REDSKIN RENEGADE

by Henry T. Sperry

Chapter One
Donald Carlisle glanced at the slim, almost girlish figure of his mother as she sat resting in the shade of a huge
oak tree while her horse grazed nearby, and then hurried to Potawonk's side. The big Ottawan had signaled that he
wanted to speak to him in private.
When Don had reached him, the Indian turned aside and walked a few paces into the woods. Then he swung
suddenly and faced the young American.
"Much danger, now," said Potawonk "Better the lady go back along Detroit."
"But Potawonk," protested Don, "you said that we would be able to get through to Michilimackinac without any
trouble. You said that Pontiac had agreed to keep the peace and that all the Algonquin tribes were now friendly to the
Colonists and the English. You told us that back in Detroit—or I'd have gone alone to join father up at Michi."
The big redman shook his head gravely. "What Potawonk say in Detroit was true. What he say now is true. Last
night while you and white lady sleep, friend visit me from Winnipeek tribe. Friend say the Sioux have come up from
the south. Chief Ongaway make peace with Pontiac, but behind his back he hate him—and all Sioux hate all
Algonquins. Soon comes big fight. Better the lady go back."
Don was silent for a moment, studying the stolid countenance of his guide then with a sign he turned and walked
back to where his mother sat beneath the oak tree.
"We've got to go back, Mother," he said, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice "Potawonk says a tribe of
Sioux, under Chief Ongaway, have broken away from Pontiac and have gone on the warpath. There'll probably be
trouble very soon."
Mrs. Carlisle looked up at Don, her freshly-colored face reflecting the seriousness in her son's eyes.
"I suppose you and Potawonk are right, Donald," she said, calmly, "but I am foolish enough to disregard your
advice. We are over halfway to Michi ,and who can say whether it would not be as dangerous to turn back, now? At
any rate, I am going on. You and Potawonk may go back, if you wish."
Don's lips curved in response to the gentle humor which he detected lurking back in the depths of his mother's
blue eyes, and his heart bounded in pride at her courage. Nevertheless, he felt it was his duty to protest.
Potawonk joined them and added his voice to Don's, all to no avail. Mrs Carlisle was determined to go forward to
join her husband, and it was soon clear that nothing they could say would sway her in the least.
At last Potawonk turned aside with a shrug and began preparations to move on. Don knew that his Indian's code
was outraged at thus being dominated by the will of a woman. But he likewise sensed that the redman shared his own
admiration of his mother's courage.
They covered about twenty miles during the afternoon, but when it came time to halt and pitch camp, Potawonk
kept on going instead of falling back as usual to await Don's order to dismount. Without being told Don guessed the
reason for this: Potawonk deemed it safer to keep on the move.
He unstrapped the duffle bag at the rear of his saddle, took out a few sea biscuits and some cheese, and silently
handed them across to his mother. Mrs. Carlisle took them with a smile and an understanding nod, and the two of
them supped silently as they rode side by side in Potawonk's wake.

