I saw the girl's radiant face as she
proudly threw her arms about his neck. I saw the great pride in his own
face as he stood in the middle of the floor and harshly demanded:

"Now, who will you believe; Dale, the trader, or Hughes, the killer?"

It was all mighty dramatic, and it was not surprising that it should
affect the settlers keenly. It shook my skepticism a bit, but only for the
moment. If I could not feel a full confidence in John Ward, born white,
how could I place a deep and abiding trust in those who were born red? Had
not Cornstalk and other chiefs, the best of their breed, sworn friendship
to the whites in Virginia in 1759 and during Pontiac's War? Had they not
feasted with old friends, and then, catching them off their guard, chopped
them down? Black Hoof had drawn off his raiders; so far, so good. But I
looked to my flints none the less carefully that night and made the rounds
to see that reliable men were on guard. The night passed with nothing to
disturb the settlement's rest.

CHAPTER VII

LOST SISTER

Patsy stood in the doorway of the Davis cabin when I approached to pay my
respects. She was wearing a linsey petticoat and a short gown for an
overskirt. Her mass of wonderful hair was partly confined by a calico cap,
and on her feet were my gift moccasins. She believed she was conforming to
the frontier standard of dress, but she was as much out of place as a
butterfly at a bear-baiting. Before I could speak she was advancing toward
me, her hands on her hips, her head tilted back, and demanding:

"What do you say now about the influence of trade and the trader?"

She did not ask that she might learn my opinion; she firmly believed there
was but one thing I could say. She was in an exultant mood and happy to
parade her triumph. Of course she was proud of her father and was viewing
him as the deliverer of the settlement. Without waiting for me to answer
she excitedly continued:

"And your long rifle! And the rifles of all these other men! What good
would they have done? They spoke night before last, and the Indians kept
up their attack. Then my father spoke and the Indians have gone! John
Ward, who was out scouting when the Indians attacked, says they greatly
outnumbered us and were led by Black Hoof, one of their greatest chiefs.
He says they would have captured or killed us if not for my father. Now,
Mr. Rifleman, what do you think about the influence of an honest trader?"

I would no