more, Wewoca, since you pity my
ignorance and are so kind about answering ques-
tions.”
“This pot has no bottom and never runs dry,”
Wewoca replied invitingly.
“Then tell me, did you believe it when you heard


The Education of a Warrior 43
me tell my dream about the miles of bulrushes which
turned to bleeding arrows and then shot up into
the air as lightning?”
Barking Water leaned forward and gripped
Lachlan’s shoulders.
“Laklan Chate,” he said, “you are my own
brother and I love you.”
The two young scamps grinned shamelessly at
each other.
“Isn’t it the funniest thing in the world that Bilka
should be, at this very moment, searching for the
interpretation of our dreams?” Wewoca continued,
with a chuckle. “To-morrow he will solemnly tell
us what they mean. Bilka has told me that after
he has taken a scalp or two and won his Tusseki0-
chifkee "
“What is that?”
“Again I instruct you. It is the war-title given
to a Creek the first time he is present when scalps
are taken. Well, then, as soon as Bilka has received
his Tussekiochifkee, he says that he will give up
war and become a Medicine Man. He feels that
his talents lie that way. I assure you that, some
day, your bleeding bulrushes and my moon-tailed
squirrel will become part of a medicine chant to
cure some foolish old woman of the toothache.”
“Then we shall have done good,” Lachlan
grinned.
“Yes. But, nevertheless, the Creeks, though they
are a great people, have many foolish notions. A


44 The White Leader
wise man cannot help laughing at them. This ini-
tiation, for instance. How absurd it is! Now,
with the Seminole, a man becomes a warrior by the
simple method of going out and killing some one.
Not by dreaming silly things on an empty stomach.
And, as to curing sickness by Bilka’s kind of medi-
cine, the Seminole, who are intelligent, would laugh
at it. My father’s race taught us the only real medi-
cine. It is to beat a drum by the sick one’s head
loudly and continuously till the evil spirit goes away
or the sick one dies. Which is the only sensible
way.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Lachlan, politely.
“Since I hate the Spanish, and you also hate them,
we have still another reason for being friends. We
can, perhaps, help each other to get revenge. But
the White Leader is very intimate with them and
even, on occasion, wears the foolish clothes of their
warriors. So we must never speak of this to any
one else.” He rose, stretched himself, and yawned.
“I must go to my own cabin now, for I see, away off
there, little Okee coming with our thin meal and
water. I used to like the child, but now I detest her.
I have never eaten human flesh; because, in the Semi-
nole country, one can always find alligators. Never-
theless, certain thoughts howl through my hollow
stomach like wind through a cave when I see Okee,
that fat buttery little padjee (pigeon), hopping sol-
emnly to my door with her dish of detestable slops.
The one happy thing in all this is that, in a short
* || |.... .1 IIII


The Education of a Warrior 45
time, we will have the Boosketah, and I can then
stuff meat and honey and corn and nuts into every
aching chink in my vast hungry emptiness. To-mor-
row, Laklan Chate.”
He smiled amiably and strolled ofl to his cabin.


CHAPTER IV
THE PACT OF THE THREE KINGS
Ttte period of initiation’ ended at last. With
shouts of delight Lachlan and Barking Water raced
naked down the bankside and leaped into the mel-
low waters of the creek. The other boys followed
them less noisily. When they had. bathed and
splashed about to their hearts’ content, they ran to
their several homes to dress and paint themselves in
festive fashion for the great feast. The Boosketah
had arrived.
“Be sure to remain beside me and to do every-
thing exactly as I do it. Then you will make no
mistake, because I never make any,” Barking Water
counseled Lachlan as they parted on the bank. For
which advice Lachlan thanked him.
At the chief’s house Lachlan was told that the
White Leader was at the council hall. Zambo, one
of McGillivray’s retinue of black slaves, met him
at the door and took him through the hall to the
room which was to be his. There he found a beau-
tiful, new, fringed deerskin suit, touched up with
embroidery and beads, a pair of moccasins orna-
mented with bright feathers, and a rich head-dress.
There, too, were the red, blue andyellow paints for
46


The Pact of the Three Kings 47
his face. After decking himself in a manner becom-
ing a young Creek chieftain, Lachlan took a look
over his new home before setting out for the council
hall. ' -
It was a large one-story cabin of logs and red
clay, divided into several rooms by partitions with-
out doors, so that all the rooms on each side of the
hall opened into one another and into the hall. The
walls inside were of logs, plastered with clay be-
tween, and hung here and there with skins and ant-
lers. The furniture ranged from plain Indian
benches and stools to carved Spanish mahogany
chairs. McGillivray’s desk was a beautiful example
of Spanish art. Near one end of it stood a magnifi-
cent old Spanish chest in which he kept valuable
papers, money, and his jewels. There were well-
filled bookcases against the walls. On the desk the
most conspicuous articles were a quill pen, dyed
vermilion, with a tiny jeweled band around it, and
a huge silver inkwell set with turquoises, amethysts,
and garnets; and a miniature mounted within a gold
and glass, box-like frame. The miniature was the
portrait of a dashing and extremely handsome youth
of about Lachlan’s age, dressed in the costume of a
French courtier of about the year 1760. One glance
at the remarkable eyes was enough to tell Lachlan
that it was a painting of the White Leader. Among
the ornaments on the wall there were some pictures
and a piece of writing. The latter proved to be a
trading license issued in 1740 by the Governor of
South Carolina to Lachlan McGillivray, of Charles-


48 The White Leader
ton. One of the pictures was a faded pencil sketch
of a log trading house with the word “Augusta”
under the drawing and the date “I760.” Lachlan
could easily guess that this was the elder McGilliv-
ray’s frontier post at Augusta, Georgia. The other
picture was a crudely drawn head, in colored chalks,
of a shaggy, red-headed man with light eyes and a
forceful heavy jaw. It was drawn on a beaver skin.
Words were written along the top of the skin in
ink: “Iste - Laklan - chate - lige - osetah - chemis-te-
chaugo.” He spelled the phrase out carefully and
translated it: “Lachlan, the Beloved Man of the
Four Nations.”
He was still looking curiously at the crude por-
trait of the man whose name and coloring had saved
his own life so strangely, when Zambo came to tell
him that McGillivray had sent for him. He has-
tened out, and, hearing drums beating not far ofl,
went towards the sound. Presently he entered a
square made by the chooco-thlucco or Big House.
This was a group of four buildings facing—as
nearly as the Creek mathematicians could gauge by
the heavens--north, south, east and west. The
buildings were square one-story structures, forty
feet long by sixteen deep with walls eight feet high
and domed roofs. They were made of logs and
plentifully plastered with red clay, which took on
the glaze of brick under the sun. Here and there,
about the doorways chiefly, rough ornamentation
had been attempted in the shape of jagged bits of
granite, marble, and quartz embedded in the clay.


The Pact of the Three Kings 49
The fronts were open, like piazzas, with two rows
of seats covered with reed mats extending the full
width. The space in the back was divided into
three rooms. One house was the chief’s; but
McGillivray seldom lived in it, preferring the one
he had erected for himself. The second was the
Great Warrior’s or War Leader's. The third
belonged to the Beloved Old Men, the Councillors;
the fourth to the youths and their associates. Near
by wasthe huge octagonal assembly hall where coun-
cils were held and where dances and social recep-
tions on a large scale took place.
In the golden light of this early August morning,
the scene had more the look of fairyland than of
earth. The red walls were like broken reefs of
coral, beneath a glistening, metallic, green sea of
waving and muttering oak and hickory leaves. Be-
tween its clay banks the water of the creek, smitten
by the sunlight, ran, a transparent, molten flame of
silver, in a burnished copper trench. Over all hung
a sky of pure sapphire. The air quivered with the
muflled savagery of drums and the shrill, weird,
mournful melody of reed pipes. ‘
The square was filled with women and children,
all dressed in their best. Some of the children were
engaged in Thla-challilch/-cah, a game somewhat
like marbles, played with bullets. VA few of the
older boys were playing ball. The objective of the
Creek ball game was to hit a small screen of fibres
made for the purpose and placed among the top
branches of a tall tree. The women had brought


50 The White Leader .
all the savory dishes prepared for that day’s feast:
jars of honey—bees were very plentiful in the Creek
country—whortle-berries; the large berries of the
dwarf palmetto, which grew in shiny black clusters
and burst open when ripe, and were considered a
delicacy by Creeks, deer, bear and turkeys alike, and
by the bees also, who extracted honey from them;
the Creek staple, coontetucalisa, which was the
bread made from a briar root growing along the
streams, the roots being pounded in a mortar, then
hung in a cloth with water washing through them
till all the sediment could be collected and baked
into cakes; fox grapes, persimmons, blackberries,
hickory and other nuts; and roasted deer, turkeys,
and fish such as sturgeon, brook trout, red horse,
buffalo fish and perch.
“To a man who has only been permitted to dream
of food for long moons, even the odors have some-
thing almost satisfying about them,” Barking
Water said to Lachlan.
“Especially when that man is a pot which has
no bottom, and therefore can never be filled,” Lach-
lan answered, grinning at him mischievously.
“You have said it,” Wewoca admitted. “Of
knowledge this pot can never be emptied; with food
it can never be filled so full that an intelligent squir-
rel, at least, cannot find room to hide still another
nut. I would not have it otherwise.”
A number of men arrived now, dragging four
immense logs, the highest and thickest hickories they
had been able to find. They laid these on the ground


The Pact of the Three Kings 51
in the shape of a cross with their ends correspond-
ing to the four points of the compass. The special
women dancers now began to dance the Turkey
Dance, while others sprinkled the square with sand,
or powdered clay; and the totekitchah, the sacred
fire, was lighted at the center of the four logs.
“I don’t think much of the Turkey Dance,” said
Barking Water; “nor of the Tadpole Dance either,
which will be done by four men and four women.
To-night the men will do the Dance of the Second
Commanders; and to-morrow the women will do the
Gun Dance. No doubt these are very good dances.
But, for me, there is no dance but Obungah Hahjo,
the Mad Dance. Watch me do that; for, I promise
you, you will see something splendid!”
At that moment some thirty warriors filed out
of the assembly hall. In the pouring, yellow sun-
light, their painted, brown bodies and faces glis-
tened so that the men seemed to be polished bronze
images enamelled with thin flakes of carmine, gold
and cobalt and crowned with hovering flocks of
orioles and tanagers. The warriors formed two
lines and stood motionless, but for the fluttering
feathered rainbow of color shooting upward from
their brows. Through this lane of gleaming bronze
and enamel the White Leader emerged, magnificent.
Lachlan, who had seen McGillivray only in fron-
tiersman’s garb, caught his breath as his eyes took
in the superb proportions of White Alex’s painted
body and of his splendid head, from which ostrich
feathers of many dyes, and paradise and peacock


The Pact of the Three Kings 53
gently, at last. Lachlan, not knowing what to say,
made no answer. That melancholy tone always
moved him profoundly.
Three white men now came out of the assembly
house and stood in the background, conversing.
One was dressed in fringed buckskin. The other
two were in uniforms that were somewhat spattered
by travel.
“Marchand, I congratulate you on your cousin.
He wears his feathers like a true fighting cock,”
one of the soldiers, a Spaniard named Valdez, said
mockingly to the other.
“Mon Dieu! Don’t call that savage my cousin
when there is no necessity. He does not hear. Is
it my fault that my uncle married a Creek? Let me
only persuade him fully into our plans, by making
him believe that we will crown him emperor of all
this country from Louisiana to Virginia; and then,
when he has served France's purpose and Spain’s,
you will see how quickly I’ll forget the kinship that
so dishonors my blood!”
Nolan, the man in buckskin, laughed.
“I’ve served General Wilkinson a long time,”
he said. “I was with him in that cabal against Gen-
eral Washington. But this is the biggest and riski-
est game I’ve ever seen him try to play. If we fail,
and are discovered, we expect sanctuary with you
Spanish. For if the Americans knew that one of
their army commanders was selling out their westem
territory to the two Bourbon kings—well—they’d
slice off our scalps as readily as that half-white


The Pact of the Three Kings 55
call him, will not be used to trump our game.”
Marchand was frowning.
“Oh, what can a stupid, American boy do to
hinder us? The very notion is absurd,” said Val-
dez. “This is merely the apprehension which makes
itself felt in every white man’s bones in Indian coun-
try. Especially in McGillivray’s presence. For we
all admit his personality has in it something haunt-
ing and terrible. He has not taken this boy because
of any love for the Americans: but for some sav-
age whim without reason.”
“Valdez, you little know my dear cousin,” Mar-
chand replied, still frowning, “if you think that
he does anything in life without a reason. Kindly
remember that most of this man’s blood is not
Creek, nor Latin, but Scotch. The Scotch are a
race of men who are ruled by their heads.”
“We will make friends with the boy and learn
whatever we need to know. We may even use him,
for certain rewards, as a spy upon McGillivray; for
I don’t wholly trust our Red King,” said Nolan.
“If we find that the boy endangers us or our plans in
any way—” He paused significantly.
“Oh, certainly,” Valdez agreed, with a shrug.
“A knife in the throat accomplishes the same pur-
pose with a boy as with a deer!” He turned, with
a solemn demeanor, to accept a pufl from the pipe
which Tustunnuc offered him.
The discussions between the three white men and
McGillivray were many and long; so that Lachlan
saw comparatively little of his foster father during


56 The White Leader
the week. He found plenty to amuse him, how-
ever. Under Barking Water’s direction he learned
all the games and the dances; and he ate, each day,
as much as he could hold. Wherever he turned, it
seemed to him, he was likely to find one of the
three strangers at his elbow. His native Scotch
reticence, not unmotivated by a general suspicion of
any too friendly folk, caused him to question silently
why these men were so genial with him and so evi-
dently bent on winning his confidence. He did not
object to Marchand and Valdez because he did not
expect anything better of Latin men from Lou-
isiana. But, in his heart, he hated and despised
Nolan, whom he looked on as a renegade American
because he spoke English and had lived for some
years in America. He let nothing of his feeling
appear, however. By the end of the week he had
pretty well convinced them that he was really an
ignorant and stupid lump of a youth.
On the last day of the Boosketah Lachlan took
part in the flower-offering. With all the Creeks,
men and women, he gathered wild flowers and, cir-
cling about the fire, which was now consuming the
logs to ashes, cast the fresh blossoms into the flames.
It seemed that this ceremony had something to do
with wiping out past sins. In the evening, the wild
music of the drums, pipes, and rattles, the padding
of feet, and the fierce shouts of many voices, drew
him to the assembly hall. V He stood in the door-
way to watch the scene within, where utter madness
reigned. The Obungah Hahjo was well named!


The Pact of the Three Kings 57
Feathered warriors with burning wolfish eyes, and
minds crazed by the Black Drink, leaped, hurtled,
thrashed the air with their arms, scratched and
gashed themselves and their neighbors, whirled and
screamed till the foam from their lips spattered
their naked bodies. He soon spied Barking Water.
The dusky “Wild Man” was apparently made of
India rubber to-night. He shot towards the ceiling,
on to and over the backs of other dancers only a
little less mad than he, barking, not like the rapids
in a river, but like a school of alligators coming up
out of swamp mud. Racial memories of Africa
were in the savage swift flexions of his muscles,
in the rolling fiery eyes, in the thick pouting lips
where the foam of frenzy clung like rime; racial
memories of jungle hunts, following or fleeing from
the lion and the rhinoceros, of cannibal feasts by the
Congo, and of black drums beating their message of
terror along the coast of Guinea where, under a hot,
vaporous sky that drooped like a coflin pall, a slave‘
ship lay at anchor.
Every one was dancing. The White Leader’s
face appeared every now and then in the mélée.
Valdez, Marchand, and Nolan accepted the Black
Drink from White Alex’s hand and danced the Mad
Dance among his Creeks. Lachlan felt a touch on
his arm. He heard a whisper. He turned from the
blazing whirling room to the dark still shadows
of the outdoors; and saw the scarred morose face
of Blue Arrow.
“P’sst!” Blue Arrow hissed, tapping his lips to


58 The White Leader
indicate silence. He ducked away into the darkness
under the walls of the deserted square. Lachlan
followed him. i
“You save Blue Arrow,” the Indian said. “Blue
Arrow save Ross. Take Ross Watauga. Blue
Arrow come tell Laklan. Now Blue Arrow go
quick or Creeks kill him.”
Lachlan, shaking all over with excitement, gripped
the Indian’s arm.
“Are you telling the truth? Ross is alive ?” he
demanded, breathlessly.
“You speak good Creek now!” Blue Arrow
said, surprised. “It is true. When you ran down
the hill to get help from that hunter I did not know
he was McGillivray; because I thought White Alex
was in Alabama. I knew it only when I saw the
Creeks coming across the brook. But I could not
help you. For I had killed Willogee, a Creek of
this town. They would have killed me if I had
come down. So when I had seen you ride, away
with White Alex, I put Ross on the horse and went
to Watauga. Now Ross is with John Sevier. Ross
gave him the letter from Jim. I came back to tell
you, so that you would not grieve for Ross any
more. I told Ross I would come to see if you were
alive, after I had taken Sevier’s letter to Jim. Now
I go back to Nashville to tell Jim you are safe. I
must go quickly or the Creeks will kill me.”
Keenly touched by this proof of Blue Arrow’s
gratitude and loyalty, Lachlan quickly told him that
Willogee lived and therefore he was free to return.



HE TURNED FROM THE BLAZING, WHIRLING ROOM TO THE DARK, STILL
SHADOWS OF THE OUTDOORS, ANI) SAW BLUE ARROW
n
B


fl n \ I F"! V
V I l
but u \ ‘ I I - n V ~—' --H
jg I . - I
I M -‘l VIII '
‘
I


The Pact of the Three Kings 59
“Then I will come back,” said the Indian. “But
do not tell any one I have been here. That would
be dangerous for you also. In about ten days, look
for me again.”
Without more words, Blue Arrow sped away
through the night. Lachlan’s heart was throbbing
with happiness as he returned to the assembly hall.
He hoped that Barking Water had danced enough
and would come out and talk to him. But Wewoca
was still deep in memories of the jungle. The noise
was increasing. More drums were beating, more
rattles shaking. The shouts were louder and
madder. The fierce fantastic orgy would go on
till dawn.
Presently‘ the White Leader thrust his way
through the hurtling mass of painted bodies by
jabbing to right and left with his staff and his knife.
He stood beside Lachlan, looking down at him with
eyes that were like hot coals.
“Laklan Chate, my son,” he said huskily, “you
will be Emperor of America after me. To-night I,
the Red King, have made a pact with three white
kings—the King of France, the King of Spain, and
General James Wilkinson, who is, in a sense, a
king, since he is a general of the United States
Army. Not one American shall be left living in
the land. In two weeks we go to New Orleans,
where we will meet Governor Miro and General
Wilkinson to settle everything. And, after that,
war!—warl The Abihka will pile scalps till the


60 The White Leader
war-pole is covered. Your throne shall touch the
sun from the top of a mountain of bleeding hair!”
He turned abruptly and plunged into the vortex
again.
Lachlan leaned against the doorpost with a
sickening sense of terror beating, like the echo of
those savage drums, upon his heart. Wilkinson.
General James Wilkinson. Every one on the fron-
tier knew that name. Wilkinson, of Kentucky.
Wilkinson, of the Continental Army. What could
this man have to do with Creek massacres of his
frontier friends and with Spanish plots against his
own country? If the White Leader’s words were
not merely the poisoned froth of madness and the
Black Drink, then they meant that a man in a high
post of trust in the American service, a man who,
perhaps, had the Army in his hand, was a traitor!
“Oh, if I could only tell Jim!” Lachlan thought,
frantically. “He’d know what to do.”
There must be some way by which he could
prevent it. There must be! He would coax Mc-
Gillivray to take Blue Arrow with them to New
Orleans. Whatever information he picked up there
Blue Arrow could carry to Jim. An American
selling his country’s blood for Spanish gold--l
Thinking, thinking, till his head seemed ready to
burst, Lachlan stood there, drooping against the
doorpost, till night passed and the dawn came up;
and the drums and fifes fell into silence and men,
spent from savage frenzy, staggered by him out into


The Pact of the Three Kings 6I
the gray light and fell, as if drugged, in sleep on the
ground.
A hand drifted down upon his shoulder. He
shivered with repulsion at the touch of it.
“Laklan Chate ”
The sense of repulsion passed suddenly and com-
pletely. Lachlan felt again the sharp thrill, blended
so curiously of fear and pity, which always stirred
his heart when he heard the White Leader’s voice
speaking to him with that note of savage and mourn-
ful tenderness.