***

Don could never remember clearly, afterward, just when it was that he began to sense that danger was gradually
closing in on them. But the moon had been up at least an hour, occasionally striking down through the trees to show
the shadowy figure of Potawonk walking his horse slowly up the trail ahead of them, when the feeling became so
strong in Don's heart that he silently reached out and grasped the bridle of his mother's mount, reining in his own
horse as he did so. He dismounted, and at his whispered command his mother did likewise. He tethered the horses to
a tree, and taking his mother's hand in the dark, led the way up the trail as silently as he could. Presently he turned
aside and drew his mother off the trail into the somber shelter of the tall pine trees.
The two of them crouched there for a long time, Don gripping his flintlock pistol and straining his ears to detect a
repetition of the faint, almost imperceptible sounds which had warned him of the approach of deadly danger. They
were not repeated—but a circumstance of far more evil significance prevented them from regaining any of their
confidence. Potawonk did not put in an appearance.
Had the guide turned traitor—joined forces with the Sioux and betrayed them into their enemies' hands? Don felt
that was unlikely. Potawonk was an old friend of his father's—and the Ottawa tribe, to which he belonged, was high in
the councils of the Algonquin Nation, being the same tribe to which Pontiac, himself, belonged. It was far more likely
that Potawonk had been attacked and killed so swiftly that he had not even had time to cry out a warning to them.
That was the most reasonable explanation for the fact that he had not come back as soon as he had discovered that
they were no longer following him....
A chill coursed Don's spine, and he gripped the butt of his pistol in desperate dread. It was not terror for himself
that he felt, but his blood ran cold at the thought of what would befall his mother if she should fall into the hands of
the cruel and terrible Sioux—the most blood thirsty of all the Eastern and Midland tubes.
Then, all in a moment, the quiet forest came alive with a multitude of faint sounds—of muted whisperings and
tiny cracklings, as of stealthy moccasined feet creeping over dry twigs The darkness became impenetrable as the
moon slid behind a cloud, and the sounds increased in volume, came closer and from every direction.
This, Don knew, was the end. The Sioux had detected their presence and were so confident of their capture that
they were indulging themselves in one of their ghastly jokes. Able to creep with absolute silence over the driest
ground they would, when certain of their quarry, close in on it from every direction. It was a refinement of cruelty
only the Sioux were capable of.
Don thrust his gun into his belt, and groping about in the dark, located the bole of a huge pine Gently he pressed
his mother backward against it until her back rested on the rough bark. He turned about and stood in front of her,
then; again drew his pistol. He felt her arms go about his body, holding him to her as though in desperate fear of
losing him.
At that moment the moon slid from behind the cloud which had momentarily covered it, and its rays slanted
down through the forest revealing a sight which caused Don's lips to thin whitely over his teeth.
Not twenty feet from them standing full in a moonbeam, stood a gigantic Sioux warrior hideous in warpaint and
plumes, his coppery arm upraised and bearing a tomahawk as though on the point of flinging it.
At the same instant a blood-curdling cry rose to their left, was immediately echoed on their right, behind them,
and on every side. The warrior in front gave voice to a hoarse howl of triumph as a vagrant moon ray fell on the
figure of Don and his mother, and threw his battle hatchet with all the strength of his muscular arm.

Chapter Two
It was too late, now, for young Donald Carlisle to regret not having insisted on his mother's return to Detroit, as
the guide, Potawonk had suggested. Mrs Carlisle had insisted on going ahead to join her husband at Fort
Michilimackinac, and Don Potawonk had failed to dissuade her, even though Potawonk had had news from a friend
that the Sioux had broken their agreement to keep the peace with the great chief, Pontiac, and had gone on the
warpath.
Too late—for Potawonk had disappeared, either having turned traitor or, which was more likely, been killed
before he could warn them of the Sioux's attack. And now, in the deep night of the forest, Don and his mother faced
the converging forces of the bloodthirsty savages alone, with no more protection than Don's flintlock pistol afforded
them.
Mrs Carlisle stood with her back against the giant pine where Don had thrust her. Her son stood in front of her,
his pistol raised and leveled at a huge warrior in a little moonlit clearing not twenty feet from them. The redskin
whooped in triumph at discovering them, and let fly his tomahawk. At the same instant Don fired his pistol and gave
a sideward thrust with his free arm which sent his mother falling to the forest floor.
He had not been a half second too quick. The tomahawk whizzed by his cheek and buried itself in the trunk of the
tree directly behind him. But the Sioux warrior let out a shrill shriek, as Don's well aimed bullet crashed into his right
shoulder, and fell writhing to the ground.
There was no time to reload. Don stooped and gently raised his mother to her feet. Mrs. Carlisle clung to him for
a moment, kissed his cheek and whispered, "Good-bye, my son—" And the next instant the Indians were upon them.
Don fought with savage valor, and more than one redskin acquired a smashed nose or cracked jaw to carry with
him for the rest of his days before the young American was finally subdued, his arms securely trussed up with elkhide
thongs, and given over to the keeping of a couple of young braves.
As the party emerged from the forest onto the trail, he saw that his mother had fared likewise. Her arms tied
behind her, she followed in his rear, accompanied by two more warriors who thrust her forward into a faster gait with
a roughness which made Don's blood boil.
 But the young Colonist knew better than to protest. If the Indians suspected that a discourtesy offered his mother
would enrage him, they would take pains to increase their brutality. But regarding their own women as little more
than animals, they would not be likely to suspect it if he kept quiet. He therefore bit his lips in silence and resolutely
turned away with the same air of indifference a Sioux would have shown in a like situation. As a result, Mrs. Carlisle
was allowed to walk in peace for the rest of the journey.

