who were gathered about a travel-stained stranger. For the first time
since leaving Dunlap's Creek I found myself of second importance. This man
was tanned by the weather to a deep copper color and wore a black cloth
around his head in place of a cap.

I halted on the edge of the group and waited for him to finish his
narrative which must have been of lively interest if the rapt attention of
the men and women was any gage.

"--and using the ax I jumped over his body, got to the horse and rode
away," his deep voice concluded. He spoke with a palpable effort and
almost with a sing-song intonation.

I dismounted and pressed forward, and told him:

"You talk like an Indian."

"God's marcy, young sir!" cried an old dame. "An', please sweet grace, why
shouldn't he? Isn't he Johnny Ward, took by the Injums when a boy, an'
just managed to scoot free of 'em?"

The man slowly looked me over, his face as immovable as any Shawnee
chief's. Then with the slightest of hesitation between each two words he
calmly informed me:

"Escaped as the white woman says. Named John Ward. Indian name, Red Arrow.
Now I am back with my people. Now I am John Ward again. I talk bad. I
talked with Indians most the time all these years. With my old friends I
will grow to talk better."

I congratulated him on his return to civilization. Many a man holding a
high place in the colony's government and in the affection of the people
had been held in captivity; but few were the men who returned after
spending so many years with the Indians. In that respect Ward's case was
unusual.

"Your talk sounds all right to us," said one of the men. "Mayhap you
l'arned some things about the red hellions that'll help our boys to give
'em pepper."

"I can lead you to their towns by the shortest trails. I can lead you to
their new towns that white men can not find quick," he replied, after a
few moments' pause, just as an Indian would wait before answering a
question.

Young Cousin flashed into my mind, and I asked:

"Do you know of a white woman--she would be nineteen years old now--named
Cousin? She was captured by Shawnees at Keeney's Knob ten years ago."

For half a minute I was doubtful if he understood my query. Then he shook
his head. I was disappointed as it seemed to be an excellent chance to
learn whether the girl be dead or alive. Still talking in his peculiar,
halting way, he said:

"She, the white woman, was killed, probably. If not that she w