‘-


Oomy and Gypsy John 63
like a boy. You are too serious, Laklan Chate—-
like a man with troubles on his mind. You, who
will one day be an emperor, should be the merriest
boy in the world.”
Lachlan took a hint from that remark, wisely.
He saw that the only way to make sure that
McGillivray would never suspect him was to appear
light-hearted and utterly contented with his new
life. Like most boys of his sturdy, Highland
Scotch blood, he was naturally jolly; but the fun in
him had been subdued by the last few years in Nash-
ville, where laughter had almost ceased to be heard.
“Lachlan Douglas,” he told himself, “ye’ll have
to play the fool an’ laugh yer head off, if ye’re
goin’ to save Nashville.” He grinned suddenly.
“It’ll be no hard job, I’m thinkin’, wi’ Barking
Water to help ye. Yon darkey butterball would
make a tombstone crack itself open wi’ laughin’.”
The reason why he called Wewoca a butterball
was that, since the fasting days, Barking Water had
been making up for lost time and past hunger. In
fact he had eaten so much that he looked, in his
deerskin suit, like a huge football with a head, arms
and legs, as he bulged, trundled and waddled in his
sprightly fashion about the village from one hospi-
table kitchen to another.
“Where do you put it all?” Lachlan asked him
one day, with real interest.
“I often wonder, myself,” Wewoca replied seri-
ously. “But undoubtedly I have the gift of eating;
which is a great talent. Like a snake, my skin


64 The White Leader
stretches, but never bursts. Even in this, Laklan
Chate, I am an extraordinary man.”
In due time Lachlan found himself floating down
the Mississippi in a fur pirogue with his two chosen
friends, the three white men, McGillivray and the
boat’s crew. The pirogue was a huge one and car-
ried a single mast, so that sail could speed her when
the wind was favorable. The passengers sat on fur
bales in the bottom of the boat, back of the mast,
out of the way of the paddles. Forward, there
were some bundles of luggage and a small compart-
ment made of deerskin, something like a dog kennel,
shaped by the planking that covered the prow.
Lachlan supposed that McGillivray’s more valuable
effects were disposed of in that water-tight skin
compartment. He took an immediate interest in
the captain or leader of the crew, who stood aloft
on the boarded prow, with a long pole, used chiefly,
it seemed, to push aside floating logs that might snag
the boat. He was a man of medium size with very
muscular arms and a long face that was brown and
glistening and held deep-set, fiery black eyes.
His hair, which hung to his waist, was black and,
like his skin, it shone as if oiled. He wore two
large, golden hoops in his ears; and an orange-
colored kerchief was drawn tight over his brow and
head and knotted behind. His brawny arms were
tattooed with snake designs done in blue and red.
There were also scars on his arms, and on his broad
brown chest. An instrument somewhat resembling
a mandolin hung from his waist. And sometimes


Oomy and Gypsy John 65
when the river was clear, or at night in camp, he
would play on it and sing strange songs; wild fierce
songs to which he beat time with one foot.
“What’s yer name?” Lachlan asked him; then
he added quickly to himself, “That’s foolish, seein’
this man’s Spanish, likely, an’ doesn’t understand
me !”
“But, si, I understand,” the boatman smiled.
“My name Juan Gitano.”
Nolan, who was squatting near, overheard and
explained. “That’s not a name, exactly,” he said
“Juan is the same as John and girano is Spanish for
gypsy. So he’s telling you that he is called Gypsy
John.”
“I’ve heard o’ gypsies,” said Lachlan.
“You’ll hear a lot of this one in New Orleans,”
Nolan went on. “He isn’t a real gypsy. He’s a
Venezuelan.”
“What’s that?” Lachlan wanted to know.
“Oh, Venezuela is a country in South America.
Valdez will tell you it’s a country of devils; because
it’s there Don Francisco dc Miranda was born who
is roaming the world now, trying to raise an army to
start a revolution and tear all South America out of
the hands of Spain. He wants to treat the Spanish
king the way your George Washington treated King
George. This fellow here, Gypsy John, was
Miranda’s servant. The Spanish had spies and
kidnappers on Miranda’s trail, but all they caught
was Gypsy John—all dressed up in Miranda’s best
clothes and riding in his carriage just to fool them,


66 The White Leader
while Miranda was safely hidden somewhere else.
They tortured this fellow, and they gave him a year
in the galleys, ironed him and lashed him, to see
what he’d tell them. Stupid fools! As if Miranda
would tell his plans to his stable boy or his valet;
and this fellow could have been no more than that,
No brains at all. So, a while back, a Spanish ship
brings him to Louisiana with orders to let him
loose. And he’s earning his keep on the river.”
“Ye wouldn’t think he’d seen hard days. He’s
always smilin’ or singin’,” Lachlan remarked.
“Oh, hard knocks won’t take the spirit out of one
of those savages from Venezuela. Wait till you
meet Oomy !” Nolan burst out laughing.
“Who’s Oomy?”
“Well, I left out a bit of the story. Gypsy John
told the Spanish at last, that he’d give them all the
information he had, if they’d take him back to
Venezuela to get his little darling Oomy.”
“Is Oomy his son?” Lachlan asked. At that
Nolan roared again.
“Far be it from me to deny it!” Nolan rolled
about with mirth. Lachlan was obliged to laugh,
too, though he had no idea what the joke was.
“The fellow had no information at all, of course.
But he did have Oomy!”
“Who is Oomy?” Lachlan demanded, now quite
out of patience.
“Ask Gypsy John,” Nolan answered, chuckling.
This conversation took place on the bank during
breakfast the second morning of the trip. While


68 The White Leader
tience. “But I’ve got to know quick—or bust!
Is he yer son?”
“But si, si! He is my son. He is my friend.
Mi querido amigo! He is flower of my life. He
is one emerald in—how you call?—one rock-pile.
He come to me like the pearl come out the oyster.
I love him. Oh, veree much.”
“Where is the laddie now? In New Orleans?”
Gypsy John looked shocked. “But no! Never
I leave my precious Oomy. Always he go with me.
The beautiful one! Come, now. I show him to
you.” He leaped aboard and ran to the skin com-
partment under the prow. The two boys and Blue
Arrow followed.
“You haven’t had a poor wee laddie shut up in
there all this time!” Lachlan exclaimed. “Smoth-
erin’ an’ starvin’—the poor bairn!”
“First I feed him,” Gypsy John said. “See!”
He shook the buzzing bottle close to Lachlan’s ear.
“Flies!” the boy gasped.
“Oh, si. Fly—clicket—skeeto—insecto. He
love them.” He turned back a flap at the top of
the compartment, whipped off the cover of the
bottle, and tossed the bottle inside, closing the flap
tight. “Listen!”
There was one heavy flapping sound; then a suc-
cession of snaps.
“One, two, three.” Gypsy John counted the snaps
up to nineteen, when silence fell behind the deer-
skin. He looked worried. “But I give him
twenty,” he muttered. “Ah! the villain! The


Oomy and Gypsy John 69
ugly one!” he cried, as a large blue-bottle emerged
through a knothole in the planking and flew fran-
tically aloft to compose its harassed feelings on the
mast. That blue-bottle was to cause trouble later
on. Juan Gitano shook his fist at it.
“That's no wee laddie in there,” said Lachlan,
with conviction.
“Even if I had not seen a Spanish father feed
his son with flies,” Barking Water remarked, “I
would have known it was their custom. How else
can one account for such a thin, greedy people?”
Gypsy John began to hum a sort of tune in hissing
whispers, padding one foot to the rhythm. He
opened the flap all the way down. “Now he comes
out. The beautiful one! The baby! The little
pearl! Whish-a-hish-sh-sh
First a dull-hued waving snout pushed out from
under the cover. The boys gasped with amazement
and jumped back. Then slowly, heavily, but appar-
ently keeping time to the slow crooning “whish” of
Gypsy John’s song, Oomy, the beautiful one,
emerged into the full light of day. Oomy, the little
pearl, was a large land turtle!
“Wha—what—” Lachlan stuttered breathlessly,
and couldn’t say another word. In stupefied silence
the three youths watched while Gypsy John fed the
bunch of wet herbs to his pet. Even Wewoca, who
was seldom at a loss for words, did not immediately
think of a remark to make about Oomy. Blue
Arrow made the only sound—two long, slow, deep
grunts.


70 The White Leader
Indeed there was something about Oomy which
discouraged light chatter. Oomy had dignity; not
so much dignity as a Rabbi, perhaps, yet rather
more dignity than a Bishop—or it might have been
the other way about. Oomy was majestic, like a
sheik, and there was something in the slow, pon-
derous, and inexorable way he went about his busi-
ness that resembled a snow-plow or the Supreme
Court. His likeness to a sheik was chiefly due to
three sequins which looked like gold but most prob-
ably were brass and which dangled from punctures
made for them in the right-side edge of his shell. On
one wrist he wore a narrow, hammered gold brace-
let. His general coloration was like that of dusty
verdure. His eyes, like little rubies, were bright
with fire and interest as he listened to the frenzied
buzz of the blue-bottle which was gyrating madly
about the mast. Oomy was not a very large turtle,
not one of those Galapagos with a six-foot shell.
His shell probably measured two and a half feet
from end to end, perhaps three. But to Lachlan,
seeing him when he had expected to see a nice
little Spanish boy of about four years of age, Oomy
looked enormous. Also, he hadn’t at all the shape
of a nice little boy, nor the color, nor even the facial
expression. Lachlan stared at the creature, speech-
less. Barking Water stared, with his round eyes
rolling and his mouth slowly falling open. Blue
Arrow stared and emitted another deep, solemn
grunt.
Oomy seemed to be doing his best to climb on his


Oomy and Gypsy John 7I
1- ~-—r——i ——-
master’s knee. He felt over Gypsy John’s feet
with his clumsy front claws and stretched his neck
as far as it would go. The man leaned down and
Oomy rubbed his hard beak along Gypsy’s cheek.
“How old is he?” Lachlan asked.
Gypsy John shrugged. “I do not know. But I
think he small boy yet. He little more small, I
think, but not much, when first I find him, fifteen
year back, in my country, my Venezuela. I like
have some family, but got no wife, no child, so I
take Oomy; he live with me always like my family.
Then come my master, Don Francisco de Miranda,
and he say, ‘Juan Gitano, we go make travel.’ But
he say no can take Oomy, because Oomy get seasick
and maybe die. He also like Oomy veree much,
because Oomy veree good friend to him. So I leave
Oomy by one swamp where first I find him. Veree
good swamp with many fly, skeeto, insecto. We go
make travel, England, France, most England, where
I learn speak so veree good English. But my master
think all time only how get our country free. That
make much trouble for him. So he make plot and I
say, ‘Yes, I do it. No matter if I die. For you
and Venezuela I do everything.’ That how Spanish
catch me and never catch him.”
“I want to hear how ye got Oomy again.”
Gypsy John’s eyes flashed; he grinned broadly.
“Spanish throw me in galleys, jails also, veree bad
places. See.” He drew his shirt down from his
shoulder and showed a big scar made by a branding
iron. “All these things they do for make me tell


72 The White Leader
about Don Francisco. Then I say, ‘Oomy know all
these things. I take you where Oomy.’ Because I
think they kill me sure, so better I see Oomy and tell
him he got to look out for himself now; because I
know all time Oomyialone in swamp he expect me
come back and live with him once more. Governor
Miro say to Captain Valdez to go with me in ship
for get Oomy. For that he promise to Valdez
veree fine, gold metal. But he say, too, Valdez must
bring me and Oomy safe and in veree good health
to Louisiana or he put Valdez in jail.”
“I wonder he didn’t cook the two o’ ye in one
soup-kettle when he saw how ye’d fooled him!”
Lachlan said, laughing. Gypsy grinned again.
“No. Because when Valdez bring me and Oomy
to Miro, he is veree mad. He say to Miro
that everybody laugh at him for drive along
New Orleans street with one big turtle. Miro come
out to see Oomy in cart and Valdez veree mad
and a big crowd laughing. And then Miro start to
laugh so hard he not can stop for half hour. So
Miro say he give freedom of Louisiana to Oomy,
because Oomy make for him best joke ever he heard
in life! See.” He pulled a folded and soiled
parchment out of his wallet and spread it before
Lachlan. “You not can read Spanish, eh? I read
for you. This is Miro seal, and this Miro' name.
It say, In name of the King, Oomy, loyal subject of
Spanish crown, got freedom of state in Louisiana;
and recommend to courtesy of all military and civil
authorities. Also it say how Juan Gitano is private


Oomy and Gypsy John 73
secretary to Oomy and therefore under special pro-
tection of Governor Miro. I keep paper veree
careful; because Valdez he not like Oomy. He say
Oomy make him look like one big fool. Then,
also, Miro give Oomy that medal he make for
Valdez. See.”
He ran his finger over the bracelet which Oomy
wore. “He give Oomy that Valdez medal. So I
take hammer and make that Valdez medal one
bracelet for Oomy. Oomy like veree much that
bracelet. Oh, si, veree much. But Valdez not like.
No turtle got bracelet like Oomy.” Then he added,
proudly, “Oomy only turtle of the world got private
secretary and freedom of Louisiana !”
Barking Water nudged Lachlan now and said
petulantly: V
“Why don’t you talk Creek so that Blue Arrow
and I can understand? Above all, when it is some-
thing that makes you laugh !”
Lachlan hastily repeated to them as much of the
story as he had Creek words for; whereupon Blue
Arrow grunted profoundly, and Wewoca roared
lustily with laughter.
“What I understand best,” said Wewoca, “is
how mad Valdez was because every one laughed at
him, and also because the great Spanish chief gave
his gold piece to the turtle. And I am delighted
because Valdez, who is a Spaniard, was put to
shame, and forced to give his gold to the turtle.
My father would enjoy that. Some day I will cause
all Spaniards to be laughed at by all the world.”


74 The White Leader
“Still, Wewoca,” Lachlan said teasingly, “the
Spanish father does not feed his son on flies.”
“Laklan Chate,” Barking Water replied with
dignity, “I ask you sincerely, have you ever seen a
Spanish father feed his son?”
“No,” Lachlan admitted.
“Ah! So I thought! Then why do you say so
positively that the Spanish father does not feed
flies to his son? For you know nothing about it.
Follow my example, Laklan Chate. For I speak
never of things I do not know——-if, indeed, there
are things in the world not yet known to me. It is
not customary to find a turtle on a fur boat. There-
fore it was only natural that this turtle called Oomy
should surprise me.”
“This turtle called Oomy has surprised wiser men
than you!” Lachlan answered, with an irrepressible
shout of laughter. He was picturing the scene of
Oomy’s arrival after the long sea-voyage, with the
crowds in the street, the soldiers, the Governor, all
rocking and howling with mirth—and Valdez’ black
and sulky look. “Poor Valdez. Ay, the poor
fool!”
The men came aboard now and presently the
pirogue was floating on the current, with Gypsy
John at his old place on the prow. The driftwood
kept him busy this morning so that he had little
time for backward glances into the boat where his
pet was sunning himself before the mast. Unfor-
tunately, Valdez had spread his blanket just behind
the mast, where he lay stretched out and continued


Oomy and Gypsy John 75
to gnaw a bit of the broiled fish which they had had
for breakfast. And aloft, the blue-bottle buzzed;
and below, Oomy’s bright little ruby eyes sparkled.
Presently Oomy tucked his head under his shell
and presumably went to sleep beneath his natural
hat brim. The blue-bottle ceased to buzz and began
to drop lower in its gyrations. Valdez ceased to
eat, because McGillivray had asked him a question
which necessitated a long explanation; he flung
his hand, with the fragrant fish smears on it, behind
his head on the blanket within an inch of the place
where Oomy’s head had disappeared. The blue-
bottle dropped down very silently and alighted on
those fingers with their attractive odor. Swifter
than a flash Oomy’s head darted out from under its
shell sombrero and his hard jaws closed upon that
fly—and incidentally on Valdez’ digits.
With a terrible yelp Valdez sprang up, as well as
he could with Oomy’s heavy bulk hanging to his
hand. The whole boat was in an uproar. Nobody
could loosen Oomy’s bony jaws until the blue-bottle
slid helplessly down his throat. Then, having no
interest whatever in Valdez, except as a fly-catcher,
Oomy let go of his fingers and retired under his own
hat. Nolan led the laughter that followed unfeel-
ingly on the Spaniard’s predicament.
“Another Oomy and Valdez story for the Gov-
ernor and the citizens of New Orleans,” he said.
“That turtle will make you famous yet l”
In a rage Valdez attacked the turtle, dragging
it and kicking it till it was overturned, helpless, on


76 The White Leader
its back. He ripped his knife from its sheath and
stooped to plunge it into the creature’s belly. But
Lachlan was a shade quicker in the leap that
knocked Valdez to one side. And Blue Arrow,
with a swift, noiseless movement, relieved Valdez
of his knife; while Barking Water, not without
much difficulty, turned Oomy right side up again.
His fury increased by this interference, Valdez’
malevolence was next aimed at Gypsy John. He
ordered him to come down and kill the turtle with
his own knife. To enforce the order he drew his
pistol. Gypsy John refused. Instead he folded his
arms and told Valdez to shoot if he wanted to. By
this time Lachlan’s Highland blood was at the boil-
ing point. He hurled himself at~Valdez and knocked
him down.
“Ye coward!” he shouted hoarsely. “The poor
beastie didna mean to hurt ye. Why dinna ye wash
yer hands, like a_ Christian? If ye hurt Oomy I’ll
fix ye, I promise ye! I'm no scared o’ yer pistol,
neither. Ye let Oomy be!”
Then Barking Water did a clever thing. He
turned, with a smile and a gesture, to McGillivray
and said:
“Perhaps this Spaniard has not yet learned that
Laklan Chate is the White Leader’s son? He an-
swers him as if he were a packboy.” '
McGillivray’s eyes flashed fire. His voice cut
across the noise of the scuflle in cold bladelike tones:
“Captain Valdez will oblige me by forgetting the
incident. What my son desires is also the desire of


'-\
Q
L
J.