***

But if Donald Carlisle entertained any doubts as to the ultimate fate which awaited him and his mother, they were
dispelled in an abrupt and blood-chilling fashion when, on the following morning, after a night spent in a guarded
wigwam of the Sioux camp, he was routed out of his single blanket and brought out into the clearing between the
tents.
At the far end of the encampment sat the traitorous Chief Ongaway, head of the Sioux, who had violated his
agreement with the great leader of the Algonquin clan, Pontiac, and gone on the warpath. Ranged in front of him was
a double line of Indians bearing rawhide whips—and at the right of this line was a sight which made Dons blood run
cold in his veins.
His mother stood tied at the stake, and standing near her was a grinning warrior with a flaming torch upraised,
obviously waiting with impatience the signal to apply it to the pile of faggots arranged about Mrs Carlisle's feet!
Stricken numb with horror. Don half-heard one of his captors explaining what was wanted of him in English
jargon. It was only when he was brought before the evil-faced Chief and looked down the double line of whip armed
Indians that he realized he was going to he forced to run that gauntlet. He was to run it, moreover, in competition
with a young brave who would complete his part of the race on the outside of the double file.
"You will run well," said the grinning Ongaway. "for if the other racer should beat you, the torch will be set to the
kindling at your mother's feet."
Don knew that the whole affair was an example of the Sioux's idea of a joke, and that while the Chief would keep
his word and spare his mother if he should win the race, they might both be killed in a different manner at almost any
time afterward. Or, what was more likely, he would be killed and his mother forced into the unthinkable degradation
of being a slave to the squaws.
Don knew, too, that arguments were worse than useless. He immediately stripped off his buckskin jacket and
shirt, and turning an imperturbable face to Ongaway, said:
"I'm ready."
The Sioux Chief's face lighted for a fleeting moment in grudging admiration. Then he raised his right hand.
"When the Chief's hand falls," he said in Sioux, repeating it in English for Don's benefit, "let the race begin."
The young redskin on the outside of the line fell into a half crouch, his eyes on the Chief's raised hand. Don
likewise tensed his muscles, and as the Chief's hand fell, was off like a shot.

