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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Couldn't git a crack at him," he growled, his face grim and sullen. "But you was a fool to be took in by such a clumsy trick as that." "It's an old trick," I conceded, taking the moccasin from my shirt. "If it had been any Indian finery I would have kept clear of it. But this happens to belong to Ericus Dale's girl. She dropped it coming down the slope."
Now Dale and Patsy emerged from their cabin and walked to meet Ward. Cousin groaned aloud as he beheld the girl. There was something in her appearance to remind him of his lost sister. Ericus Dale greeted Ward with a wide flourish of his hand. Ward was emotionless as a Shawnee chief. Granville and Dicks hurried to join the three, anxious no doubt to learn the result of Ward's scouting.
The pink of her cheeks deepened, but she quietly countered: "Why, Basdel, I like you now. If I didn't I never would bother to speak plainly to you." Three years' picture-painting was turning out to be dream-stuff. I tried to tell myself I was foolish to love one so much like Ericus Dale; but the lure was there and I could no more resist it than a bear can keep away from a honey-tree.
Thus, vicariously, was Ericus Dale recognized as a great man. And the trader walked among the morning clouds. For some hours the savor of his triumph stifled speech, and he wandered about while the women paid their tribute through his daughter. Nor were the men lacking in appreciation.
I had no trepidation now in facing Patricia. I walked boldly to the Davis cabin and thrust my head in the door. Only Davis and his wife were there. "Where are the Dales?" I bruskly asked. "Gone," grunted Davis in disgust. "Gone back home?" I eagerly asked. "What do you think!" babbled Mrs. Davis. "Cousin Ericus has took that gal down toward the Clinch.
Hughes was there ahead of me and stood with a group of sullen-faced men who were being addressed by Ericus Dale. "I say there ain't going to be any war," he cried as I took a position behind him. "The Indians don't want war. They want trade. Take a pack of goods on your horse and walk into a Shawnee village and see how quick they'll quit the war-post to buy red paint and cloth.
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.
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 informed him of her safety and his face lighted wonderfully. "That's good!" he softly exclaimed. "A beautiful young woman, the kind that Virginia is always proud of. Ericus Dale was lucky to die without being tortured. Now for your news; for you must be bringing some." I told him of the mighty gathering at Chillicothe and of the influx of the fierce Ottawas.
Ericus Dale would rant and indulge in abuse. Patricia would be remembering my lack of faith in her father's influence over the natives. She would want none of my company.
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