Oomy and Gypsy John 77
the Creek nation and of our allies. I speak as the
voice of twenty thousand warriors.”
“Don’t be a fool !” Marchand snapped in Valdez’
car. “McGillivray is worth more to us than a dead
turtle, or a dead boatman.”
“Decidedly,” Nolan put in. “And Miro would
strip your uniform from you for this, if he knew
of it. Besides, even if he did give Oomy the free-
dom of Louisiana as a joke, he wouldn’t joke with
you, my friend, if you flouted the seal on that parch-
ment John carries.”
There was nothing for Valdez to do but swallow
his rage and leave Oomy once more victor on the
field. Barking Water drew Lachlan aside.
“Listen, Laklan Chate, while I say more wise
things. I like your courage in attacking that ugly,
greedy Spaniard. But, now that you are a chief’s
son, keep your courage for the warpath. With such
poor creatures as that Spaniard put on a grand air,
as if it never entered your head that one of them
would oppose you. Be very proud and scornful.
That is the proper manner for a chief’s son. Mc-
Gillivray has it so perfectly that men are more
afraid of his eyes and his voice than of his knife.
When I am a Seminole chief I assure you that my
scorn will be terrible. I am almost afraid, myself,
when I think of it.”
Blue Arrow had a different thought.
“Valdez will try to kill you one day for that,” he
said. “But I will always be watching.”


78 The White Leader
Gypsy John, with tears running down his face,
embraced Lachlan.
“I am your friend, Oomy is your friend. We are
your friend,” he kept repeating. Of all those
involved in the incident, Oomy was the only cool one.
Oomy had pulled his head in under his hat and gone
to sleep.
During the rest of the trip Gypsy John showed
his friendship for Lachlan in every possible way.
Presently he and Lachlan, Wewoca and Blue Arrow
—and Oomy, of course—were as thick as thieves.
Gypsy John told the boys strange fascinating tales
about his own country and its savage places and
tribes. And, most fascinating of all, he showed them
how to shoot darts from a blowgun the way the Ven-
ezuelan Indians do. He made the blowguns and the
darts for them. While Lachlan and Wewoca
enjoyed playing with the new weapon, Blue Arrow
took it very seriously. He practised continually
until he became so expert that Gypsy John declared
he had never seen better shooting in his own cpuntry.
“You are foolish,” Barking Water said, “for the
white man’s gun is the best of all weapons. It is the
only thing the white men have that is better than
Indian things.”
Blue Arrow did not answer for a moment but
looked at Valdez, who was lying on the bank, carry-
ing on a low-voiced conversation with Nolan. Then
he spoke, casually:
“There will come a time, perhaps, when it will


CHAPTER VI
NUMBER THIRTEEN
it
THERE had been a banquet fit for kings. N'ohv the
guests were drifting in groups through Governor
Mir6’s garden. Stars shone in the dreamy southern
sky, torches on pillars flared here and thiere, and
fireflies flickered about the fountain. Occasionally
a shadowy bulk on the fountain rim moved and a
tiny light went out, as a venturesome firefly displayed
his torch carelessly too near Oomy’s snout. Sounds
of smitten strings and a song came from an adobe
arbor covered with vines where Gypsy John was
entertaining the Governor and a few notable guests.
Lachlan, with the inevitable Barking Water at his
side, lounged on the edge of the Governor’s group,
his eyes fixed on one man.
“So ye’re Number Thirteen, are ye? They gave
ye the right number. For Judas was the thirteenth
at table,-” he muttered to himself, and continued to
stare balefully at General Wilkinson.
James Wilkinson, a Marylander by birth, was a
handsome man of medium height and proud bearing.
He was clever and witty in conversation. He had
a manner that made men like him. His physicai
courage was never in question on the field; but, in
8o


82 The White Leader
the sceptre out of the hand of the French king, royal
cousin of the king of Spain. But Spain had another
motive for her plots in Kentucky and her Indian
raids on the American settlements at this time.
Spanish agents knew that that very trouble-maker,
Don Francisco de Miranda, had devoted friends
among noted patriots of the United States. Indeed
Miranda was reputed to have fought in the War
of Independence, having come here with his friend,
Lafayette. They feared that the United States
might lend aid to Miranda, to help him free his own
country—to break the Spanish yoke not in Vene-
zuela alone but in all South America. This, of
course, is what Miranda did, hardly a dozen years
later, with the aid of another Venezuelan, Bolivar,
and an Argentine soldier named San Martin. But
Spain was successful in preventing the young United
States from lending the assistance which would have
hastened the day of liberty in South America. She
kept the American Republic in a ferment of anxiety
about the settlements and the territory west of the
Appalachians. And she did that chiefly through
Wilkinson and Alexander McGillivray. It was
worth, to her, all she paid them for it, and more.
The conversation was in Spanish. Lachlan could
not understand it. He wondered how much it had
to do with himself, as he watched the men’s faces.
For there was a new face in the group to-night, a
face he knew. It belonged to a man named _Powers,
a tall thin man with mean eyes, whom Lachlan had
met in James Robertson’s house in Nashville, of
 |||""||.-.-


Number Thirteen 83
all places! It did not seem possible that Powers
had not recognized him instantly, even as he had
recognized Powers. In fact, Lachlan was certain
that he had seen the look of recognition in Powers’
eyes. What would McGillivray do when he learned
that his adopted son was really the son of Ross
Douglas, the right-hand man of James Robertson?
He might continue to protect him; he might kill him.
There was no telling what White Alex would do.
White Alex was not a man whose thoughts and
actions could be estimated in advance by anybody.
But certainly Number Thirteen would consider Lach-
lan Douglas’ presence among the Creeks a danger
to his plans. So would the “Spanish Man,” Miro.
“This night’ll likely be yer last on earth, my
laddie, if ye don’t keep yer eyes open behind as well
as before,” he muttered to himself.
He was glad that he had had a chance to warn
Blue Arrow before Powers saw him. Powers might
not have seen the young Creek when he was last in
Nashville; but if he had— No; it was safer for
Blue Arrow to keep out of the way. Lachlan had
enlisted Gypsy John’s aid, such as it was, for Gypsy
was not very intelligent.
“Gypsy John,” he had said, “ye know Oomy is my
friend. So ye must be my friend too. All these
men, except McGillivray, are my enemies. Listen
to all they say in Spanish and tell it to me.”
Gypsy John would do his best, he promised. He
said he would even kill any one of them, if Lachlan
chose. “Only not Miro; because Miro make veree


84 The White Leader
good friend with Oomy; give Oomy freedom of
Louisiana. I not can kill Miro! Oomy not like I
do that. Oomy like veree much freedom of Louisi-
ana. Can kill Valdez,” he added, encouragingly.
“I think Oomy like veree much I kill Valdez.”
“No. Better not,” Lachlan had cautioned. “But
listen and remember all they say.”
If he could only understand Spanish,'Lachlan
thought despondently. How could he send Robert-
son news of this conspiracy against the Americans
when he could not understand a word the men were
saying? :
Presently Miro took the White Leader and Wil-
kinson indoors, for a private conference, perhaps.
Nolan, Powers, Marchand, and Valdez remained
where they were, with Juan Gitano close by to bring
them more coffee or Spanish sweets which Marchand,
in particular, was consuming at a great rate. Some-
times, playfully, he flung a small cake to Barking
Water, sitting there in the shadows with Lachlan.
“I am not sure that I consider these sweet small
breads more delightful than sugar cane,” Wewoca
remarked, after the tenth one. “I shall probably
know after I have eaten more.”
“When you have eaten more, you won’t know
anything, because you will have burst open like a
pricked waterskin,” Lachlan replied, grinning.
“No. My skin has the gift of stretching,” Bark-
ing Water reminded him seriously.
“You’re getting to look more like Oomy every
day,” Lachlan said. “There he comes.”


Number Thirtecn 85
The fireflies had gone to bed. Oomy therefore
had deserted the fountain rim and headed for the
grassy place round the foot of the torch pillar where
the two boys sat. The flare of the torch lured pale
fat moths and other winged insects. Frequently
these reckless aviators of the gnat world scorched
their wings in the flame and tumbled to earth. Oomy
had become familiar with their fatalities on many
other nights in Mir6’s gardens. This, he knew, was
a particularly good lamp-post. It was on the edge of
a bayou. The river’s mouth makes innumerable
lagoons, pools, and creeks in the flat land; and, in
those days, before men attempted to control the
seeping and flooding waters, it made many more.
In the cane, reeds, and rushes that fringed the bayou
dwelt legions of insects; many of them adventured no
farther inland than this lamp-post. Slowly, pon-
derously and laboriously Oomy crossed the garden
to his good hunting ground. He settled himself
behind the pillar on the side-nearest the bayou and
then deceitfully drew his head in under his hat and
pretended to go to sleep.
“Let’s go in,” said Lachlan. “I even hate look-
ing at these men.”
“No,” said Barking Water; “because Gylipee Jaw
is bringing another tray of those sweet small breads
and the Flenchee will throw me at least one.”
“Oh; all right.”
Lachlan would have been even more interested in
the group of men in the vine-covered arbor if he
could have understood their speech. For he, him-


86 The White Leader
self, had now become the subject of their conver-
sation.
“You are quite sure about this boy?” Valdez
asked Powers.
“Positively. He is from Nashville. I have seen
him there. His father is Ross Douglas, a very well-
known trader and fighter, the henchman of James
Robertson. He took Robertson’s message to Sevier,
warning him of the Spanish plot. The boy knows
all about it; because he went with his father. He
must have been on that journey when White Alex
captured him. The father got through to Watauga
safely, worse luck! Sevier immediately sent mes-
sengers into Kentucky to inform Isaac Shelby, who
is Governor of Kentucky now. And he also sent
messengers into Virginia. By this time the President
and his Cabinet are probably considering the matter
and making plans for the defence of the western
country! And all that bad luck, which may prove
fatal for us, is due to the pesky Douglas family!”
“Does the White Leader know this?”
Powers shrugged. “Yes. Miro told him. But
the White Leader is quite mad on the subject of this
boy. He says the boy no longer even remembers that
he is white; and that his one ambition now is to be
an emperor.”
“Well, that is likely enough,” said Marchand.
“It isn’tl” Powers snapped back at him. “I know
these Scotch frontiersmen. This man, Douglas,
stands out among them for intelligence and craft
and courage. He is almost as highly regarded as


88 The White Leader
“Butinot their allies. It is only White Alex’s
personal power that holds the tribes together in
our interest,” said Nolan.
“Curse the boy! He has made too much trouble
already,” Valdez said angrily. “I am for having
him killed to-night.”
“He has certainly turned up at the wrong time
for us,” Powers went on. “Number Thirteen starts
back for Louisville in a few days. I start in a couple
of hours. I am to get the shipment of powder and
lead, which is stored at a certain point, and see that
it is delivered to the Indians, so that they can take
the warpath before winter stops them. Nolan is
going on to Tampa on some other business of Wil-
kinson’s. We have to act to-night about this boy,
or it will be too late.”
“Valdez is going back in a few days with McGilli-
vray,” said Marchand.
“Another thing that bothers me,” Powers con-
tinued, “is that there was a Creek with Ross Douglas
at Watauga. He had brought Ross in safely, after
the boy was captured. An ugly fellow with a scarred
faced’
“A scarred face!” Nolan exclaimed. “Can that
possibly be Blue Arrow? We’ll soon seel” He
called Gypsy John and told him to have Blue Arrow
found and brought to them at once. But, of course,
Blue Arrow could not be found. Blue Arrow had
gone into hiding. He was lying among the rose
vines on the top of the arbor where the men sat.
Wilkinson came out of the house and walked


Number Thirteen 89
swiftly to the arbor. He called Powers; and the
two went some distance along the path together.
“Miro realizes that the boy must be put out of
the way. But he, himself, daren’t have anything to
do with it,” said Number Thirteen. “You’ll have
to attend to it, Powers. Here’s my suggestion.
Don’t kill the boy unless you have to, but kidnap
him and keep him hidden. We can then use him as a
club over White Alex, to make him come down in
his price. McGillivray is a thorough Scot in busi-
ness! I don’t give you positive orders, mind; I
leave it to your best judgment. Only, Miro agrees
to the kidnapping, but is afraid of the murder.”
“Better kill the boy,” Powers answered. _“Mir6
can pretend to McGillivray that he is still alive."
“I leave it to you. Miro will assist to this point.
He will send down to the water-front and get two or
three of those ruffianly mulattoes who live there to
come up this bayou to-night with a boat. If they
find the boy here, lying bound on the bank by that
post, they will take him away. If the boy is alive,
Miro can redeem him from them later for a few
gold pieces. If not, they are to sink his body in the
river. Miro can blame them for the murder, if
necessary; and satisfy McGillivray by having them
executed. Miro always moves in these affairs in
such a way that he cannot be traced.”
“Well, then, the matter is simple enough.”
“Oh, this affair of the boy is a trifle. I have
another and a much riskier job for you. Who is
that calling?” he asked abruvtlv.


Number Thirteen 91
you have settled the boy, you will reach up—for-
tunately you are tall—get the letters and then start
up the river in your pirogue immediately. You
understand?”
“Yes, perfectly.”
“I hope so; for we won’t be able to speak
together again. What did I tell you?” he whispered.
“Isn’t that Valdez sneaking round behind the arbor
in the eflort to come on us silently and overhear
what we are saying? Make an excuse to get the
men in doors. Send that fat Seminole boy ofl some-
where; and keep Lachlan out here alone with you.”
He went swiftly along the path and into the house.
Powers walked slowly back to the arbor, pondering
his instructions. O’Fallon, as he well knew, was the
man who acted as Wilkinson’s banker, taking care
of the funds which Number Thirteen collected by his
treacheries. Powers had suspected that Wilkinson
was dealing with the agents of other European states
too, through Nolan; but he had not actually known
it before. It was a risky game, certainly, for Wil-
kinson to sell America to Spain and Spain to Eng-
land. But, then, Number Thirteen was money-mad!
There was no risk he would not take for money;
nothing and nobody he would not sell, if the price
were high enough. Powers beckoned Barking
Water.
“Wewoca,” he said in Creek, “I have watched you
eat with the greatest admiration. Nolan tells me
that you say you have a strange skin which will
stretch forever without bursting. Is that true?”


92 The White Leader
“Positively,” Barking Water answered.
“Yet I doubt it. You must prove it to me by going
to the kitchen with Gypsy John and eating all the
rest of the sweets.” He called the Venezuelan.
“Willingly,” said Barking Water. “I take the
greatest pleasure both in eating and in showing igno-
rant people the things they do not know. Tell
Gylipee Jaw to take me to the place where there
are many, sweet, small breads.”
Thus easily did Powers dispose of Wewoca. Lach-
lan might have questioned about this incident if he
had not been absorbed in something else. A moment
before, he had leaned back against the pillar and
looked up at the moonlit sky. And he had distinctly
seen the outline of Blue Arrow’s head above the
arbor.
“So that’s where ye’ve hidden yersel’, eh?” he
muttered. “I dinna deny I’m glad to know ye’re so
close. For I make no doubt I’ll have my troubles
before long wi’ one or other o’ yon yellow murderin’
pack!”
—~.


CHAPTER VII
THE BOAT ON THE DARK BAYOU
NOLAN had quickly surmised Powers’ reason for
getting Wewoca ofl the scene. Evidently Powers
had received orders from Wilkinson just now to
make away with Lachlan. In that case it would be
better to have no witnesses. So he proposed to
Marchand, and to Valdez, who had now joined the
group again after his unsuccessful attempt at eaves-
dropping, that they go indoors and play cards.
Marchand, taking the hint, agreed at once. They
went into the house.
“I’m not for games of chance to-night,” said
Valdez, yawning. “I’m too sleepy. I shall slip off
to bed.” He yawned again. Valdez was not at all
sleepy. Miro had given him instructions to watch
Wilkinson, Nolan, and Powers. Two of these men
were now in the card room with Miro and his other
guests. The only man Valdez had to watch was
Powers.
~ Valdez stole out by a side door and secreted him-
self in the shrubbery by one corner of the house.
The moon made a wide path of light to the arbor.
Some of the torches were still burning. He could
see Lachlan clearly under the last flickering glare of
93


94 The White Leader
the torch by the bayou; and he knew just where
Powers was sitting in the arbor. He, too, guessed
that Powers was about to make away with Lachlan;
and he had no intention of interfering with that,
nor of spying on Powers any closer until after the
deed was done.
Lachlan was far from being a slow-witted youth.
He knew that he was in deadly peril; and, as was
his habit, his mind went to work at once, counting
the chances for and against him. He felt sure that
Powers would not use his pistol, because of the noise.
For, he thought, it was evident that McGillivray had
not consented to his death; because, if he had, there
would be no need of this careful secrecy on the part
of the other three men. Then, since he must be
killed quietly, there would be no shooting. No;
Powers would do one of two things. Either he
would try to lure him into the arbor with the idea
of seizing him and stabbing him when he was ofl
his guard; or he would suddenly rush him. Probably
the latter, he thought; because he was in a bad posi-
tion for a quick escape. A dense mass of shrubs
blocked him on the right; and the bayou was directly
behind him. The best place to fight it out with
Powers, he decided, was the clear moonlit space on
the other side of the arbor. There was room there
to run and to dodge. He must not kill Powers;
because, if he did, McGillivray would almost cer-
tainly believe that he was still loyal to Robertson
and turn against him. That would mean death.


The Boat on the Dark Bayou 95
No; he had to save his own life now without injuring
Powers.
The presence of Blue Arrow on the roof troubled
him a little. It would be just like Blue Arrow
to jump down and knife Powers the minute Powers
made a suspicious move. But if Blue Arrow could
see the duel become a foot race in which Powers
had the worst of it, then he would probably stay
safely where he was on the roof.
“To get clear o’ Powers won’t be so easy as slid-
in’ down a greased pole,” he thought; “for yon
man’s not only a bad one but a smart one, or Number
Thirteen would never bother wi’ him.”
Lachlan rose and stretched himself.
“Come in here; I want to talk with you,” said
Powers.
“I thank ye. But I’ll be gettin’ along now. ’Tis
late,” the boy answered.
“Wait a minute. I've something to say to you.”
Powers rose slowly and began to walk in a leisurely
fashion towards Lachlan, measuring the distance
between them. Lachlan, on his part, moving more
quickly, kept widening that distance as he veered
towards the ground on the far side of the arbor.
Beyond that clear space, some thirty yards away,
was a mass of cane and reeds, edging another
swampy seepage of the river. The tangle and
shadows of its growth would make a good hiding
place. He did not dare dash towards the house;
because he thought it likely that one of the other
men was waiting there with his knife ready.