***

So swift was Don's initial sprint that the first few Indians missed him completely with their whips, but the next
ones were ready for him. and he felt the lashing agony of the thongs biting at his bared back like fiery scorpions. But
worse than the pain was the realization that the mere force of the blows was throwing him off his stride, and he was
falling behind his opponent, whose black, longhaired head he could see speeding along behind the backs of the left
rank of his torturers.
The young brave, who had fallen a little behind at the start, was abreast of him before half the course had been
covered, and as one of the whips suddenly lashed about Don's ankle, tripping him and almost throwing him to the
ground, his opponent forged ahead a full pace.
Don ground his teeth together to keep from crying out in hopeless desperation—then shot forward with a
renewal of strength that only the plight of his mother could have called forth.
But it was hopeless. He regained half of his adversary's lead, but the steadily-applied whips prevented him from
closing in the rest of the way. At last, despairing of success, Don resolved on a daring ruse. He knew that the Sioux,
like all Indians, had their own code of ethics and standards of fairness—but that any means to gain an end was
generally regarded as justified. If he succeeded in winning the race, even by methods which would be looked upon as
unfair in a white community, the Indians would merely applaud it, and abide by their agreement.
At the goal line stood a mounted spearman, whose weapon the winner would grasp, signifying his victory. The
Indian racer was hardly two steps from the goal, his hand already outstretched to grasp the point of the spear, when
Don suddenly surged into the last man on the line to the left. The unexpected attack sent the fellow backward a pace,
his out-thrust ankle landing squarely in the path of Dons opponent The Indian lad tripped, fell headlong—and the
next second Don, his back covered with blood from a score of wounds, reached the mounted spearman and grasped
his weapon.
As Don had foreseen, his ruse pleased his captors, where the mere fact of winning the race by means he would
have considered fair, would not have. They raised a wild cheer—which suddenly changed to a howl of excited
wonder as he abruptly put into effect another plan he had conceived on the spur of the moment.
Don knew that, as far as her life was concerned, his mother was temporarily safe. White female slaves were
highly valued among the Indians, and he even doubted that they would have burned her had he failed in the race. On
the other hand, they both were in constant danger of their lives, as long as they remained in the hands of the Sioux.
He resolved on an action which would not increase his mother's danger—and might, eventually, result in her being
rescued.
He gave a great jerk as his hand closed over the spear. The surprised Sioux who held the other end immediately
toppled from his seat on the horses back—and in the next instant Don had mounted in a leap and dug his heels into
the horse's flanks. The animal sprang into a run, and was off through the trees before a single warrior had collected
his wits sufficiently to fire an arrow or hurl a spear at his back.

Chapter Three
Donald Carlisle, his naked back bleeding from a score of shallow but painful wounds which had been inflicted by
the whips of his erstwhile Indian captors, rode madly through the woods on his stolen horse, wondering, if he would
he able to out distance his pursuers long enough to reach Fort Michilimackinac and his father.
Much more than Don's own safety depended on his success. The young American Colonist had been forced to
leave his mother in the hands of their Sioux captors, in order to make good his own escape—and thus provide some
chance for her rescue. Valuing her as a slave, Don felt certain that they would not kill her—at least not until they had
recaptured him. For the Sioux were such relishers of torture that they would preserve her life if only in the hope of
forcing her to witness the slow dismemberment or burning of her son.
He was, he knew, not more than seventy-five miles from Fort Michi—as most people called Michilimackinac—
and if his horse held out he should make it by tomorrow's dawn. Always providing that the Sioux did not get him first.
But for the time, at least, it seemed he had outdistanced them. The trail he was on was the only one that led to
the north through the great inter-lake wilderness. Well Donald Carlisle knew that, for it was his father, accompanying
the renowned Major Robert Rogers, famed former leader of "Rogers' Rangers," who had first cleared the trail to the
north and established Fort Michi—the point from which Major Rogers hoped to explore the long sought "Northwest
Passage" by water across the North American Continent to the Pacific, Japan and China.
Though it was late September the sun was hot on the young Colonist's unprotected head, and his back felt as
though it were being slowly grilled. Nevertheless he stopped for water only when his mount gave signs of distress,
and as he permitted the beast a few sips from some stream, granted himself the boon of a drink of cool water.
But by evening it was apparent that he had really given his pursuers the slip. His wiry little pony, accustomed to
long, grueling journeys which would have killed a thoroughbred, was holding up wonderfully, and Don began to
believe that success was within his grasp.
It was all he could do to keep from pressing his pony too hard. He tried to shut his mind to the knowledge that
every foot he traveled toward Fort Michi was just that much farther from his mother, who that very moment, might
be suffering unspeakable tortures at the hands of her ruthless captors.
Don shuddered and turned white when this terrible thought assailed him. but he knew that he was doing the only
reasonable thing—the only chance for his mother's rescue lay in his ability to procure men in large numbers. To
attempt it single-handed would be worse than useless.
And at last, although it seemed the night would never be over, dawn finally crimsoned the East, revealing to
Don's anxious eyes, as his mount carried him to the crest of a small hill, the glint of water straight ahead. From his
position he knew that it could be only Mackinac Straits, and with a wild whoop of joy, which was almost a sob, he
dug his heels into his pony's flanks and galloped off down the trail to the fort.

