nd smelled of the brown pinch.
The odor was faint, very faint, but it was enough to tell him that it
had been made by tobacco. A pipe had been smoked here, not to soothe the
mind or body, but for a political purpose. At once his knowledge and
vivid imagination reconstructed the whole scene. An important council
had been held. The logs had been drawn up as seats for the British and
Tory officers. Opposite them on the bare ground the chiefs, after their
custom, had sat in Turkish fashion, and the pipe had been passed from
one to another until the circle was complete. It must have been a most
vital question or they would not have smoked the pipe. He came back to
the logs and found in one of them a cut recently made. Someone had been
indulging in the western custom of whittling with a strong clasp knife
and he had no doubt that it was Braxton Wyatt who had cut his name with
the same knife on the bark shelter. It would take one whittling casually
a long time to make so deep a cut. Then they had debated there for two
or three hours. This meant that the leaders were in doubt. Perhaps
Timmendiquas and Caldwell had disagreed. If it could only be true! Then
the little stations would have time to renew their breath and strength
before another great attack could be made.

He sat on the log and concentrated his mind with great intensity upon
the problem. He believed that the master mind in the council had been
that of Timmendiquas. He also had inspired the change of route and
perhaps Caldwell, Girty and Wyatt had tried to turn him back. Doubtless
the course of Timmendiquas had been inspired by news from the South.
Would the trail turn again?

He renewed the eager pursuit. He followed for a full day, but it still
ran toward the east, and was growing fresher much faster than before. He
argued from this fact that the speed of the army had slackened greatly.
On the day after that, although the course of the main body was
unchanged he saw where a considerable band had left it and gone
northward. What did this mean? The band could not have numbered less
than fifty. It must be making for some one of the great Indian towns,
Chillicothe or Piqua. Once more the reader of the wilderness page
translated. They had received news from the South, and it was not such
as they wished. The Indian towns had been threatened by something, and
the band had gone to protect or help them.

Shortly before nightfall he noticed another trail made by perhaps tw