96 The White Leader
Powers saw by Lachlan’s manoeuvres, that the
boy knew his intention. So, without more words, he
rushed at him. Lachlan led the chase out on the
moonlit sward and began to play with Powers an
Indian game of run and tag. By the tactics of this
game the pursued remained still and alert, saving
his wind and strength, while the pursuer tried to
guess which way he would dart under attack and
then exerted himself to head him off and drive him
into some disadvantageous position where he could
be caught. Powers also had played that game with
Indian warriors; and he was good at it. But he lost
a point in the very beginning by losing his temper.
The coolness and impudence of this youth in delib-
erately 'turning his murderous purpose into a sport
made him furious.
“I’ll slit your throat for that!” he snarled; and
foolishly dashed straight at the spot where Lachlan
stood. Of course, when he reached it, Lachlan was
somewhere else.
“This is a good game,” the boy jeered at him;
“ye should learn it, though, Mr. Powers. For I’m
tellin’ ye, ’tis no game for fools.”
“I learned it before you were born,” Powers
snapped back at him. He walked towards him now,
observing acutely how the boy’s body was poised
and guessing that Lachlan’s next leap would be to
the left. He feinted a rush to the right. But Lach-
lan knew that trick, too. He feinted towards the
left, then dashed in a bee line for the cane brake.
Powers lost several seconds by this move. Furious


The Boat on the Dark Bayou 97
at his failure, he righted himself and sped after his
quarry, which had disappeared from his view in the
black density of the tall reeds. He crept along the
edge of the cane, stopping every few seconds to
listen for a rustle or for the panting breath that
would betray to him the presence of the hunted. As
if on purpose to annoy him, the frogs, which had
begun a desultory tuning up of their bassoons and
saxophones a half hour ago, now seemed to release
all their orchestras at once in every swamp and
bayou. By the racket they made, there might have
been a million of them. The cane brake and this
swamp were evidently packed with them, all bent
on celebrating the moonlight with song. Powers
could hear nothing but their barking bedlam. His
rage tempted him to fire his pistol into the cane on
the wild chance of hitting the boy. But he thought
better of it. This thing must be done quietly.
While Powers was slowly creeping along the cane
brake, and Lachlan was crouched watchfully within
its shadows, another adventure was happening by
the lamp-post on the bank of the bayou. Valdez,
screened by the shrubs, had seen Lachlan lead
Powers in the dance across the garden and finally
out of sight. He was considering following them
when his attention was caught by a tall Ohio Indian
whom he knew to be Wilkinson’s body servant. The
Ohio emerged from the side door. He held a small
fold of paper. Valdez saw it distinctly as the man
came out of the lighted hall into the garden. He
watched the Indian, who had no suspicion of his


98 The White Leader
presence, and saw him go down to the lamp-post and
reach up to the top of it, and, lastly, extinguish the
torch. An uninformed onlooker would have thought
that the servant had been sent out to put out the
last light. He saw him come back and re-enter the
house and noted that he no longer had the paper.
It did not take Valdez any time to deduce that
Wilkinson had sent Powers a secret message. That,
of course, was what the two of them had arranged
in the brief interview which he had failed to over-
hear. Miro must have that note without delay!
Valdez hurried to the lamp-post. He could see
the ghostly gleam of the paper at the top of the post.
But he could not grasp it immediately because it was
out of his reach. Valdez was not a tall man. He
looked about for something—a stool or a log, or a
bench—which he could shove against the post and
stand on in order to reach the paper. Then he
noticed that there was a rock behind the pillar. It
was not sufficiently high to enable him to reach the
paper easily; but he thought that, by standing on tip-
toe on top of it, he could eventually get the note.
Being a man of action, he translated the thought
into the deed at once.
Now, the real reason why Valdez was always
having embarrassing experiences with Oomy was
primarily because Valdez insisted on ignoring
Oomy’s presence on the earth. Valdez wanted to
forget Oomy. Oomy was never to blame; it was
never Oomy’s fault in the least. It had not been
Oomy’s fault that Valdez had been obliged to fetch


The Boat on the Dark Bayou 99
him from Venezuela, nor that all New Orleans had
laughed about it; nor that Miro had given Oomy
Valdez’ medal. Then, too, that blue-bottle episode
on the pirogue had not been Oomy’s fault. It would
never have happened if Valdez had, as Lachlan said,
washed his hands like a Christian; or if he had not
forgotten that Oomy was sleeping with an eye or
two open right behind him. It had always been
a mistake for Valdez to forget about Oomy. It
was a mistake now. Because Oomy was not a rock.
Oomy was a live turtle. He was a gentle turtle:
but he was also a dignified turtle. He objected to
being stepped on. When Valdez mounted him and
poised with difliculty on one tiptoe, straining his
arm until he could just reach the note and knock it
loose, Oomy, disliking the weight on his shell,
humped up and slid it ofl—very naturally.
With a gasping curse Valdez, completely over-
balanced, pitched backwards, head down, into the
shallow water and deep oozy liquid mud of the
bayou. Oomy did not even turn his head to see
what had happened to the heavy annoyance which
he had shaken off. Oomy was watching something
white flutter down, mothlike, from the base of the
dead torch. Snap went Oomy’s jaws. And the
secret instructions of Number Thirteen disappeared
at one gulp into the very best of all possible places
that could have been found for them! Then Oomy
crawled away slowly towards the arbor. He had
long ago found out that the good hunting ceased
when the torch was extinguished; and, since his


100 The White Leader
slumbers had already been so unpleasantly disturbed
there, he preferred to seek a quieter spot. He went
on his way methodically, blameless as ever.
Valdez dug himself up out of the mud, choked
and blinded. He stumbled wrathfully towards his
own quarters. He had not forgotten about the
note; but he left it to take its chances in the bayou
where he thought it had fallen. The most important
thing in the world to Valdez was his per-
sonal dignity. Compared with that, notes, plots,
and counterplots faded into insignificance. Spain
herself could sink in mid-ocean before he would
allow the funny jokers of New Orleans to get
another Oomy story on him!
Meanwhile the duel between Powers and Lach-
lan had waxed hotter. Lachlan, convinced that
Powers would not use his pistol, wanted to lure his
enemy into the cane thicket at the bottom of the
garden, so that he himself could sneak out of another
part of it and make a dash for Gypsy John’s cabin
behind the house. Lachlan had become very tired
of that marshy cane brake and wanted to get out of
it. So he played a mean trick on Powers. He
pulled up a small clod of earth and threw it. It
fell with a rustle through the cane some distance
away. Powers thought Lachlan had made the noise
by the movement of his body in the cane, and
plunged in to get him. Lachlan watched him dis-
appear, knew his back was turned, and silently
ducked out and raced over the garden. But Powers
almost instantly suspected the trick when he found


The Boat on the Dark Bayou IOI
1\<.%K">'l 3-D
no sign of the boy and heard no more sound from
him. He swung round and saw Lachlan and, by a
very speedy rush, he cut ofl Lachlan’s retreat
towards the house. To escape him, Lachlan had to
swing around the back of the arbor; which brought
him again to the edge of the bayou. Powers
realized now that the chase would probably go on
all night. And he had no more time to give to
it. Even now the crew of his pirogue were waiting
for him to come aboard. He had to get Number
T hirteen’s note from the lamp-post and be off with-
out any more delay. He would have to use his
pistol. What helped him reach that decision was
the sight of a boat slipping into the mouth of the
bayou. The _villainous mulattoes from the water-
front were coming to get the boy, as they had been
ordered. If _the sound of the shot brought
McGillivray out of the house, thought Powers, there
was a chance that the body would already be hidden
in the boat. And he could pretend he had shot his
pistol off accidentally. If the boy’s body were
discovered, he could accuse the boatmen of the
killing. Miro had even arranged for that, according
to Wilkinson! It was safe enough to shoot the
boy now. So Powers drew his pistol and veered
round the front of the arbor, not following Lachlan
but planning to meet him. Blue Arrow, on the roof,
had not taken his eyes ofl Powers since the chase
began. He saw the glint of Powers’ pistol in the
moonlight.
Lachlan, stealing round from the back of the


I02 The White Leader
arbor, met Powers coming towards him, pistol in
hand.
“ ’Tis all up wi’ me, unless he misses,” he thought.
To his amazement, the pistol dropped from
Powers’ hand! And Powers, himself, crumpled in
a heap on the bank. For a moment Lachlan stood
stock still. He could make nothing of this! He
heard a sound in the vines of the arbor. Blue
Arrow leaped down beside him.
“Come quick,” the Indian said, pulling his arm.
Mechanically Lachlan let Blue Arrow draw him into
the arbor.
“What happened to Powers?” Lachlan queried,
not expecting any answer.
“Dead,” said Blue Arrow. “I shoot with blow-
gun. See.” He thrust the silent weapon before
Lachlan’s eyes. “Hush. Not speak. Men come
in boat. I see from up there.”
Crouched noiselessly, scarcely breathing, they saw
the boat draw in. They saw two husky dark figures
leap ashore. They heard ejaculations and words in a
language they did not know, as the two figures
discovered the body of Powers, hoisted it and carried
it to the boat. One of the men returned for the
pistol. Then they rowed away towards the mouth
of the bayou. They had obeyed their instructions.
They had found a body on the bank; and they had
taken it away to sink it with stones in the river
so that no trace of it would ever be found!
“Ye saved my life, Blue Arrow,” Lachlan said,
clasping the young Creek’s hand.


The Boat on the Dark Bayou I03
“Yes. You my brother.” '
“You and I will spend the night with Gypsy
John,” Lachlan said in Creek. At that moment
Gypsy John came into the arbor with a lantern.
“Hullo,” he said genially. “You talk with my
Oomy? Oomy like best sleep here.”
True enough, Oomy was slumbering soundly in
the farthest corner, oblivious as usual to any event
that buzzed around him, so long as the event was
not a fly.
“See!” Gypsy John went on, looking very
pleased. He held up a small gold coin. “General
VVilkinson give me for make so good songs for him.
First, I think I make gold earring for Susanna.
But Susanna got veree pretty bell; she like bell veree
much. No; I make one more bracelet for Oomy,
like that Valdez bracelet. Veree nice present for
Oomy from General Wilkinson.”
And that was entirely as it should be; though
Number Thirteen would not have thought so, had
he known all! Oomy had prevented a Spanish
secret from being sold to England; and, thereby, he
had repaid Governor Miro for his courtesy in giving
him the freedom of Louisiana. So Miré’s dear
friend and ally, Wilkinson, might well reward him
for thatl He had prevented a bloody raid from
being launched by the Ohio Indians on the Kentucky
settlements; and, for that, he was certainly entitled
to receive, at the least, a gold bracelet from an
American soldier who stood so high as Wilkinson
in his country’s trust and favor!


I04 The White Leader
The two boys stole softly across the sward with
Gypsy John, leaving Oomy, the true hero of the
hour, sleeping peacefully under his hat.
Lachlan did not puzzle long about the advent
of the dark boatmen. He guessed that they had
come for him. But they had found Powers! No
one but himself and Blue Arrow knew what had
happened. For this night, at any rate, he was safe.
He would not have to face Wilkinson, Valdez,
Marchand, and Nolan for some hours yet, to annoy
them with the information that that disturbing lad,
Lachlan Douglas, was not dead. To-morrow—?
He refused to worry. Let to-morrow take care of
itself!


CHAPTER VIII
TWO WISE OWLS
THE indifference to danger and even to death
which the Indian peril bred in boys of the frontier
served Lachlan well that night. It sent him to
sleep as soundly as the proverbial log, in Gypsy
John’s quarters. He awoke early, fresh and alert,
rolled up his blanket and, going outside, threw him-
self down under a tree to think things over. The
pivot of the situation, he saw, was the White
Leader. If McGillivary had turned against him,
then his chances of life were so small as to be
invisible. He could count on Blue Arrow against
every enemy except McGillivray. Lachlan knew,
without questioning why, that Blue Arrow would
not raise his weapon against White Alex even for
his dearest friend. And, to Lachlan himself, the
idea of seeing McGillivray meet the same fate as
Powers was repugnant.
“I could never strike at the White Leader,” he
muttered; “his spell is on me too strong.” There
was nothing to be gained by trying to reason against
that spell of Alex’s. Lachlan knew that he loved
the man.
“Are you talking to yourself or to spirits?”
105


I06 The White Leader
Barking Water asked politely. “Because if you are
talking to spirits I will not interrupt you.” Wewoca
had emerged from his slumbers also and had come
out to join Lachlan.
“I am talking to the spirit of Barking Water who
fell last night on the warpath, slain by too many
cakes,” Lachlan answered with a grin.
“Ah! those sweet small breads!” Wewoca sighed
blissfully and dropped down beside him. “Offer
many of them to my spirit when I am truly dead.
You need not scatter much tobacco on my grave,
because I don’t care for it. But be sure to put many
sweet things there, especially sugar cane and those
small breads. I would like also some turkey giz-
zards and ”
“Since you will live to be ninety, Wewoca, don’t
give me the list now, for I shall forget it. I never
saw a man who looked less like a ghost than you do
—you black rolypoly!”
“Here come Blue Arrow and Gylipee Jaw. Lak-
lan Chate, you should be proud that your friends
love you so much that they seek you at all times.
I, myself, am only happy when I am with you.”
“Except when you are in the kitchen with the
cakes.” '
“Ah, well! Tihe stomach has its love, no less
than the heart.” Barking Water pronounced this
bit of wisdom with profound solemnity. “How-
ever, before we leave this subject of feeding my
spirit let me instruct you; since, while I do intend to
live very long, an accident may happgl even to so


Two Wise Owls I09
should greet his chief, nor as a Creek son should
greet his father. He sat still in his careless atti-
tude and spoke with casual good humor as one
Scotch Highlander to another.
“Alex McGillivray,” he said, “I’m glad to see ye
out this bonnie mornin’. If Gypsy John hadna
caught me wi’ a juicy breakfast I’d have been after
wakin’ ye to take a walk wi’ me.”
“Where did you sleep ?” McGillvray asked him
sternly in Creek. “You were hiding from me.”
“Oh, ay. In a manner o’ speakin’ ye might call
it that.” He grinned. “I slept wi’ John and this
red man,” pointing to Blue Arrow, “an’ yon black
man,” with a nod towards Wewoca, “an’ Oomy
an’ Susanna an’ a couple o’ fireflies an’ a pack o'
mosquitoes, for all the world like Noah i’ thVe ark
wi’ Shem an’ Ham an’ the animals.”
Lachlan had won the first point for he saw the
hint of a smile cross McGillivray’s face.
“Have ye had yer breakfast yet, Alex McGilli-
vray?” he asked abruptly.
“No,” McGillivray answered inadvertently in
English. Lachlan felt a thrill of triumph as he
heard that English monosyllable.
“John,” he shouted merrily, “get ye into the
kitchen an’ cook a steak. Alex McGillivray’s
eatin’ breakfast, hunter’s style, wi’ his son, Lachlan
McGillivray.”
He heard Gypsy John leap up and hurry off into
the cabin but he did not turn his head. He kept his
keen, twinkling, gray eyes on Alex. A glint of


Two Wise Owls III
infectious grin at him, his eyes sparkling, and said,
“But what’s the odds if ye do see through it—so
long as I win my game?”
“You think you’ve won? How is that?” with a
puzzled look.
“Ay, to be sure I've won. Didn’t ye come stalkin’
me this mornin’ wi’ a face black as thunder an’
ready to jab yer knife into- me on account o’ things
certain gentlemen were sayin’ to ye about me last
night? Ay, ye can’t deny it! An’ didn't I change
yer mind an’ get ye to sittin’ here alongside o’ me
an’ feelin’ friendly? Ye can’t deny that neither!
An’ if all the time ye saw what I was after, still
ye did it—an’ that’s winnin’ the game!”
“Quite true,” McGillivray admitted after a
moment’s silence. “Ah, here comes my steak,” as
Gypsy John set it before him.
“An’ glad I am to see ye usin’ yer knife on a.
steak an’ not on me, Alex McGillivray!”
McGillivray laughed shortly. It was the first
time Lachlan had heard him laugh. This was
indeed his hour of triumph. McGillivray’s face
almost immediately resumed its sombre cast. He
turned to the three others and gestured a dismissal.
Gypsy John and Blue Arrow went into the cabin;
Wewoca strolled ofl towards the kitchen of Mir6’s
mansion.
“So the young owl is wiser than I thought, eh?
I like courage and I like brains, Laklan Chate; and
you have shown me both this morning. But I
warn you not to use them to play me false; for I


II2 The White Leader
would never forgive you and I would punish you
horribly.”
“The Hielanders haven’t the name o’ bein’
traitors,” was Lachlan’s answer.
“True. Now, lad, forget the game and tell me
the truth. You say some of my friends want you
out of the way, and I admit it. What happened
between you and those same friends last night-
that is, between you and Powers and, possibly,
Valdez ?”
“Ye’re leavin’ out Williamson an’ Nolan an’
Marchand,” Lachlan said, not because White Alex’s
answer to that remark would be important, but be-
cause he wanted to gain time to think. How much
dared he tell to McGillivray? He didn’t know.
“Yes. They came in to play cards. Nolan, by
the way, left for the ship this morning as I came out
of the house.” And, because he guessed the boy’s
state of mind, he added, “I may as well tell you
that I looked out of my window last night and saw
you and Powers playing tag round the summer
house. It troubled me afterwards; so I dressed
and came down. When I opened the door I saw
at first only the stern of a boat disappearing among
the rushes of the bayou. Then I saw you come
out of the arbor with Blue Arrow. So I knew you
were safe. I supposed that, if Powers had really
been intending to do you any injury, the appearance
of Blue Arrow had made him change his mind.”
“Ay—oh, ay,” Lachlan said slowly, “that was the


Two Wise Owls II3
way o’ it. Blue Arrow changed his mind—in a
manner o’ speakin’.”
“Powers had no right to be fooling like that last
night. You might have knifed him in self-defence
and then all our plans would have been ruined.”
“How’s that—if ye don’t object to me askin’ ?”
“Powers will visit the Choctaw and the Chero-
kee to tell them when and where we are all to
meet in November for the two raids—first to wipe
out Nashville and then Watauga. He himself will
meet our combined forces with a boatload of
ammunition. It is the hunting season and the white
men will not expect us; they will be less wary than
in summer. And, also, many of their own warriors
will be away from the forts and out hunting.”
“But the Indians’ll starve next winter if they don’t
kill an’ jerk deer meat in October an’ November.
They’ll have nothin’ to depend on for food but the
fur beasties they set their traps for i’ midwinter,”
Lachlan protested. For all the warriors, who were
also the hunters, of three large nations to refrain
from hunting when the deer were fat, meant star-
vation throughout the Indian country. He was
amazed that McGillivray should be a party to such
a mad plan.
“No. Because Miro and Wilkinson will send
pirogues laden with food for us. We will have
less food than usual, but we will not starve. Powers
knew that he must start on that errand at mid-
night; and that is why I am surprised at his attack
on you. If he had been stopped from going—well,


II4 The White Leader
you can see! There would not be enough powder
for all of us; and the Cherokee and Choctaw
warriors, knowing nothing of the raid, would be
ofl scattered through the woods for several hundred
miles; and the whole affair would come to nothing.”
“Ay. ’Twas a verra bad mistake Mr. Powers
made,” Lachlan said thoughtfully. His heart was
pounding with excitement. Blue Arrow’s silent shot
from the Venezuelan blowgun had saved not only
Lachlan Douglas’ life; it had saved Nashville and
Watauga! He coughed to clear his throat, which
was tightening under the pressure of his emotion.
“Did Powers go away in that boat I saw ?”
“Ay,” the boy answered truthfully if a trifle
huskily; “Mr. Powers went away i’ yon boat.”
“Good. Then it is all right.”
“Ay—as ye say,” slowly, “ ’tis all right.”
“But, if I had not asked you, you would have told
me nothing. You don’t trust me ?”
Lachlan turned and looked his foster father in
the eyes. “No. I dinna trust ye a’together, White
Alex; for ye hate white men, an’ I’m white. An’
ye have great plans that ye’d never let a boy like
me interfere wi’, even though ye call him yer son.
An’ I knew yer friends, that’ll help ye wi’ yer great
plans, were tellin’ ye I’d be the ruin o’ it all an’ ye
should let them kill me. An’ I thought likely ye’d
agree to it. For ye never saw me till a few months
back, when ye tied me to a tree to burn me. An’
so, what is Lachlan to the White Leader that would
count against great plans an’ old friends ?”