***

As he flung himself from his winded mount at the land gate of the fort, Don recognized the soldier on guard who
came forward to challenge him. It was Sergeant Peel of his father's old garrison.
"Hello Sergeant," he greeted him briefly, "take me to Captain Carlisle, right away."
 "Lord!" exclaimed the soldier. "It's Mister Donald. What's happened to your back, sir?"
"Never mind!" snapped Don. "Do as I say—it's very urgent."
"Yes, sir!" stuttered the soldier. "That is, I'd like to, Mr. Donald, but your father and Major Rogers are visiting a
company of Dakotas.,a hundred miles south down the lake shore. We're expecting them back soon. The Captain
didn't think you and Mrs. Carlisle would be here for several days, yet."
"We wouldn't have been," said Don bitterly, "under ordinary circumstances, Who's in command?"
"Lieutenant Rawstone," replied the Sergeant. "Come along, Mr. Donald."
The soldier led the way into the barracks and down long rows of bunks from which a few privates, off duty and
lolling at ease, shot curious glances at Don's lacerated back. He could hear a buzz of excited comment gathering
behind him as he reached the far end and was ushered into the Commandant's office.
Lieutenant Rawstone was a thin-featured, slightly built man whom Don didn't know. As they entered and the
Sergeant snapped to attention, he looked up in startled amazement at the half-naked, bloody young man who
immediately strode to his desk and leaned over it.
"I'm Donald Carlisle," snapped the young Colonist. "Captain Carlisle's son. My mother and I were captured by a
band of Sioux night before last. I escaped, but there was no way of rescuing my mother. The company numbers, as
near as I was able to judge, about two hundred. They were encamped seventy-five miles due south on the main trail
to Detroit—"
"Impossible!"
The high-pitched voice of the officer cut across Don's like a knife. "Chief Ongaway entered the truce with Pontiac
a month ago. You've made a mistake, young man."
"No, sir," said Don, wondering at the evidences of anger which were plainly to be read in the other's face. "I have
not made a mistake. Chief Ongaway, like all Sioux, is a double-dyed traitor, and Pontiac ought to know better than to
trust him. Furthermore, he can be heading north for only one reason: He intends to take this fort and garrison it
against Pontiac and Major Rogers. Everyone knows he regards the lake country as his property, and if he can hold
this fort, here at the straits, he can keep everybody out of it. It's the key to the overland route, as well as the water
passage, to Lake Michigan."
"Nonsense!" snapped Lieutenant Rawstone. "Do you presume to be better informed on matters relating to the
Indians than we are? You've been having nightmares, my young friend."
Don almost choked on his amazement and anger. Then his eyes narrowed, and he felt cold wrath steeling his
muscles into rigidity. "At least," he said in a low voice, after a moment, "it is no nightmare that my mother and I were
captured—that my mother is still in the hands of the enemies. If you do not care to head a contingent to go to her
rescue, Lieutenant Rawstone, there are plenty of men under your command who would be glad to do so. Will you
give me fifty men?"
"No!" The word was almost a yelp. Plainly the officer was in a state closely approaching hysteria, and as Don
watched him, he began to sense something of the cause of it. "I cannot accept responsibility for any such expedition,"
cried the Lieutenant. "We have agreed with Pontiac not to make any aggressive moves against any of the tribes who
signed the truce under him. I am sorry that Mrs. Carlisle has fallen into difficulties, but if it were my own wife or
daughter, I would act the same. What you suggest might revive such an era of slaughter as this country has never
seen. There is far more at stake than the life of your mother."
"Yes!" shouted Don, now beside himself with rage. "There is more at stake, you yellow dog. No decent white man
would take this attitude. What's at stake is the gold Chief Ongaway promised you if you would betray this garrison.
How much did he agree to give you, Lieutenant Rawstone?"
The officer went livid. With a sound like a scream in his throat, he drew his sword and lunged over the desk at
Don. Don sidestepped and caught the wrist of the Lieutenants sword arm.
"The guard!" yelled Rawstone. "Arrest that man and throw him into the brig."
Already the room was full of men, drawn by the sounds of the altercation, and in two seconds Don was
overpowered and helpless. Realizing, then, the uselessness of struggling, he pressed his lips together and in silence,
although he was trembling with cold fury and dreadful despair, allowed himself to be dragged away to the garrison's
brig....

