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Updated: May 18, 2025
I groaned. "Forest-running, Basdel, has made you violent and rough in your talk," she icily rebuked. "You hate the Indians simply because you do not understand them. Now I'm positive that the best thing for you to do is to keep away from the frontier and see if you can't start right on this side of the mountains." It would be folly to argue with her longer.
"Basdel, I would scarcely have known you. Taller and thinner. And you're very dark." "Wind and weather," I replied. "It was at Howard's Creek I learned you were here. I was very anxious to see you." "Don't stand." And she seated herself and I took a chair opposite her. "So nice of you to have us in mind. It's some three years since." "I reckon your father doesn't fancy me much."
I vehemently begged her to flee, promising all sorts of absurd things if she would but do so, even to assuring her I would effect her father's release. She slowly shook her head, tempted not the least by my pleas. "Even the Indians know me better than that. And to think we trusted them! Oh, Basdel, it doesn't seem possible! You were right. Father was wrong. God help him!
"The knife, Basdel!" she shrilly repeated. Then she nearly upset my calculations by trying to thrust a bough between my foe's feet. Only by a nimble maneuver did I escape being tripped; but it was heartening to know Patricia could respond to my needs. "Stand clear!" I panted. "I have him!" "But the knife!" she despairingly cried. "He's getting it for me!" I replied.
Don't think for a moment I would hide behind my father's trade wampum. The belts must protect all of us, or none of us. But there is no more danger for me than there is for them even if I threw the belts away. Not so much; because I am Ericus Dale's daughter. Basdel, it makes me unhappy to fear that when we leave here the danger may return to these people. I carry my safety with me.
"Remember you, Basdel? Why, of course. What a queer question." Then with a little frown she sighed and complained. "But I don't understand why I am here with you and these Indians. I wonder if it is a bad dream, if I will soon wake up." I blundered along the best I could, striving to say nothing which might upset her. She suddenly refused to talk and began displaying much physical nervousness.
I want you to forgive me." "Patsy, don't. You are wonderful." "Still being good to me, Basdel. But I know the truth now. Back over the mountains I was wicked enough to feel a little superior to frontier folks. No. Don't wave your hands at me. I must say it. I even felt a little bit of contempt for those brave women who went barefooted. God forgive me! I was a cat, Basdel. A vicious cat!"
Colonel Lewis advanced a few steps and bowed slightly, and refreshed the governor's recollection by saying: "He is Basdel Morris, Your Excellency. Of Prince William County originally. Before Your Excellency came to Virginia he came out here to act as scout and messenger between us and Fort Pitt." "Fort Dunmore," coldly corrected the governor, giving the name bestowed in honor of his earldom.
His dark hair still kinked a bit and suggested great virility. His thick lips were pursed as of old, and the bushy brows, projecting nearly an inch from the deep-set eyes, perhaps had a bit more gray in them than they showed three years back. "Ericus Dale, you naturally have forgotten me," I began. "I am Basdel Morris. I knew you and your daughter three years ago in Williamsburg."
I believed that once you knew how seriously I was taking life, you would be glad of me." "Poor Basdel," she soothed. "I mustn't scold you." "Pitying me is worse," I corrected. "If you can't understand a man doing a man's work at least withhold your sympathy. I am proud of the work I have done." This ended her softer mood. "You do right to think well of your work," she sweetly agreed.
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