II6 The White Leader
again. “Not at all. It will mean that they have
postponed my demise until the raid. You know
something of our Creek government by now. I
am the peace chief and I am supreme, except on the
warpath. In actual battle Tustunnuc, the War
Leader, is supreme and I am second to him. If they
succeed in buying Tustunnuc, he can even order my
death on the warpath without being called to account
for it by the tribe—above all if the raid is successful;
as of course, with twenty thousand warriors, it will
be. If we go freely, Laklan Chate, and if Valdez
returns with us—above all, if Valdez goes with us—
you can be sure that they have sound reasons for
believing that Tustunnuc will not say no. Then
Number Thirteen will get the thirty thousand per
year which Miro has been paying me.”
“How many Creeks can ye count on?”
“A good many. But it is likely that just one of
them will be told to kill me. Tustunnuc may tell
no one. He may do it himself—or Valdez may—
as we attack Nashville; so that the others will think
some one inside the fort shot me. If I fall, there
will be no safety for you in that country. So I am
going to send you with the autumn caravan to Pen-
sacola, with a letter to Mr. Leslie, my partner at
the trading house there. If I live, I will come for
you.”
“No, you won’t!” Lachlan shouted. He sprang
to his feet. His face was flushed, his eyes snapped,
and his words tumbled out over one another in hot
indignation. “Do ye think I’m a coward, Alex


Two Wise Owls II7
McGillivray, that ye’d send me sneakin’ off to
Pensacola? Do ye think I’m such a skunk I’d be
leavin’ ye in danger after eatin’ at yer table an’
hearin’ ye call me yer son? Send me to Pensacola?
No, ye won’t! No, ye won’t! For I’m takin’ the
warpart wi’ ye! Not to fight my own people; for,
I’m warnin’ ye, I’ll never fire a shot at Nashville.
But I’m goin’ along to keep watch over yersel’,
White Alex; an’ I’ll kill the man that lifts gun or
knife at yer back. Pensacola? No, ye won’t!
Not me !”
McGillivray looked up at Lachlan in silence for
a moment. Then he rose and put his two hands
heavily on the boy’s shoulders, and stood so, his
head bent and his eyes boring into Lachlan’s.
“Is that the way of it ?” he said at last in a low
tone with that mournfully tender inflection which
always aflected Lachlan so deeply.
“That’s the way o’ it, White Alex!”
Alex’s fingers tightened hard about the slim
muscular shoulders. He sighed deeply, as if the
emotion roused in him by Lachlan’s loyalty and
affection wounded him as much as it rejoiced him.
Then, recovering himself, he smiled and said softly:
“So that is how the owl story ends, eh? The two
wise owls fly away through the dark together!”
Abruptly, before Lachlan could speak, he with-
drew his hands, swung around and strode swiftly
away towards the house.


I20 The White Leader
make obeisance to him. He dared not refuse nor
show his disgust. If he had, his life would not have
been worth two flies! To the Creek mind, a slight
put upon Oomy would call down the vengeful curse
of the Turtle-god on their entire nation; and would
bring inevitable disaster to their warriors in the
great war for the extermination of the white race,
on which they were about to embark.
The atmosphere of awe investing Oomy spread
to include Gypsy John and Susanna; though both of
them, like Oomy, remained in complete ignorance of
the fact. The Indians looked on Gypsy John as
the Turtle-god’s own special high medicine priest.
About Susanna’s precise rank they were in some
doubt; but they did not doubt at all that she was
what they now named her—"Most-Sacred-Mule.”
The preparations for war began speedily. At
frequent intervals, daily, the war drums beat out
their dull boding thunder in all the Creek towns as
the warriors took the trail for the national head-
quarters. In McGillivray’s town the same sinister
sound greeted these warriors on their arrival. The
low, thudding, irregular monotone was like the angry
blood in the veins of thousands of madmen, pulsing
audibly. Even after dark descended and the drums
were silent, Lachlan seemed to hear it still in his
sleep. Three days before the departure for war,
the warriors began the holy three-days fast. Dur-
ing this time they held no intercourse with their
families. The leading braves spent the three days
and nights in the huge council hall listening to the


The Curse of the Turtle-God I2I
orators, of whom, of course, the White Leader was
the principal one. This was the McGillivray the
boy shuddered away from, the fanatic, the tiger
hungry for blood, the menacing figure which the
men of Nashville called “that Creek devil.” Yet
drawn by an irresistible fascination, which he could
not have explained, Lachlan crept, time and time
again, into the throng in the square before the coun-
cil house. He pushed through to a place from
which he could see into the hall—see past the line
of women who circled the building, waving feather
fans and chanting softly, past the crouching drum-
mers, past the seated warriors, naked but for their
war paint, to the towering figure of the strange and
terrible man he loved, feared, shrank from, yet to
Whom he had passionately pledged his life. He
would listen to that demoniacal oratory, with its
reiterated refrain, like the savage monotone of the
war drums—”Wipe out the white men”—until his
heart seemed about to burst; and, unable to bear the
misery of it any longer, he would slip out of the
crowd, out of the town, and rushing into the forest,
throw himself on the ground in a torment of horror
and grief.
He was lying there, face downward, in the twi-
light, on the day before the march, when he felt
a touch on his shoulder. He swung round, to see
Blue Arrow squatting beside him.
“I saw that my brother was in trouble; so I fol-
lowed,” Blue Arrow said in Creek. “Tell me your
sorrow.”


I22 The White Leader
But Lachlan could not explain to Blue Arrow all
that he felt. It was not clear even to himself.
Yet he did not want to seem to rebuff his friend’s
sympathy by refusing to answer. He wondered if
Blue Arrow knew of the danger threatening
McGillivray and thought this a good time to speak
of it. Blue Arrow would understand readily how
Alex’s peril must distress him; and it would seem to
him the true answer to his question.
“I already know of this,” Blue Arrow said, when
Lachlan had finished speaking; “but I said nothing
to you, because White Alex did not tell me that you
knew.”
“Then he told you, himself?”
“Yes. It was for your sake. If a man, either
Tustunnuc or Valdez, kills the White Leader, you,
as his son, should kill that man, according to our
custom. But White Alex says that, because you are
only his adopted son, you need not take vengeance
on his slayer, if another man will do it for you. So
he said that I must act for you. Therefore, it is all
arranged. If White Alex is murdered I will kill
the man who is guilty.”
Lachlan looked puzzled. “It is kind of him to
wish to save me; and you are generous to be willing.
But I thought that such vengeance could only be
taken by a near kinsman—by his son, if the mur-
dered man has one; and, if not by his son, then by
his brother, always by the nearest relative. You
are not related to him by blood, are you?”


124 The White Leader
White Alex. He will be safer. Yet Wewoca is
your true friend also.”
As the three friends returned to the village to-
gether, Barking Water said:
“You may not believe me, Laklan Chate, because
I forgot to mention it at the time; but, at the very
first moment when I saw Oomy on the boat, I knew
that he was a god. You remember too, that, as
soon as Oomy saw Valdez, he knew that Valdez
was a Spaniard and therefore a bad man, and bit
him? Only a turtle that was truly a god-turtle
could know on the instant that Valdez was a
Spaniard and therefore a man who should be
bitten.”
“That cannot be denied, Wewoca,” Lachlan
answered, with a grin.
“At dawn,” Wewoca went on, “we take the war-
path. I am glad, because, on the march to Nash-
ville, we will eat. The only objection I have to
these religious ceremonies is the fasting. While
I intend to show myself a brave warrior and a
worthy son of my father, I shall take good care not
to be killed. Because all this fasting to please the
war spirits makes me fear that the food in the spirit
world is neither excellent nor plentiful. Indeed,
is that not proved by the :/ery look of the departed
when they appear to us in answer to the Medicine
Man’s magic? They come as ghosts, they are like
shadows, one can see through them. Would that
be so if they were well fed?” He began to chant:
“Oh, Turtle-god, kind Turtle-god, riding on Most-


I26 V The White Leader
At dusk on the fourth day they reached the
rendezvous, about forty miles east of Nashville.
Here, had Powers lived to fulfill his mission, they
would have found the depot of ammunition and
several thousand Choctaw and Cherokee warriors.
They made camp and waited; expecting to see their
allies arrive in the morning. Having no inkling of
Powers’ fate they did not doubt that he, too, would
appear in the morning with the pirogue laden with
powder and lead. After having eaten meat which
they had killed on the way, they stretched themselves
on the ground and slept. The only troubled soul
among them was Gypsy John. He confided to
Lachlan that he was worried about Susanna, who
had not been accustomed to such strenuous travel.
“You hear how much she heehaw all day, veree
loud big heehaw?” Lachlan admitted that all the
world must have heard it. “Susanna do that when
she veree mad. When Susanna get mad she one
dangerous woman. She bite everybody but me an’
Oomy. She kick. An’ you never see how far the
thing go that she kick! She grab with teeth an’
throw somebody maybe one mile! Susanna veree
strong woman. I tell you true, in all my life I never
see Susanna so mad like to-night; because Injuns
make her walk too much.” He went on to say that
he thought Susanna might be mollified if he tethered
her near her best friends, with Oomy beside her and
a fat bundle of hay under her nose. Therefore he
would tie her alongside of the brush shelter which
Blue Arrow had constructed for McGillivray and


The Curse of the Turtle-God I27
Lachlan on the high brink of the river, rather apart
from the rest of the tribe. He himself would lie
down on the ground just out of reach of her heels;
so that she could not hurt him while mistaking him
for a log, perhaps, or for anything else interesting
to kick.
The camp was soon in slumber. The only wake-
ful ones were Lachlan, who was suffering torment
over this attack on Nashville; Blue Arrow, who
was keeping his eye on the snoring Tustunnuc; Val-
dez, who had work to do before dawn; and Susanna.
Susanna’s appetite had been curbed on the forced
march and she was now compensating her cavernous
interior for unnatural neglect.
The first faint lessening of the blackness had
set in when Valdez finally gained the proximity of
McGillivray’s shelter. It was still too dark to see,
but the steady munching of Susanna guided him.
He made no noise; even Lachlan’s keen ears did not
detect his approach. His knife was in his hand,
ready for the thrust—when fate overthrew him.
He located the sleeping McGillivray and, with
poised blade, made a swift noiseless rush. But his
toes caught under the low horny eaves of Oomy’s
shell and he plunged violently forward into
Susanna’s hay. An infuriated trumpeting “heehaw”
rent the dawn. On the instant both Gypsy John and
McGillivray awoke and sprang up. Lachlan, al-
ready awake, was out of the shelter like a shot.
In the dim gray light, that was hardly light as yet,
he had just time to make out Valdez’ outlines


I 30 The White Leader
The men of Nashville had not anticipated this
raid. A number of them were out hunting; and,
fortunately, a small party had gone southeastward.
About four in the afternoon two of this party sighted
the Creeks from a bluff. They made haste to collect
all their members and then started home at top
speed. Thus Nashville was ready for the onslaught
some hours before it took place. As the Creeks
rushed upon the fort in the first morning light, they
were met with a fire that staggered them. Yet,
again and again, stung by McGillivray’s words, they
hurled themselves at the barricades, while the crack
riflemen within the fort took deadly toll. The
torches which the Indians flung upon the roofs
smouldered and went out; for, all night long, the
women had hauled water and sopped the bark of
the split logs. The Creek losses were so heavy that,
in spite of White Alex’s eloquence and fearless
example, the red army first wavered, then broke,
and withdrew pellmell into the forest.
“The curse of the Turtle-god! The curse of the
Turtle-god!” they wailed. The retreat became a
mad, terror-stricken rout.
In this frenzy of confusion, when men hurled
blindly against one another, tripped and fell,
grappled and threw one another in the effort to clear
their path, Tustunnuc saw his opportunity. With
him it was no longer a matter of earning gifts from
the Spaniards. His lifelong jealousy of White Alex,
which Valdez had vigorously fanned, had flamed
into killing rage when McGillivray thrust him aside
I "V_V _ ‘F I IIII—I


The Curse of the Turtle-God I31
and took his place as war leader. He had lost his
tomahawk in the wild flight, but he still had his large
hunting knife. Drawing it, he leaped over the
backs of some tumbled Creeks, who had been thrown
down in the scrinunage—one of these was Blue
Arrow—and rushed at McGillivray. The White
Leader did not see him coming because he was
looking about anxiously for Lachlan. But the boy
saw him. Lachlan was pushing a sprawling Creek
aside in the dual effort to help Blue Arrow up and
to recover his own rifle which had been knocked
from his hand. Perhaps he rather sensed than saw
his foster father’s danger, as the brawny figure of
the Great Warrior hurtled past him. It was too
late to stop Tustunnuc. There was no time to pick
up his gun, aim, and fire it. There was only one
thing he could do; and he did that. He threw him-
self in front of McGillivray, with extended arms, to
take the death-blow meant for the White Leader.
“Blue Arrow!” he shouted. He did not think
Blue Arrow could get there in time to save him, but
he hoped he could get there in time to save McGilli-
vray from the second thrust of Tustunnuc’s blade.
Blue Arrow, however, had seen Tustunnuc’s rush,
and, by a special effort, had disentangled himself
from the two squirming Creeks and gained his feet.
He dashed after the war leader and leaped upon his
back. The impact of his body spoiled Tustunnuc’s
aim. The murderous knife ripped Lachlan’s sleeve
open but did not even scratch his flesh. Blue Arrow
dug the fingers of his left hand into Tustunnuc’s


I 32 The White Leader
eyes. With his right hand he whipped up his
knife and drove it through the bull neck of the Great
Warrior just below the skull. Their two bodies,
one living, the other dead, crashed down on the
sod together.
Lachlan felt the arm, with which McGillivray
had seized him to cast him aside out of danger,
tighten like a steel spring and draw him close.
Neither of them spoke. Blue Arrow extricated him-
self and stood erect. He looked McGillivray
gravely in the eyes, lifted his hand above his head,
and said, using a customary Indian phrase:
“The days appointed to Tustunnuc are ended.”
The braves, who gathered beside the body of their
war leader, muttered in tones of awe:
“The curse of the Turtle-god!”
Almost immediately something so terrible hap-
pened that the death of Tustunnuc became a mere
trifle. Several warriors who had been in the rear
of the flight dashed up.
“Look! Look!” they cried, pointing back through
the gaps in the trees to the clearing before the fort.
There, in plain view, was Susanna, her rope dangling,
trotting straight for the gate of the fort with Oomy
on her back. To understand this catastrophe, it
is necessary to look back to the moment when Gypsy
John saw Lachlan’s peril. Lachlan had once saved
Oomy’s life; so John’s duty now was plain. He must
rescue Lachlan. John knew that Oomy expected it
of him. He thrust the rope of Susanna’s halter
hastily into the hands of a Creek brave and ran


CHAPTER X
THE PEACE OF OOMY
IT was Kaspar Mansker who had hauled the big
gate open. He seized Lachlan in a rough embrace.
“He spoke der trudt!” he shouted. “He is
Lachlan!” '
“Lachlan, lad, I’m glad to see you,” said James
Robertson, gripping the boy’s hand.
“How are ye, Jim?” Lachlan asked, beaming at
him.
- “Who are your friends?” Robertson asked. He
shook hands with Blue Arrow.
“Oh, this is a Spanish man from a place in South
America that’s called Venezuela. His name's
Gypsy John. An’ he’s a verra fine man, Jim; an‘
a great friend o’ mine. An’ yon darkey butterball
is a Seminole, a wild man, ye ken. An’ his name's
Wewoca. It means Barkin’ Water. His father
was a big black man that ran off from the Spanish in
Pensacola but got caught again; an’ his mother was
a Creek partly, coz she was related to Tustunnuc,
the War Leader, that’s just got killed by Blue Arrow
here. Barkin’ Water’s a good friend o’ mine, too.”
After shaking hands with Gypsy John and We-
woca, Robertson presented them formally to the
other defenders of the fort.
134


The Peace of Oomy I35
“And now, lad,” he said gravely, “what’s the trick
in this talk of a peace treaty? For White Alex
never talks peace without a trick in his mind.”
“It’s no trick this time, Jim. I’m not denyin’ that
Alex McGillivray would rather die than make peace
wi’ ye or any other Americans, on account o’ the
fearful wrong was done by some Americans to his
father long since. His father was red-haired like
me an’ was named Lachlan; an’ that’s why White
Alex loves me. An’ I won’t deny, neither, that the
man’s set such a spell on me my own heart’s fair tied
to him. I’ve spent hours in tryin’ to make out Alex
McGillivray, Jim; an’ all I can make o’ him is that
he’s a wonderfu’ fine man gone mad through hatin’
an’ broodin’ coz o’ his father he loves so much?’
“Why do you think he’s not playing some trick
this time?”
“Coz o’ Oomy.” He looked about hastily. In
the first thrill of greeting his old friends he had
momentarily forgotten the Turtle-god. There was
no sign of him. Wewoca plucked his sleeve.
“Where is Mighty Turtle-god?” he whispered.
“Where is Most-Sacred-Mule ?”
“Oomy? What’s that?” Robertson queried with
a puzzled look.
“Oomy’s a turtle. We saw Susanna trot in here
wi’ him. Susanna’s a mule,” Lachlan explained;
“an’ the Creeks think Oomy’s a god. They forced
Alex to make peace so as to get him back.” He
grinned. “Ye see, Oomy an’ Susanna’s Gypsy
John’s property an’ his verra dear friends. Ai‘1’


The Peace of Oomy I37
like these, where she had always found Gypsy John.
She was inquiring for john now when she thrust
her enormous head and ungainly shoulders into the
Nashville cabins, one after another, and scared the
occupants half to death. They screamed at her
and threw things at her, and she withdrew, with
her back humped and her heavy lips drawn away
from her huge teeth in a snarl that even a croco-
dile might envy. Sometimes as she swung round,
she gave the cabin door—that was instantly banged
to and bolted behind her—a kick that splintered
it. She had just picked up a pail outside one door-
way and sent it hurtling through a window oppo-
site, when her master and bosom friend came up
with her. He spoke to her soothingly. She stared
at him suspiciously out of sullen angry eyes for a
few moments. Then her very long ears, which had
been lying almost flat on the back of her neck,
gradually rose again to their normal position, salut-
ing the sky. Her spine straightened in a series of
spasmodic quivers, her tail drooped, her teeth re-
ceded, and she emitted a gentle, almost plaintive,
“hee-haw,” ending, as she nosed into his shoulder,
in a little whinny of contentment. Gypsy rubbed
her nose and fondled her ears for a minute, and
then looked into the basket. He could see only a
big round shell. Oomy was asleep under his hat.
But then Oomy so seldom allowed any commo_tion
that went on around him to disturb him. He was
not of a nervous temperament.
He was awake, however, when John once again


I 38 The White Leader
joined the group near the gate—with Susanna’s head
hanging over his shoulder and her heavy front hoofs
just an inch or two behind his heels. Assisted by
Lachlan and Wewoca, Gypsy John lifted Oomy out
of the basket and set him on the ground to be
observed and marveled at by the assembled warriors
of Nashville.
“Oomy, ye’ve had a grand history. If ye could
only write a book about it!” Lachlan said, laugh-
ingly. “First ye were but a turtle in a swamp o’
Venezuela. Next ye were a citizen o’ Louisiana
wi’ a private secretary. An’ then ye were a god in
Georgia an’ Alabama. An’ now to-day ye nearly
became a soup. I never knew a man that had had
adventures to match ye!”
During the roar of laughter that followed this
remark, Oomy gently scratched Susanna’s leg with
his beak and then ambled off to a spot near by where
the castaway thighbone of a boiled deer was at-
tracting the flies.
“One thing I like so much about Oomy,” Gypsy
John said, “he all time keep so calm. Now, me, I
am veree excite. Susanna, also, she veree excite—
more so as me. But Oomy, no.”
“Ye see, Jim,” Lachlan said, “the Creeks have
to get Oomy back coz they’ve made a god o’ him.
An’ that’s why White Alex sent me to make peace.
If ye’ll write a treaty on paper, Jim, I’ll take it to
Alex an’ he’ll sign it. An’ then I’ll bring it back
to ye.” _ V i
“And we’ll keep you safe with us,” said Robert-