Chapter Four
As Donald Carlisle sat on the edge of his hard bunk in the jail at Fort Michilimackinac a chilling thought struck
him. The temporary Commandant of the Post, Lieutenant Rawstone, would not have dared jail him if, as Sergeant
Peel had told him, Don's father, Captain Carlisle, was due back in the next few days. Convinced that Rawstone must
be in the pay of the traitorous Chief Ongaway. head of the Sioux tribe which held Don's mother captive, the young
Colonist became gradually certain that Rawstone must have reason for believing that Captain Carlisle would never
return to the fort. Perhaps the Sioux, through Rawstone, had arranged a trap for the Captain and Major Rogers, the
real Commandant of the Post, and Governor of the Territory of Michilimackinac. With them out of the way, it would
be a comparatively simple matter for Rawstone to betray the fort into Ongaway's hands when the traitorous Chief
attacked. It was the only explanation Don could imagine that would account for the Lieutenant's base refusal to send
a party to the rescue of Mrs. Carlisle, Don's mother and wife of Major Rogers' second in command, Captain Gerald
Carlisle.
Suddenly his despairing thoughts were interrupted by a rattle at the door of his cell. The next instant it opened,
and Sergeant Peel stood in the doorway.
"I'm takin' me life in me hands, Mr. Donald," he said, "but blamed if I don't believe ye've got Rawstone tagged
right. Anyhow, I've got a horse fer ye. It's right outside. Go out by the land gate, ridin' fast. The man on guard'll fire off
his piece—but he won't aim too close. Good luck to ye."
And five minutes later, having run past the guard at the gate, Don was tearing through the forest at his mount's
best speed, fully aware that the Lieutenant would lose no time in putting a squad of soldiers on his trail who would
not prove so friendly as Sergeant Peel had been.
But as he rode his heart was full of despair. What good did it do him to be free, as long as he was powerless to aid
his mother. He was beset by enemies both ahead and to the rear. He was on a comparatively narrow strip of land
between two great lakes, and the faint trail he traveled was the sole route through an impenetrable wilderness—
impenetrable, that is, for a man on horseback. Afoot it could, with difficulty, be traversed. But sooner or later he was
doomed to be captured—either by the soldiers in his rear, or the savages ahead.
Then, as though to add the final blow to his feeble hopes, a wild cry suddenly went up from the woods on his left
—and the next instant an Indian sprang into the path ahead of him and stood there with poised spear, challenging his
advance.
There was now but one thing left to do—sell his life as dearly as possible. His father was undoubtedly dead, and
his mother soon would be. He had failed her in her time of greatest need, and that he was in no wise to blame, for this
did not ease the bitterness and grief in the young Colonist's heart.