The Peace of Oomy I39
son. “Your father’s on the way now from Sevier’s
place. He’s been grieving for you.”
The boy’s face clouded. “I’m wantin’ to see
Ross Douglas again, terrible bad, Jim. But I can’t
stay here. I gave my word to White Alex that I'd
go back to him. An’ my word's my word. He’s
trustin’ me.”
There was a storm of protest from the Nash-
ville men at this idea. Some of them said that no
man need keep a promise made to a red-handed
fiend and an outlaw like McGillivray. Others tried
to impress on the boy that he was in continual danger
of his life in the Creek country; and that a treach-
erous devil like White Alex might turn on him at
any minute.
“Maybe all ye say is true,” Lachlan answered
gravely, “but I have to do the thing that seems right
to mysel’. I never yet broke my word to a man;
nor did Ross Douglas. We're no liars, Ross an’
me. An’ I couldn’t do any bad thing to the White
Leader. For I’ve loved the man from the first look
at him; though I’m not denyin’ he’s a dangerous
one. But I’ve no fear o’ him for mysel’. An’ I’ve
a hope in me yet, that I’ll save him from his mad-
ness an’ make him stop from warrin’. Ye’ll have
to let me go back, Jim. I’ve got to go.”
Robertson regarded Lachlan with a very serious
expression for a short while before he replied, “You
know, lad, I’m never one to tell any man to break
his word. I am sorry that matters stand as they


I40 The White Leader
do. But I won’t say anything more to influence
you.”
“Wait till Ross gets here,” said another man.
“He’ll have something to say about this!”
“He’ll never tell me to break my word,” said
Lachlan.
The shadows of evening were beginning to
smudge out the last colors of sunset when Lachlan,
with the inevitable Barking Water at his heels, set
out for the Creek camp in the woods, with the
treaty. At his suggestion Robertson had written
in these words:
“A peace forever is between the Four Nations
of the Creeks and the White Men of Nashville and
their friends, the White Men in eastern Tennessee;
because Oomy, the mighty Turtle-god of the Creek
Nations, has led the Creek warriors to Nashville
in order to make this peace forever; while grasses
grow and rivers flow and sun and moon endure.”
This last phrase was a common one employed in
many treaties with the Indians, and had been learned
from them by the white men.
As McGillivray read it the bitter gloom of his
face was briefly lightened, if one could call it that,
by a sardonic smile.
“The mighty Turtle-god!” he repeated softly.
“Mister god-Oomy, has ruined my campaign and
robbed me of my vengeance. If Miro had dished
him up with mushrooms a year ago, he would have
saved me a bitter disappointment.”
The warriors crowded around to watch the


The Peace of Oomy I4I
White Leader aflix his signature to the two copies
of the important document. Then six of them, rep-
resenting six large towns, made their marks on the
paper and McGillivray wrote their names opposite
the marks. Where one man, for instance, drew
crudely a bear in action, McGillivray wrote the
name, which was Running Bear. The braves had
already elected Running Bear as war leader in the
place of the slain Tustunnuc.
“Is the Turtle-god no longer angry?” they asked
Lachlan.
“He is no longer angry. He has found flies and
is contented,” Wewoca answered before Lachlan
could speak.
“And how is Most-Sacred-Mule ?”
“At first Most-Sacred-Mule felt no friendship for
the white men. She kicked them, even as she has
kicked Creeks. But Gylipee Jaw immediately made
her also very contented.”
“H’m. H’m,” they nodded. “Gylipee Jaw is
a most powerful Medicine Priest. He is better even
than our Rain-Maker, old Netocho.”
“We will not return for several days, but will
remain in the fort with the white men. Because
Most-Sacred-Mule has found there a small house
which is made for holy animals. It has hay in it.
She will stay there till she has eaten much and slept
much. Then she will take the Turtle-god in the
basket and return with us to our towns. So she has
said to Gylipee Jaw.”
This was Barking Water’s way of telling the


I4.2 The White Leader
braves that Gypsy John had put Susanna in a stall
in Robertson’s stable and had asserted most posi-
tively that he would not take her on trail again
until she had thoroughly recovered from her fatigue
and, consequently, had attained a. sweeter state of
temper.
“How long will that be ?” McGillivray asked.
“John said, about a week,” Lachlan answered.
The gloom deepened on White Alex’s face.
“You know we cannot wait here a week,” he said.
We have no food. And we cannot hunt in this
neighborhood because, if our hunters and the Nash-
ville hunters meet in the forest, they will kill one
another.”
Lachlan nodded. “Ye’ll have to go back wi’out
me, White Alex. But ye know I’ll come after ye,
because I’ve promised ye.”
For some moments McGillivray was silent, his
face dark with doubt and pain. Then he said,
“One week before you leave, and a week perhaps
on trail. It will seem a long time to me before I
see you again.”
“But ye will see me again, White Alex!” Their
hands clasped once, firmly. Then Lachlan and
Barking Water hastened back to the fort. An hour
later, the rising moon saw McGillivray and his
Creeks on the homeward march.
While Lachlan and Barking Water were with
the Creeks, the men of Nashville, inspired by Kas-
par Mansker, discussed the advisability of holding
the boy where he belonged, among his own people.
H


The Peace of Oomy I43'
They said that it was honest and courageous of
Lachlan to be so determined to keep his word at all
costs; but that no question of honor was involved
in dealing with McGillivray, who never kept a
promise made to a white man. Alex, they said, had
made peace before and then broken his pact as soon
as he saw a good opportunity. No, there could be
no question of fair dealing with Alexander McGil-
livray. Then, too, there was always the danger to
the boy himself. A fiend like White Alex might
turn on him and kill him at any minute for no rea-
son at all.
“Boys,” said Robertson, “I believe with you that
it is madness for the lad to go back to that bloody
devil, McGillivray. But, if you prevent him, you’ll
have Alex and his Creeks to deal with. They'll
come down on us again.”
“They’ll come anyway,” a man answered. “You
know McGillivray won’t keep the peace, no matter
what he promises !” _
V
Robertson nodded.
“I’ll take no part in it,” he said, “but I won’t stop
you from keeping Lachlan if you can do it.”
“If!” Mansker echoed. “Of course ve can do
idt! Lachlan’s a smardt poy, but ropes can tie him
yust der same like stupid fellers!”
“It’s the ruin of any boy to live with Indians,”
another man remarked. “There’s no good in any
redskin that I ever saw. You can’t trust one of
them. Some of you think Blue Arrow’s all right.
I don't. Why? Because he’s an Indian. That's


I44 The White Leader
why. And it’s a good enough reason for any fron-
tiersman.”
There was general agreement with this senti-
ment. To the men of the frontier, with few excep-
tions, the only good Indian was a dead Indian.
Convinced, as the Nashville men were, that McGil-
livray had no intention of keeping the peace, and,
hating him and all Creeks with abundant reason,
they felt that they were doing the right thing in
planning to prevent Lachlan from returning to
White Alex by any means of trickery or force that
might be necessary.
VVhen Lachlan came back, Blue Arrow drew him
aside. “I think these men will not let you return
with us and with the Turtle-god. I have heard them
talking. I could not understand much that they
said, but I am sure they mean to keep you here.”
“Oh, no;” Lachlan answered, “because I have
told them why I must return to White Alex. If
they try to prevent me I will tell them again.”
Blue Arrow regarded him seriously. “I have
watched their faces and listened to their voices. I
think they will not ask you any more; but they will
keep you.”
“I see,” Lachlan answered. He frowned thought-
fully. It seemed that he was in a difficult situation.
Still, he readily promised himself to get out of it!
Presently, he was seated at Robertson’s table with
Jim and old Kaspar, filling their ears with his star-
tling reports of General James Wilkinson and his
agents, Nolan and Powers. So outrageous did his


The Peace of Oomy I45
story seem, that they thought he must have made
some absurd mistake, if indeed he had not dreamed
the whole thing! He did not understand Spanish
or French, they reminded him; so that he could
easily have been mistaken as to what Wilkinson,
Miro and McGillivray were talking about. And,
as to what McGillivray himself had told him—
well, was there a decent white man in Tennessee who
would take Alexander McGillivray’s word about
anything?
“Ye don’t understand White Alex,” the boy as-
serted and re-asserted stubbornly. “He’s lied to
ye because he hates ye. But he’s told me the truth
coz he loves me. An’, if there’s no truth in it, why
was Powers tryin’ to kill me that night? Alex con-
fessed to me that Miro an’ Number Thirteen—
that’s Wilkinson-—was tryin’ to get him to consent
to it; for, they said, I’d run away to Nashville an’
tell all their secrets. They was scared to death,
Jim, for fear I’d tell ye just what I am tellin’ ye!”
“Dere’s poindts aboudt dis beesness, Jim,” said
Kaspar, “dot looks badt for Vilkinsohn. He could
be friendts mit Miro all right if der President sendt
him dere on some special beesness. But for vy is
he friendts mit Alex McGillivray? Und here’s
anoder t’ing. Ain’t ve been sayin’ dot Alex vos mixed
up mit Miro und got all his powder from der Span-
ish Man? If dis tale of Lachlan’s is all nonsense,
vy vos dose dree togedder in New Orleans? Dot
looks badt! Vilkinsohn could be dere on a mission


I46 The White Leader
to talk mit der Spanish Man: but vy vos Alex Mc-
Gillivray dere too ?”
“An’ why did Number Thirteen set Powers on
to kill me ?” Lachlan persisted.
“I admit that this matter of Powers is hard to
explain,” Robertson said. “But it is harder for me
to believe that General Wilkinson has a number—-
thirteen, you say?—on the list of Spanish agents
and is taking pay to betray his own country. But
I’ll write to John Sevier about it and tell him all
you say, Lachlan. And I’ll suggest to him that he
write to Isaac Shelby in Kentucky. Shelby may be
able to find out if there is anything queer about Wil-
kinson's activities in Kentucky. They will have to
go about it very carefully; and we ourselves must
not talk about this thing to the other men. It is
too serious. Such charges can’t be made lightly
against a man in General Wilkinson’s position. Cer-
tainly not on the word of a scoundrel like Alexander
McGillivray." And with that Lachlan had to be
content.


CHAPTER XI
OLD ONE-EYE’S GOLD
THE stamp of hoofs and the noise of greetings in
the courtyard sent Robertson, Mansker and Lach-
lan running outdoors. Under the torches, which
were quickly brought, a group of travelers took
shape, their figures etched partly in blackness and
partly in red glare; with silver touches of the moon
playing through the shadow, here on a white horse's
mane, there more dimly on a rifle barrel. Ross
Douglas led the party. He was accompanied by
a young man, his nephew, named Andy MacPhail,
a famous scout of eastern Tennessee, more often
called Silent Scot, and by Andy’s best friend Tuleko,
a Delaware Indian, who was better known in old
Watauga as Runner-on-the-Wind. There were also
two boys who were Silent Scot’s youngest brothers:
the notable MacPhail twins, Rob and Roy, whom
John Sevier had nicknamed the Scalpin’ Scots when
they were four years old, because they were natu-
rally such fighters. They were sturdy manly lads
with fiery red hair, .aggressive chins and warlike
blue-gray eyes. A couple of men of Ross’ own
age, experienced pack-train men who had spent
their lives in the Indian trade, were also of the
147 ‘


I 54 The White Leader
John Sevier with it. Well, in that case, Philip
Nolanls work was clear before him. He had to
overtake that caravan and kill Lachlan Douglas; so
that Lachlan would never tell his story to John
Sevier. He would do away with both Douglases
if he could; but, if Ross escaped, after all, he could
only say that his son had told him this or that.
But the boy could describe Miro, his garden and
house, tell exactly what Wilkinson looked like, imi-
tate his walk and his manner of speech, and, by a
score of such details, convince Sevier that his story
was true. Sevier might even send Lachlan to
Shelby. In the end, the boy might face Wilkinson
in Shelby’s presence in Louisville, denounce him,
and inspire an investigation which could result in
ruin, absolute ruin, for Philip Nolan as well as for
James Wilkinson.
While these unpleasant conjectures were occu-
pying the bogus Mr. Tom Flynn, the dangers of
Lachlan Douglas were being considered from an-
other angle by the group of three in the stable. The
upshot of their conference was that Wewoca would
speed after the pack train and tell Lachlan of
Nolan’s arrival. Lachlan would know what to do.
Blue Arrow could not go; because he must guide
Gypsy John, Oomy and Susanna back to the Creek
towns. It was a long journey to the Creek country
and Wewoca might get lost if he attempted it; since
he had never been over the trail before the recent
raid. The trading trail to Watauga, on the con-
trary, was well marked, and he would also have the


Old One-Eye’s Gold I 55
recent traces of the MacPhail caravan to guide
him; the charred camp fires, fresh hoof marks, and
so on.
Before Nolan had been in Nashville two hours,
Wewoca was on his way. Nobody saw him go.
He slid along the roofs of cabins to the edge of the
palisade, rolled over the back wall and sprinted off
through the forest. The next day Nolan also set
out for Watauga, well supplied with ammunition
which had been generously given him by the men
of Nashville.
Now, the truth is that Barking Water was not
cast in heroic mold. Barking Water had had very
little scouting experience; and, furthermore, he was
afraid of the dark, of being alone, and of ghosts
both by day and night. It was not courage but
devotion to his friend, Laklan Chate, which sent
him forth to risk, as he believed, all the perils of
Nature, of man, beasts, fishes, birds, and disem-
bodied spirits.
“If I meet a ghost, how shall I act towards it ?"
he mused. “Shall I treat it very scornfully; or shall
I speak to it with great politeness? Laklan Chate
is always polite and men think well of him for it.
I wish I had asked him if he always speaks with the
same politeness to spirits. Perhaps the ghost will
run from me in fear; because my face is so nearly
black and therefore not like other faces which it has
seen on this trail. Yes, no doubt! How fortunate
it is for me that I so greatly resemble my black fierce
father !” He dashed ahead with renewed confidence.


I56 The White Leader
Meanwhile the pack train had pitched camp on
the brow of the ravine where Dragging Canoe had
hidden the gold. Once again Runner-on-the-Wind
climbed the tree from which he had watched Drag-
ging Canoe scale the opposite cliff that night. His
sharp eyes recognized the very spot where the chief
had disappeared. He descended and led the other
men across the ravine and over the rim at the place
which he had marked from his tree. Then he began
to hunt for some sign which Dragging Canoe must
have left to indicate the buried gold. It had been
dark when he buried it; therefore he would leave
something—a cleft in a tree trunk, a stone lying at
a certain angle to the place—something to show it
to him when he returned in the daylight, so that the
presence of trees, mounds, bushes, which he had
not seen in the dark, could not utterly confuse him.
And because it had been night-time, the sign would
be very close to the buried treasure. So Tuleko
said; and Silent Scot agreed with him. The twins
heard but said nothing; they were already hunting.
It was they who had found the gold the first time
when it was hidden in Jimmy Breed’s cabin; they
expected to find it now. And they did. Together
they came on two stones, a large one and a smaller
one, lying end to end. They felt sure that these
stones had been deliberately placed in that position.
Two feet away, a tree grew, with young brush hid-
ing its lower trunk.
“Rob, yon brush wasna born when he hided the
gold!”


Old One-Eye’s Gold I 57
H 9 ' '99
Roy, ye re rlght.
In a trice they were tearing the young growth
up by the roots. Andy, Tuleko, and Lachlan helped
them, while the older men looked on interestedly.
Presently Lachlan’s knife struck metal. A few mo-
ments later the pirate hoard of Old Adm’r’l Shark
lay uncovered to their view. The twins rose, looked
each other proudly in the eyes, and shook hands.
“Well done, Rob !” said Roy.
“The same to ye, Roy!” said Rob.
The best plan, Andy thought, was to take the
gold to Sevier. Sevier would count it and bank it,
and then write to McGillivray offering it as a ran-
som for Lachlan. Ross agreed to this. After a
good meal, by way of celebration, Ross and Lach-
lan said farewell. It was not an easy parting for
father and son; but they were both convinced that
Lachlan must keep his word to McGillivray, not
only for his own honor’s sake, but for the sake of all
the white settlers within reach of Creek tomahawks.
Some days later, as dawn broke, Lachlan looked
down from the rocks upon the spot where he had
first met Alexander McGillivray. He clambered
down swiftly, possessed by the strange fancy that
he would eat breakfast, on this morning of his home-
ward march to Alex, at the foot of the same tree
where Alex had once lighted the fires to burn him.
He was looking about him, lazily, after a hearty
meal, and thinking that the many earth holes and
rock crevices in the high irregular clifi would make
good ambushes in time of war, when a bullet hit a


I 58 The White Leader
tree about five yards to the left of him. He plunged
into a clump of brush and squatted there with his
rifle ready. The shot had come from somewhere
on the cliff. He could not make out the exact spot.
He crouched still, listening. Who had fired at him,
and why?
“Whoever he is, he’s a terrible poor shot to miss
me at less than a hundred yards !” he thought cheer-
fully.
It would have surprised him not a little if he
had known that the bullet had come from the rifle
of his devoted friend, Barking Water.
Two hours earlier Wewoca, on taking the trail
after a brief sleep, had sighted Nolan on the crest
of another hill behind him. Since he could not dip
over'the brow of his own hill without being seen,
he went into hiding and let Nolan pass him. Then,
shaking in every limb, he crept after him. For a
time, because of the jutting rocks and the twists in
the trail, he lost sight of him. Suddenly looking
down, he saw him, as he thought, sitting under a
tree by the creek. He fired; and, as Lachlan had
said, it was lucky for him that Wewoca was “a ter-
rible poor shot.”
Barking Water, carefully screened by a mound,
was watching the clump of brush where Lachlan
had disappeared, when he heard a sound near by,
directly below him. There, to his amazement, was
Nolan, not forty feet distant, working his way
along the face of the cliff. Barking Water, in ter-
ror, immediately blazed away again. At that range


Old One-Eye’s Gold I $9
it was almost impossible, even for him, not to hit
the target; and so he did. The bullet gouged the
calf of Nolan’s leg. A second bullet, aimed at
Nolan’s head, struck the butt of his rifle and jerked
the gun out of his hand; it tumbled down the cliff.
Then Nolan himself disappeared. It took Wewoca
some minutes to reason out the cause of this magic
phenomenon. Then he realized that Nolan had
crawled into one of the miniature caves that honey-
combed the cliff. Wewoca crept out as far as he
dared over the edge of his own hummock and stared
down at the lower hummock that now housed Philip
Nolan. Then he began to descend. Nolan was not
dead and Nolan had a good hunting knife; still,
Wewoca thought that these facts should not deter
a brave and fierce Seminole warrior, even if they
did make his knees shake. He guessed now that
the man by the tree had been Lachlan. Who else?
Nolan had been creeping along the cliff to get a
shot at Lachlan! Of course! But who could have
reasoned this out, except himself?
“I am very intelligent,” Wewoca said between
chattering teeth. He went on down until he could
crawl on to the top of Nolan’s hiding place. He
peered over the edge. The hole was far back, evi-
dently; he could not see it. While he cogitated as
to what was the most courageous thing to do now,
and what the most sensible for a man careful of his
safety, Nature herself—who must have waited
years for this golden opportunity—took a hand.


I68 The White Leader
ing that the ruin of his plan through Powers’ death
meant far less to him than the life of this boy.
“I am becoming weak,” he muttered. He went
back to the sheaf of papers on his desk. Those
papers were accounts which had been carefully kept,
ever since Lachlan McGillivray, Alex’s father, had
disappeared. They were labelled, “The Govern-
ment and People of the United States in debt to
Lachlan and Alexander l\/IcGillivray.” Each year
interest was added and the sum grew.
One day, two months later, Alex called Lachlan
into his study and asked him to read the heading over
those columns of figures. The boy looked up at
McGillivray curiously. “The Government and Peo-
ple in debt to— What does it mean, White Alex ?”
“Just what it says. But you can’t understand, till
I have explained. There are two pictures on the
wall. Look first at that crude colored drawing of
a red-haired man ”
“Ay; ’tis yer father, as ye’ve told me.”
“Yes. Look at that sketch of the trading house at
Augusta and the date I’ve marked on it—1760, at
the height of the French and Indian War, the Seven
Years’ VVar. And now look at this finely painted
miniature o’ myself when I was a year or two older
than you.”
“Ay. ’Tis yersel’, done marvelous in paint, White
Alex. I could never mistake yer eyes. Before ever
ye’d told me, the first day I saw it, I knew the eyes
0’ it.”
“It, too, was painted in 1760, while I was in


I7o The White Leader
Lachlan did not speak. He was breathless, watch-
ing the chief’s face and the gloomy fire of his eyes.
“And, so, to save the settlers in Georgia, Lachlan
McGillivray gave up his son, the one thing in life
that he loved. I came here to be no more a white
man, but a savage. For sixteen years I taught my
Creeks peace' and friendship with the Americans.
Then came the American Revolution. My father
was loyal to Great Britain. He spoke out honestly
against the war. And the people of Georgia seized
all his property, his goods, his trading houses, and
they hunted him down like a wounded deer to throw
him into prison or to shoot him. He escaped them
and fled, penniless and old and friendless. I have
heard that he set out for Scotland, hidden in the
hold of a ship. - But I do not know if that be true—
or whether he died of hunger and exposure in some
Georgian swamp. He loved me as I think few
fathers love their sons; yet he gave me up to this
barbarous degenerate life that is a million times
worse than death, to save men, women and children,
who were strangers to him, from the horrors of a
massacre. I have told you how the people of Geor-
gia repaid Lachlan McGillivray for his sacrifice.”
“That was terrible, Alex: it was terrible,” Lach-
lan’s voice was hardly more than a whisper; his face
was white.
“I have made it terrible for them! I have fought
them in Creek feathers and in a British uniform.
After Britain made peace I fought them in a Span-


White Alex’s Hate I7I
ish uniform. Now it will amuse me, perhaps, to fight
them in an American uniform.”
“An American uniform !” the boy gasped. “Alex!
Ye’re mad!”
“Not at all. Every year I have sent to Philadel-
phia a statement of the debt owing to my father.
And at last the answer has come. The Government
at Philadelphia concludes that the people have paid
me enough in blood. They are willing now to pay in
money. They invite me to confer with Congress
and with President Washington. They will discuss
with me the question of paying me in full for my
father’s confiscated property with the interest accru-
ing. They offer me the title of Brigadier-General
in the American Army. To-morrow, Laklan Chate,
we start for Pensacola, where we will take ship for
Philadelphia !”


CHAPTER XIII
LACHLAN SEES WASHINGTON
A COMMITTEE of welcome met the ship when she
docked at Philadelphia and escorted McGillivray,
Lachlan, and the warriors who accompanied them,
to their lodgings in the home of a wealthy and esti-
mable Quaker named Gwyneth. Running Bear, the
War Leader, led McGillivray’s party, which included
Blue Arrow and Barking Water and a number of
young braves of the same age. In fact, with the
exception of Running Bear, McGillivray had taken
only four of the older Creek warriors. When Lach-
lan had asked him why he had brought only youths,
Alex had answered lightly:
“Because they are young they will enjoy seeing
new and strange sights.”
In Pensacola there had been some profound con-
sultations about Oomy and Susanna, who had come
with Gypsy John to Florida in the chief’s escort
party. Much as Susanna disliked travel—and her
frequent balkings had kept the government vessel
sent to meet McGillivray tossing in Pensacola bay
for an extra week—McGillivray had feared to leave
Gypsy John in the Creek town. John was a white
man, he spoke almost no Creek; and the chief Medi-
-\ _
172


Lachlan Sees Washington I73
cine Man was very jealous of him because John now
had all the honors as high priest to the Turtle-god
and spiritual confidant of Most-Sacred-Mule. So
Alex had insisted that John and his two friends go
to Pensacola, where they would be safe. Lachlan
wanted them to continue with the party to Philadel-
phia. He could not bear to think of the bitter dis-
appointment which Oomy’s absence would cause
President Washington, not to speak of Congress.
The Creeks also wanted Oomy to go on with them
and bless their unusual adventure into the white
enemy’s stronghold. But McGillivray thought that
the sea-trip would be easier for every one without
Susanna; and he knew that if any accident occurred
aboard ship to either the Turtle-god or Most-Sacred-
Mule, there would be another Creek panic. No,
he declared the best place for Oomy, Susanna, and
Gypsy John was on the pleasant estate of his trad-
ing partner, Mr. Leslie, at Pensacola. Flies for
Oomy of all varieties—blue-bottle, house, horse, fire
and dragon flies—were abundant; there were grass
and water and tree-shade for Susanna; and friendly
Spanish servants would warm Gypsy John’s heart by
talking to him in his own language. The expedition
would pick up this all-important trio on the return
journey.
“Ye remember how Miré laughed so hard when
Valdez brought Oomy to New Orleans that he gave
Gypsy John his freedom an’ made Oomy a citizen
o’ Louisiana? Maybe if ye’d take Oomy to Phila-
delphia he’d set George Washington an’ John Adams


I74 The White Leader
off laughin’ so hard they’d give ye all ye’re askin'
for—an’ maybe elect Oomy to Congress as first
member an’ representative o’ the Creeks,” had been
Lachlan’s final plea, and it, too, had failed! So
they were at the Capital without Oomy.
“’Tis an awful grand town, is Philadelphia!”
Lachlan exclaimed with awe, as they drove towards
the Gwyneth home. The houses of red pressed
brick, the orderly streets; the lamp-posts; the well-
dressed people who had gathered in the main thor-
oughfare to see the terrible Creek chieftain, the
scourge of the southern colonies; the ships in the
river; all these impressed the boy tremendously.
“ ‘The happy, the peaceful, the elegant, the hos-
pitable and polite city of Philadelphia,’ as John
Adams has called it,” said McGillivray. “Perhaps
some day you will see Edinburgh and Paris. Those
are real cities.”
“Is it possible thee has seen the cities thee
names?” Mr. Gwyneth, who was driving with them,
asked, amazed.
“I was educated in those cities, sir.”
The old Quaker peered at the Creek chief from
under his broad-brimmed hat.
“Friend, thee astounds me,” he said. In a tact-
ful manner he began to question McGillivray about
his youth abroad; and presently they were in a dis-
cussion oif the Latin classics.
“Three hundred volumes!” Gwyneth exclaimed
presently. “To think of a library of three hundred
books in the depths of the Indian country!”


Lachlan Sees Washington I75
“By reading I escape from myself for a brief
while, at least, sir: and, by escaping myself, perhaps
I escape madness.”
“Yet, there is not a little madness in the classics!”
the old Quaker smiled.
“You know the phrase, sir—‘similia similibus cur-
antur/’ ”
“What does that mean?” Lachlan asked, inter-
estedly.
Mr. Gwyneth replied, with a kindly smile:
“My lad, it means, ‘like things are cured by like ;’
or, as we say in English more briefly, ‘like cures like.’
Thee should have thy father teach thee Latin. Ahl
here is my house; and its door stands open with all
the hospitable welcome of my heart.”
Having led his guests inside, Mr. Gwyneth put
them in charge of his two sons and hastened off
to see his friend, the President. He was full of
the marvels of the extraordinary Creek chief and
eager to impart them. He found Washington
closeted with a handsome, graceful man in early
middle life and was presently acknowledging an
introduction to General Wilkinson.
“Well, friend Gwyneth, you seem to be agog with
news,” said Washington, smilingly. “Pray let us
hear it.”
“I came for that purpose.” True to the Quaker
custom, he employed no title in addressing the Presi-
dent. “Friend George, thee will find in the Creek
chief a miracle among men; a savage so well edu-
cated that he discusses Latin with excerpts from the


I76 The White Leader
classics; a red man who, but for his paint and
feathers, shows no more of Indian blood than may
be perceived in thy own countenance or in mine.”
“This is truly a miracle,” Washington agreed.
“What more have you discovered in him?”
“He possesses an atticism of diction, aided, as I
have said, by a liberal education, a great fund of
wit and humor meliorated by a perfect good nature
and politeness.”
“His perfect good nature, dear friend, has cost
more lives than can be counted.”
“In talking with him one cannot believe that. His
son accompanies him—an intelligent charming lad
as white as any boy in this city.”
“His son?” Wilkinson queried. “It seems to me
that I have heard of this boy—that he is McGilli-
vray’s son by adoption. I met the chief himself once
on the occasion of a treaty; but you, sir,” with a
graceful bow and a flattering tone, “have learned
much more of him than my eyes were able to see.”
Turning to the President, he added, “Since McGil-
livray and I have met more or less as foes in the
past, might it not be a tactful thing for me to call
on him now-——as the representative of the Army?
Such things, trivial in themselves, flatter these red
savages. He might be in a better mood because of
it; and your negotiations with him later on be more
successful.”
“I think that an excellent idea, General.”
“Then, since there is no time like the present, I
will go at once—with your permission?”


Lachlan Sees Washington I77
“By all means, General.”
Wilkinson lost no time before paying that call.
He had been disturbed enough when he learned that
the White Leader had come, in person, to put for-
ward his claims for compensation. For several years
Wilkinson had acted as the White Leader’s agent in
this matter, and, for his own treacherous purposes,
he had not presented Alex’s letters, but had made
altogether preposterous claims which Congress
would never grant. He wanted White Alex to con-
tinue to be an enemy of America and an ally of
Spain. Of course, Wilkinson had not appeared per-
sonally in connection with McGillivray’s business.
He had acted through one of his tricky henchmen
who intrigued for him among the politicians at the
Capital, even as Nolan and Powers did another sort
of work for him in the wilderness. Now, the last
thing he had ever feared had happened. White
Alex had communicated directly with the Govern-
ment and, in response to overtures from them, had
come to Philadelphia. And, as another stroke of
bad fortune, he had brought Lachlan Douglas of
Nashville, the boy whom both Powers and Nolan
had failed to kill, the boy who knew too much!
McGillivray and Lachlan had arrived, too, at the
worst of all moments for James Wilkinson. The
result of years of intrigue was almost within his
grasp; in fact, that very morning the President had
given him grounds for believing that he was to be
elevated to the post of Commander-in-Chief of the
Army. In some way, by bribes or by terrorism, he


Lachlan Sees Washington I79
your own posjtion as Miro’s agent. You have more
at stake now even than before. Am I not correct in
my conjecture?”
Wilkinson looked startled. _
V
“What do you mean? How can you have
heard—?” He sprang up and began to pace the
floor. McGillivray watched him closely.
“I have my own avenues of information,-G_eneral.
Our time is so short; we may be interrupted at any
moment. It will serve you best to be frank with
me !”
Secretly McGillivray was wondering just what
was Wilkinson’s game now. That Wilkinson should
come to see him in order to induce him to be silent
about something which would injure himself if he
mentioned it, struck him as absurd. Obviously then,
something new had happened to Wilkinson which
made McGillivray’s silence far more vital than ever
before, and which shook Wilkinson out of his habit-
ual coolness. He had thrown out that remark which
had so startled Wilkinson merely as a “feeler.” He
had in fact no special “avenues of information.”
Wilkinson’s face flushed with excitement. He
began to talk to himself rather than to his antag-
onist as he paced up and down. “It is settled then,
absolutely settled! It must be, if you have heard of
it! This morning the President hinted—even more
than hinted—yes—yes—it must indeed be final!
Commander-in-Chief! This hour is worth all I have
wormed through to reach it! N o one shall stop me
now !” ,


I84 The White Leader
them from the land and to leave to my son a red
empire. But I have seen how strong a people the
Americans are to-day. I have seen this city and I
know it is but one of many; and that many more will
arise, spreading over the wilderness, until they have
driven the red men beyond the last haunts of the
setting sun and into the oblivion of an eternal night.
And so I have changed my plan for my son. I will
send him from me and from the Creek people to be
educated as I was among white men—but not to
come back, as I came back.”
“That is wise, I think, General McGillivray. And
you, lad—what is your name ?”
“Lachlan, sir,” the boy stammered, blushing.
“Shall you like that ?”
“Oh, ay. I’ll like fine to be educated. But ’tis
not for Alexander McGillivray to say he’ll part wi’
me forever. It takes two to make such a partin’.
An’ I’ll never be one o’ them two I”
“You love your father, then?”
“Ayl To be sure I love Alex McGillivray. For
I’m the only man, white or red, that truly knows the
White Leader. We're grand friends, White Alex
an’ me.”
Washington turned, with his grave smile, from
the boy to McGillivray. “General McGillivray, I
believe that your son has given you the best testi-
monial a father could have—namcly, that you and
he are grand friends.”
Washington went on to tell Lachlan of his own
adventures as a boy: how he too loved the frontier,


Lachlan Sees Washington I85
and how, at sixteen, he had gone as a surveyor into
the wilderness along the Rappahannock.
After supper Lachlan chattered enthusiastically
about it all to Alex, until his own yawns stopped him.
He was glad, he said sleepily, that they would spend
another week in Philadelphia, and also that they
were going to New York and would spend some time
there, too— “It’s rare fun to be seein’ strange sights,
Alex.”
That same evening in a house not far away James
Wilkinson and Philip Nolan sat in conference. Wil-
kinson showed the strain he had undergone. He was
nervous; all his suavity was lost in irritation.
“You have a month’s headway, if you start im-
mediately. You will reach the frontier before they
have left New York,” he said, tapping his fingers
restlessly on the table. “You can have money to
any amount you need. Engage as many helpers as
you think you require. But, this time, don’t fail!
McGillivray himself, as well as the boy, has now
become a continual menace to me. They must be
silenced!”
“I can do that,” Nolan answered confidently. “I
will hire a number of Choctaw and lie in wait for
McGillivray on his way home from Pensacola. Not
far from the Creek towns there is a huge tangled
swamp. It is about three miles long by the path
that skirts it. It’s a bad place, full of quicksand,
with an awful drag to it. I’ve seen it shaking like
the promise of a volcano; it’s said to shoot gushers
sometimes. The Creeks call it Quaking Earth. They


186 The White Leader
have a lot of superstitions about it. That’s the
place for me and my Choctaw to fall on McGillivray.
The path is narrow. White Alex’s party will have
to walk in single file. And we’ll be well hidden; the
cover’s thick.”
“Here’s to Quaking Earth !” said Wilkinson with
a nervous brittle laugh.


CHAPTER XIV
RINGO-DINGO
“YOU know, Laklan Chate, it really surprised me
to see how impressed you were by the white men in
their towns,” said Barking Water.
“And you were not impressed, Wewoca ?” Lach-
lan tossed a fragment of bread over the rail of the
ship and watched delightedly the swoop of the gulls
towards it. Their white wings flashed with almost a
crystal brightness between the intense still blue of
the sky and the wavering deeper sapphire of Pensa-
cola Bay. The ship had come to anchor but McGilli-
vray was waiting for the special boat which would be
sent for him by his partner, Mr. Leslie.
“No. Many things impress the unthinking man,
which the intelligent man, on the contrary, immedi-
ately sees to be very foolish. What foolishness I
saw in those two towns: first in Chilleedellee and
then in Nooee Orkee !” Wewoca’s tongue was
forced to give Creek terminations to all new words,
and it positively refused to adapt itself to some
consonants. “While the houses were often large,
they were so stupidly designed that they took much
time and labor in building. The Creek houses are
much better. What stupidity, too, in large boats,
187


I88 The White Leader
such as this one! You tell me there is good land all
the way here from N ooee Orkee. Then why travel
in these big boats which make sick even the most
intelligent and warlike men? The white men knew
already that the sea was rough and would toss the
boats; then why did they make boats to go on the
rough sea ?”
“They were not afraid of the rough sea.” Lach-
lan felt obliged to put in a word for his race.
“It is not a question of being afraid, but of being
comfortable, and of not losing much good food.
Then again, while you thought in your foolishness
that the white men were strong and were like chiefs
in those towns, I saw that the only chiefs were the
black men, like my father of whom I have told you.”
“The black men?” Lachlan remembered the col-
ored servants or slaves who had been largely in
evidence in Philadelphia.
“Yes. I saw so many that I began to look for my
father, thinking he must surely be one of them.
You did not notice how the white men could do
nothing for themselves but were wholly dependent
on the black men. They had no food, till the black
men brought it to them. When they wished to go
out, the black men gave them hats. The black men
brought carriages and drove wherever they wished,
and the white men sat in the carriages and went
where the black men took them!”
“White Alex’s man Zambo is black also; but you
know he is a slave, not a chief.”
“I thought of that at once, being intelligent. But I


Ringo-Dingo I89
observed. And I saw in Chilleedellee it was not the
same thing as in Chattahoochee and other Creek
towns. How does a wise man know a master from
a slave?”
“Well, how does he ?” Lachlan gave it up.
“By the food! Zambo does not go out hunting,
Laklan Chate. The Creek warriors and chiefs go
out and kill the food and bring it home. It is their
food. White Alex kills food and gives it to Zambo
or to women, to cook. That proves Zambo a slave
and not a chief. But in Chilleedellee I saw, every
day, the black men go out with baskets and bring in
their food and cook it before the white men even
saw it. Then, being a generous people, they gave
some of it to the helpless white men. By the food,
Laklan Chate, one may always know the master
from the slave.”
“I see. What else did you learn there?” Lachlan
smothered a chuckle.
“I learned my future. It was as if I had had a
vision, such as we were supposed to have when we
were fasting to become warriors. Yet nothing
ghostly. It was perhaps rather a great idea than a
vision. Did you not observe that I spent most of
my time in the kitchen of the house where we
lodged?”
“You always spend most of your time in the
kitchen, wherever you are,” Lachlan retorted with a
giggle.
“Ah, but formerly it only interested me to taste
food. But when I saw the power these black men


I90 The White Leader
had achieved through their mastery of food, ' I
learned all they could teach me about choosing and
cooking it. When we are at home again, Laklan
Chate, I will make a fish soup or a meat stew with
wild onions in it and gravy made with browned flour.
And you will see that I have become one of the black
Great Food Chiefs. I will be very famous; for I
will be the only Great Food Chief in the country of
the Creeks. This has happened to me because, when
I made a strange journey, I was not amazed and
bewildered but intelligent.”
“You are indeed a marvelous man, Wewoca. I
begin to admire you extravagantly,” Lachlan said,
gravely. Wewoca received the compliment in a dig-
nified manner and said kindly:
“That was inevitable, Laklan Chate; for you also
are intelligent in your degree, though not as I am.
It is not your fault‘ that your race is less clever and
well-instructed than mine. With my friendship and
my willingness to give you information about all the
things which we shall see together, your inferiority
—which is due only to your race—will hardly be
noticed.” He patted Lachlan affectionately on the
shoulder.
Mr. Leslie of the famous Panton-Leslie Company,
now owned chiefly by McGillivray, came alongside
presently and took off the Creek party in his large
handsomely painted and canopied boat. He was a
stout and florid Scot, about sixty years old, with a
brisk, rather boisterous manner and an almost con-
tinual chuckle; a very contented and jolly man.