***

Then, just as Don was about to throw himself upon the Indian, unarmed though he was. the redman's left hand
went up in the universal peace signal—and Don noted a detail of the fellow's costume he had missed before: the
beaded "good-luck symbol" of the Ottawa tribe!
The young American immediately dismounted and advanced. "Your Chief," he said eagerly. "Pontiac—is he
nearby?"
Apparently the redman understood English, for he nodded and pointed toward the went. Don led his horse into
the thicket, tied it to a sapling and motioned for the Ottawan to lead the way. In an hour he was in the camp of the
Algonquins and stood before the great Chief Pontiac, himself.
It was difficult, for a time, to persuade Pontiac that one of his chieftains had dared turn against the combined
strength of the Algonquin nation and the white troops, but Don carefully explained his theory regarding the probable
treachery of Lieutenant Rawstone, and pointed out that Ongaway could hold off any number of warriors for an
indefinite period, if he ever got possession of Fort Michilimackinac. And finally the great Chief saw the strength of his
reasoning and nodded his head.
"What shall we do, then?" he asked in perfect English.
"Give me a hundred of your men, if you can spare them," said Don eagerly, "or less, if you can't. I will track the
Sioux and rescue my mother. In the meantime, you advance on Fort Michilimackinac. Lieutenant Rawstone will have
to admit you, or lose face with his command. Once inside demand a meeting of the garrison and expose Rawstone to
his fellow officers—and even if they don't believe you, they will allow you to stay in the fort as a protection against
the attack of the Sioux. I will try to capture Ongaway; bring him to the fort and force a confession out of him!"
The Algonquin Chief deliberated on Don's suggestions for what seemed an eternity to the young Colonist, but at
last he nodded his head, and a half hour later Don was riding at the head of one hundred and fifty Algonquin braves
as their commander.

***

It was a long ride to the place where the Sioux had been encamped when Don last saw them, but he had reason
to think they would be much closer by this time.
He was not surprised, therefore, when a scout came running back to the main column just at dusk with the news
that the Sioux tribe was just ahead. Don immediately deployed the column, sending most of the men on foot to the
right and left of the trail. Then he settled down to wait while they crept forward to surround their enemies. At last the
time for the attack arrived, and with a score of the braves at his back, he gave voice to a wild cry and spurred his
horse down the trail, waving aloft the feather-bedizened spear Pontiac had presented to him.
The fight was swiftly over. The cowardly Sioux, taken completely by surprise, threw down their weapons and
begged for mercy. Don personally supervised the capture of Ongaway and saw that he was securely bound and
turned over to the head of his detachment—and two minutes after that his arms were about his mother.
Mrs. Carlisle's face was drawn and white with the terror of the adventure she had lived through and the horrible
anxiety she had felt for her son, but she had not suffered any real mistreatment at the hands of her captors. Not long
afterwards she was riding at her son's side as he headed the victorious column, with its long line of bound prisoners,
in the direction of Fort Michilimackinac.
Don had not told his mother of the fears he felt concerning the fate of his father, and as dawn broke the next day
he was glad that he had spared her that worry—for riding out to meet him, while they were still five miles from the
fort, came Major Rogers and Captain Carlisle, himself!
Don's guess that they had been lured from the fort through the plotting of Lieutenant Rawstone and Ongaway
had been a shrewd one. A message had been sent, ostensibly from the Chief of the Dakotas, asking Major Rogers' and
Captain Carlisle's presence at a pow-wow being held at a camp a hundred miles south on the shore of Lake Michigan.
Half-way there they had been ambushed and wounded before they had succeeded in making good their escape. Then
they had played a deadly game of hide-and-seek with their enemies all the way back to the fort, winning out only
because of their superb woodsmanship.

***

Ongaway confessed in front of a hastily assembled court-martial, and revealed the plot whereby Rawstone was to
open the water gate of the fort while the garrison was busy defending the land gate at the front of the fort and permit
the entry of Ongaway's forces in canoes. It was a fiendishly clever plan and would undoubtedly have worked had the
Sioux killed Don immediately.

***

"If I were given to paying compliments, young man," said Major Rogers glaring down at Don with simulated
fierceness. "I would say that you're a hero. But I'm not—so I don't say it. Still, if you ever feel that you'd like to join
Rogers' Rangers, let me know about it. We need a new cook or butler, now and then!''
"Thank you, Major.'' said Don, and his heart swelled joyfully. In his bluff way, Major Rogers was saying that he
was willing that he should become his companion on his projected exploration of the Northwest Passage. And no
youth in the North America of that time could possibly ask for a greater honor!