Ringo-Dingo I93
“Now, Ringo-Dingo, listen well to me; for I have
much information and am very clever and also good-
natured. Do not call that white-haired man your
master. That is a mistake. What do you do for
him ?”
“I drive the coach. I go to the ship and to the
store with messages on pieces of white stuff that
tears easily. I bring back coconuts and such things.
I dance and sing for him and his friends. How can
I repeat all I do for him? Why do you ask?”
“Because by doing these things which he is not
clever enough to do for himself and, above all, by
bringing the food, you become the chief and the
master.”
Ringo-Dingo stared at him. “You are indeed
clever, Wewoca! I would never have thought of
that. I am not a slave but a master! Oh, ringo-
dingo, ringo-dingo, dol” He began to sing loudly,
shuflling his feet in a dance.
“Ha ha! See the fellow, Alex! Ha ha !” Mr.
Leslie gave the order to start, and, chuckling,
bundled into the coach with Lachlan, McGillivray
and Blue Arrow. Wewoca sprang upon the box be-
side his father; and away they went at a brisk trot
through the town towards Mr. Leslie’s estate about
two miles out. The rest of the party, under Running
Bear’s leadership, followed on foot. They would
set out for the Creek country the next day; but
McGillivray and the three boys would remain for
a week in Pensacola.
“Imagine what a satisfaction it is to me to find


I94 The White Leader
my fierce black father again; and to learn that he is
not a slave to lean, and evil, fly-eating Spaniards, but
a master and a chief in the house of a white man,”
Wewoca said to Lachlan, later. “Like those I saw
in Chilleedellee—only much greater. In Chillee-
dellee the black chiefs had no scarlet coats but were
dressed much like the inferior white men and had
the legs covered and wore hard black boxes on their
feet. They wore no nose nor earrings, nor great
yellow hats. Even your supreme white chief, Goehee
Washeeto ”
“George Washington,” Lachlan corrected.
“So I said. Even he wore no nose and earrings;
and his hat was not yellow nor in any way remark-
able. Laklan Chate, though I may never see my
father again, since I will soon leave him and go to
the Creek country, I shall never feel sorrow, only
pride, in thinking of him. For I see quite plainly
that Chief Ringo-Dingo, after having conquered all
the Spaniards, whom he detested—they were, in
fact, the only things on earth which did not amuse
him—has now become the greatest man in the
world.”
“That was to be expected, Wewoca. He has you
for his son,” Lachlan said solemnly.
“I too have thought of that,” Barking Water
admitted modestly.
That night Mr. Leslie held a grand barbecue in
the fields of his estate for the Creek warriors. Cattle
and sheep were roasted in the pits, and also mag-
nificent fishes such as tarpon, Spanish mackerel, and


Ringo-Dingo I97
fierce and mournful songs from Venezuela. And the
warriors did a somewhat modified version of Bark-
ing Water’s delight, the Obungah Hahjo. Susanna,
marvelous to relate, consented agreeably to be led
by Gypsy John about the grounds, with Oomy in his
basket on her back. And the warriors marched
round and round her, chanting their praises to the
Turtle-god and to Most-Sacred-Mule for granting
to the White Leader and to the Four Nations of
the Creeks a peace forever with the Americans.
“Now you know why I took only the young braves
with me to Philadelphia,” the White Leader said to
Lachlan. “They have no hate to carry on. As to
myself, my hate will die when I go to the dust.
There would have been no white man’s republic in
this land but for the colonial traders who, by their
honest dealing, their intelligence, and their courage,
kept the red men quiet for long periods while the
little weak colonies grew. Those traders were al-
ways the first victims when the Indians did rise.
They sacrificed for the colonists without reward or
thanks. Since the first colonies of English were
planted here, the Spaniards and the French have
worked together to overthrow them, to wipe them
out, by means of the Indian’s tomahawk. Only the
colonial traders prevented a general confederacy of
the border tribes in alliance with the Spaniards and
the French. My father’s friend, James Adair, kept
the Chickasaw friendly with the English. Another
friend, Sir William Johnson, held the powerful Iro-
quois from alliance with the French; as my father


I98 The White Leader
first, then I myself for years, held the Creeks back
from the Spanish. Adair divided the great Choctaw
nation, which had been, before, wholly in the French
interest. And he, also, won the Cherokee to the
English—taking every risk, making sacrifices, with-
out reward or thanks. No, Laklan Chate; my hatred
is undimmed toward those who wronged Lachlan
McGillivray. He knew almost certainly that the
Creeks, already on the warpath, would kill him when
he hastened into their country to make that appeal
to them. Only because I was there and they took
a liking to me, did they spare him—and all Georgia.
The ruin of my life saved the life of my father as
well as the lives of several hundred settlers. That it
did save his life has been my only consolation. I
paid a hideous price in giving up the white man’s
life of the mind for the beastlike life of a savage.
I have been no man, but a wolf and a viper. Till
you came, I had nothing of joy; nothing but the
memory that I had saved my father from death once,
so long ago. I have loved only two human beings,
my father and you; and both have been worthy of
my loving.” He paused, then added thoughtfully,
“After all—that is much.”
4


CHAPTER XV
QUAKING EARTH
A WEEK later McGillivray and his small party,
with Oomy and Susanna, set out for home. Mr.
Leslie, though he was plump and sixty, was a good
walker: and he went along five miles or so “to see
you safely on your way, Alex,” as he said. Ringo-
Dingo went too, of course, walking beside his son
whom he esteemed as the most profoundly wise of
all profoundly wise men who had ever lived. In
fact, there was only one cause for dispute in that
family; namely, which was the greater man, Ringo-
Dingo or Wewoca? Barking Water said it was
Ringo-Dingo; and Ringo-Dingo said it was Barking
Water.
“But for your intelligence, my son, I should never
have known that I am a great chief; not a slave,”
was Ringo-Dingo’s clinching argument.
“But for your wonderful blackness I would never
have been born of that most intelligent color,” was
Wewoca’s. Then, with brows wrinkled by the prob-
lem, they would nod solemnly at each other. It was,
so to speak, a deadlock.
“That a skin should be so important!” Ringo-
Dingo would exclaim, after the interval of solemn
199


200 The White Leader
nodding silence, rubbing a finger down his glossy leg
inquiringly.
“It holds the man!” Wewoca would reply with
dramatic finality.
This morning Ringo-Dingo broke away from
Wewoca’s side every few minutes to dash ahead and
turn a succession of cartwheels. He loved to hear
the shouts of laughter which followed. At last the
hour of parting came. Mr. Leslie shook hands with
White Alex and Lachlan; and Ringo-Dingo and
Wewoca embraced. Tears ran down Wewoca’s face
and the huge black man shook with sobs.
“It is the parting of Supreme Food Chief from
Supreme Horse Chief,” said Wewoca huskily but
proudly.
“My clever son! My most wise son!” Ringo-
Dingo gulped down his grief as best he could. “Give
me the two red feathers from your headband to keep
in memory of you. I will give you my hat.”
“Oh, no! Not this beautiful hat which is like no
other hat I ever saw, even in Chilleedellee!” We-
woca exclaimed, appalled at the magnitude of his
sire’s generosity. .
“Yes! Yes! I can get another hat of palmetto.
There are many in Florida. And, in the coach
house, there is more of the yellow paint; they use it
for the wheels of the coach. I will paint a new hat
and put your red feathers in it.” He plucked the
feathers from Wewoca’s band and then thrust the
huge yellow hat on his son’s head. It came down


Quaking Earth 203
ever let that happen to you. Keep yourself clean and
straight.”
That evening they camped two miles south of
Quaking Earth.
“This is the longest dawn I ever waited for,”
said White Alex the next morning.
“Ay; an’ the darkest,” Lachlan answered.
By five o'clock of that late summer morning the
sky shed hardly more light than had been given off
during the misted night by a moon red as blood.
The change came in a thick yellow cloud which
seemed to cover the whole heaven and to drop a
haze of minute electric particles over the forest and
the swamp. The men were panting before they had
been on trail for fifteen minutes, so heavily hot and
immovable seemed the air through which they were
trying to breathe their way.
“In South America I know what this mean,”
Gypsy John gasped. “See Oomy. He know, too!
Oomy, too, he live long time in South America.”
Oomy was, indeed, almost standing on his tail in
his effort to get out of his basket. A front view of
Oomy and Susanna through the distorting thick
haze—from, say, a few yards distant—was suffi-
ciently arresting. The basket looked like the huge
hump on a camel and turned Susanna into some bale-
ful animal of witchland or old legend. Then, out
of the hump, reared Oomy’s restless head. The
two of them, plus the basket, in that fog of heat and
gathering storm, appeared to be one gigantic beast
more terrible in aspect than any image or devil-mask


204 The White Leader
designed by the most fertile-minded Indian witch-
doctor.
The swamp opened before them presently.
Susanna smelled water and quickened her pace.
“I go first now an’ let Susanna drink,” Gypsy John
said, and took the lead. The others followed in
single file along the narrow path. The patches of
swamp-growth loomed suddenly here and there
through the dense yellowish haze in grotesque shapes
that looked black, yet seemed weirdly intangible.
The water lay in thick oily sheets reflecting the pe-
culiar ochre-toned half-light filtering from the sky.
The rumbles of thunder, which had begun with
dawn, grew louder and nearer.
“Queer how it sounds as if ’twas comin’ from
underground,” Lachlan said’, huskily. He felt stifled.
“I’ve heard that sound before, when there was
no thunder,” McGillivray answered. “I believe this
place, especially the lake there to the left, was once
really part of the river channel. Some disturbance,
an earthquake or a landslide, filled it and diverted the
water; just as our old men relate. But underneath,
quite probably, the river is forcing its way to the
old channel, worrying the sand and undermining the
island clumps which are merely heaps from the fallen
bank. It would not surprise me to see the river rise
here again any year after the flood season and sweep
away all this quaking earth and sand and swamp-
growth. This trail is higher above the marsh than
when I was a boy. The sea-coast is farther inland
than it was when the first white men ventured upon


206 The White Leader
which thrust up arms through the sand and plucked
men off the path and pulled them down in swift
eddying swirls. And now, with thunders roaring,
and jets like arms thrusting up, came this terrible
unearthly beast!
Shrieking, in mad panic, these Choctaw—whose
special business had been to make sure of the boy,
leaving McGillivray to Nolan—threw away their
guns and fled, plunging madly into the treacherous
mire of the swamp.
“Alex! What’s that?” Lachlan gasped.
“An ambush! Wilkinson’s work!”
McGillivray caught the boy and thrust him
behind Susanna, who had suddenly balked and dug
her four hoofs into the ground. Wewoca, his eyes
rolling with terror, raised his rifle unsteadily; but
McGillivray checked him.
“Don’t waste your shot. They are already dead
men,” he said.
The flashes, recurring more swiftly as the storm
swelled, showed the brief frenzied struggle which
could have only one end. N o human strength could
battle successfully with the undertow of Quaking
Earth. Those who fought hardest dug their own
graves quickest through the shifting sand.
“I think Nolan is somewhere near,” said Blue
Arrow.
McGillivray, the three boys, and Gypsy John had
found cover of a sort. Alex stood behind a tree.
Gypsy John and Lachlan were in the lee of Susanna.


Quaking Earth 207
Wewoca and Blue Arrow lay flat behind small
clumps of earth.
During a lull in the thunder, McGillivray spoke:
“Choctaw! The Turtle-god of the Creeks has
cursed you! Therefore Quaking Earth has taken
your comrades. Speak. How many are you?”
There was no answer. McGillivray waited till
another roll of thunder had passed. “Shall I bid
the Turtle-god curse again?” A shot from Nolan’s
rifle glanced off the tree trunk.
After a brief silence the answer came:
“We are five. We are young warriors.”
“Young warriors! You who have not yet been
in battle. You have come out to take your first
scalps. But why have you unsheathed your scalping
knives on the trail of Muskogee who are your
friends and allies? Why have you lifted your toma-
hawks against your brother, the White Leader?"
Again there was a pause before the answer came:
“We have been told that the White Leader has
made a pact against us with the Chickasaw, our
enemies.”
“It is a lie. It is a white man’s lie. Choctaw, who
is the white man with you?” Evidently a consulta-
tion was taking place, for there was no response.
White Alex smiled grimly. “I don’t doubt that
Nolan is there,” he said to Lachlan. “And I don’t
envy him. He knows Indians well enough to be
reasonably certain that if I canincrease the super-
stitious terrors of his Choctaw, they will throw him
into the swamp to save themselves from god-Oomy!


208 The White Leader
And,” he added in his tone of cold vengeful anger,
“that is just what I intend they shall do.”
“There is no white man here,” a Choctaw called
with uncertain voice. ‘
“He does not sound very sure, does he ?” McGilli-
vray muttered in sardonic amusement. “Nolan has
fired his last shot with them and missed.” He raised
his voice: “You lie. The Turtle-god tells me that
you have a white man there. His name is Nolan.
The Turtle-god will strike you down as he struck
down your comrades.”
“No! No!” came the frenzied cry. “It was not
our lie. The white man made us lie. His name is
Nolan!”
“If you obey the Turtle-god, your lives may be
spared even yet. Will you obey?”
“Yes! Yes! We will obey the mighty Turtle-
god!”
“Then take up the white man, Nolan, who is the
cause of all your evil and your fear. Cast him into
Quaking Earth!”
“You fiend!” Nolan shrieked back at him
hoarsely. And White Alex laughed.
A shot cracked. Then all lesser sounds were lost
in a volley of thunder which seemed to shake the
earth. Whatever fight Nolan was making for his
life in that near-by clump of swamp growth, with
jetting waters and moiling quicksand on three sides,
was hidden and silenced by storm and sulphurous
darkness. He knew where the path lay and that
he would have a chance of escape if he could reach


Quaking Earth 2II
the last barrier underground and reclaimed her old
channel. And Quaking Earth went down. The
path began to take the form it had had in the begin-
ning—the solid brink of a river gulch. Below him,
for one instant, Lachlan saw the body of the man
who had hated white men and, in the end, had died
for love of one of them. The White Leader’s eyes
were open. They caught their last light from the
sky’s terrible splendor, before the swirling waters
covered them and him.
Hours longer the little group crouched there,
while the thunder slackened and ceased, and the rain
fell in torrents. It was near the end of day when
they took the trail again.
“I heard my brother say that you must go to
Nashville and nevermore return to the Creeks,”
Blue Arrow said to Lachlan.
“It was not I, your brother, who said so. It was
he—White Alex. The last thing he said to me.
The last thing White Alex will ever say to me,”
Lachlan answered in a tone that was lifeless from
shock and grief.
“Yes. White Alex said it. He was my brother.
That was why he told me to take the blood ven-
geance if Tustunnuc killed him. You remember?
Because I was his brother. Now that he is dead I can
tell you. He would never name me brother because
I was all Creek, an Indian, even though our mother
had white blood. When White Alex’s father went
away, and it was said evil white men had killed him,
his wife, Sehoy, married a Creek. I am their son.


CHAPTER XVI
A LOOK INTO THE FUTURE
SEVERAL years later, on a winter’s day, when the
crisp surface of the snow seemed to dance in a dia-
mond haze, a huge camp lay outspread at Wood
River. The leaders of the expedition had intended
to spend the winter in what we call Missouri, then
a part of the Louisiana Territory. But while Jeffer-
son had purchased this vast territory with its vague
boundaries from Napoleon, who had recently ac-
quired it from Spain, the transfer had not yet been
ofiflcially made. Therefore the tents of Lewis and
Clark were pitched at Wood River, Illinois, on soil
that was already American. In the spring the men,
most of them young frontiersmen, would go with
Lewis and Clark on the great adventure across the
continent to the Pacific. By that time the American
Commissioners in Louisiana would have formally
received the territory for the United States. One of
those Commissioners was General James Wilkinson,
who—not yet unmasked, still honored by his coun-
try—continued as Number Thirteen on the Spanish
pay roll.
There was a pleasant stir in camp to-day, because
the two captains—as young as most of their party—
213


2I4 The White Leader
were receiving a distinguished guest. The visitor
was an old man, famed as an explorer and frontier
warrior. It was he who had first explored Kentucky
and had led the first caravans over the mountains,
thus opening the gateway of the West. His name
was Daniel Boone. He had been living for years,
now, in a little Spanish hamlet some forty miles
away. No one in America felt a greater enthusiasm
for the adventure in prospect than he. Then, too,
he had known so many of these young men when
they were little boys: such as William Clark him-
self, and those two other younger, but quite as
red-headed, lads, Rob and Roy MacPhail, the
Scalpin' Scot, and their older brother Andy, the
famous scout called Silent Scot, and his no less fa-
mous friend, the Indian boy, Tuleko or Runner-on-
the-Wind. There, too, was the MacPhails’ cousin,
Lachlan Douglas, once the adopted son of that
White Leader of the Creeks whose name alone had
spread terror through Georgia, Tennessee and Ken-
tucky for a decade. With Lachlan were two Creeks,
his devoted friends, Blue Arrow and Wewoca. Per-
haps Wewoca would never shine as either a scout, a
hunter or a warrior; but to-day he was supreme in
camp. Even the two leaders and the guest of honor
were of secondary importance. For Barking Water,
as chief cook of the expedition, had prepared such a
meal as no table in the wilderness had ever boasted
before. There never had been such a cook as Bark-
ing Water. Every one agreed about that.
In Wewoca’s large cook-tent were gathered the


2I6 The White Leader
“An’ she’s quite right,” said Rob. “Isn’t she,
Roy?”
“She is, Rob. What I like about Susanna is she’s
got a mind o’ her own.”
“Ay, Roy. An’ she carries it i’ her legs as well as
i’ her head.”
“Where is Oomy, by the way?” Boone asked.
“Oomy’s visitin’ Admiral Tom Shark at John
Sevier’s,” Silent Scot answered.
“Ay. An’ ye should see them, the four o’ them,”
Lachlan said. “Sevier gave old One-Eye back his
gold to buy a place for himself. ’Tis near to Noll-
chucky Jack’s,” he added, giving Sevier his nick-
name. “ ’Tis a nice cabin wi’ a blacksmith shop by
the road. A couple o’ the Renz boys do the shoein’ o’
the horses. The Admiral’s over eighty now an’ get-
tin’ lazy. Him an’ Gypsy John’s as thick as thieves—
or pirates! An’ both o’ them’s fair crazy over
Oomy an Susanna. Old Rusty, my dog’s there, too.
Oomy’s havin’ a wonderfu’ time samplin’ new flies i’
Watauga. He could write a grand book about flies,
all the way from Venezuela to New Orleans, an’
Chattahoochee an’ Nashville, an’ Pensacola, an’ Wa-
tauga. An’ Susanna’s in clover up to her knees,
wi’out a lick o’ work to do an’ no walkin’ but what
she feels inclined for. Ay. Ye never saw a happier
family than Gypsy John an’ Admiral Shark an’
Rusty, an’ Oomy an’—Most-Sacred-Mule.” He
broke off in a chuckle.
Barking Water put on a huge, battered, oft-
mended, yellow hat and began to serve the food.


Author’s Note 2I9
words which the author has put into the mouth of
McGillivray’s host in Philadelphia.
This book deals with the history of Tennessee
after the Revolution and up to the date of the Louisi-
ana Purchase. Earlier events in Tennessee history;
i.e., during the Revolution, are found in Silent Scot,
Frontier Scout, in which several of the historical and
fictional characters in The White Leader make their
first appearance.
I g.’D. .
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