It was late in the day when Nat realized that the rigors of riding all over the unsettled Northwest were finally starting to catch up with him. Rather, the thought returned to him, as it had the last several afternoons and evenings, as more villages and camps brought only more of the same. His frustration with the search had been growing, but so had his frustration with his guide. He was certain that Black Fox was keeping something from him.

When they finally stopped for the night--another restless night sleeping on the ground, under the stars--Nat thought to himself, “I’ve been a fool for letting myself be led around by the nose by this shiftless savage for so long. Who knows whether there were ever any clues to be found, since this Indian is probably in league with all the others he’s paraded in front of me, and any trail I might have found with a trustworthy guide grew cold days ago.” He spat indignantly in the general direction of Black Fox as he slipped down from his horse and began to set up to build a fire. If Black Fox had noticed the gesture of contempt, Nat was not able to tell.

“How about some of that rabbit you caught?” Nat proposed.

“All eaten yesterday.”

“Now that’s a lie!” Nat shouted. “There was almost half the thing still on the spit when we turned in last night.”

Nat hadn’t gotten into a full-bodied rage in quite a while and it almost felt a relief to rise to that occasion once more. Increasing Nat’s anger, however, was the fact that this no-good Indian was trying to keep a level head.

“Yes. Your half. You fell asleep and then I ate the rest,” Black Fox said in even, measured tones. “I trapped it after all, so why call me a liar?”

Nat had reached his limit. He jumped up, drew the pistol he had concealed in his boot, and leveled it at the young Indian. Black Fox merely stayed where he was, crouched around the beginnings of his fire pit, and continued setting up camp as if nothing were wrong.

“You’re not going to shoot me over a few mouthfuls of rabbit meat, Mr. Aldridge.”

Nat gritted his teeth. “No. But I might well shoot you for lying about everything else! What do you say to that, you sneaking blackguard?” Nat was in a full pant by the time he had spat out the words, but he had finally found the thing to say to start to break the Indian’s cool.

“What do you mean?”

“You may be an Indian, but you’re not stupid. You know what I mean.”

Black Fox stood and Nat raised the pistol, training it on the young Shawnee’s chest.

“I am Shawnee, as you say. We speak plainly. Why do you not do the same and tell me what you mean? And why not put down that gun too?”

Nat lowered his weapon and replaced it in its hiding place. He was far out in the wilderness now and was not certain he would be able to find his way back to Louisville by himself. The only people he would be able to ask for help if Black Fox were not there would be the Indian camps they had visited together. If he were to return by himself, it might seem suspicious. Reprisals between the whites and the Indians had been the order of the day for too long for him to take such a risk.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“I mean--” he stopped short of inserting the epithet that he desperately wanted to throw in the other man’s face. “I mean you’ve been lying to me about this other camp to the north and east that all your people keep talking about. You know right where it is, but you won’t take me there.”

Black Fox unfolded his arms and ran his fingers through his hair. “I have not taken you to that camp. This is true. But I have not lied about the camp either.”

“Well, that makes you a pretty poor excuse for a guide, doesn’t it?”

“You are right.”

Nat waited a moment since the Indian seemed to be collecting his thoughts. “Well . . . will you take me there now? I’ll find my way back to Louisville and hire another guide if need be,” he bluffed, uncertain both of his ability to get back to Louisville and of the potential for finding a guide both willing and able to do what he needed. For all his frustrations with Black Fox, Nat had to admit that in every other way he had been a superior guide.

“I will take you there.”

The two men sat down. The fire was built and the dinner--less the rabbit Nat had been craving--was prepared. As Nat was finishing his food he ventured to ask, “Why wouldn’t you take me there?” He had hesitated to ask the question, not wanting another confrontation just yet, but the answer might be crucial.

Black Fox finished chewing the food he had been eating and swallowed. Then he sat almost perfectly still for several moments before taking a deep breath and speaking.

“Have you heard of the Shawnee chief Crooked Tree?” he asked.

“No. Should I have?”

“I do not know. I cannot tell what events in our country are important to the white newspapers over the mountains. But Crooked Tree was my father. When I was still a young man, white settlers from the east began to push other bands of Shawnee and Miami to the west. Your people remember when whites were attacked by Indians, but they did not pay attention when Indians attacked each other. The lands where we had lived for generations were now squeezed on all sides. We could either move west or fight off those other bands who tried to push us out. My father chose to fight, but we lost.”

Black Fox sucked the last bit of gristle off the bone he had been holding and tossed it into the fire before continuing.

“I was one of only a few who survived; there were no other warriors left. But then they ran into our camp and began killing women and children. I saw my mother run away into the woods that day and I have not seen her since then; I do not know whether she is dead or alive. I hid like a coward as they burned the village and drove the rest of the women and children away, leaving them to freeze to death or starve. The bodies of the men--my father’s too--were left to rot in the sun.”

Black Fox paused again for a much longer time, hanging his head. As he looked up, he locked eyes with Nat and went on, though his voice seemed weaker than before.

“Their chief is the one the white traders call Red Cap, but in your language his name means One Who Causes Mothers to Weep. It is his village that you have been hearing about. You have told me to lead you there and I will.”

Black Fox stoked the fire for a few minutes after that, then without another word, laid himself down and rolled over to face into the darkness. Nat stared into the fire for some time, wondering what to make of the Indian’s story. It made sense, he supposed, that he would not want to go to that particular village. He might be recognized and killed or he might be ridiculed for cowardice. Facing the chief responsible for his father’s death surely would be difficult. For a brief moment Nat almost allowed himself to sympathize with Black Fox, wondering what he would have felt had he seen such tragedy.

The sentiment passed quickly, however, when he thought about just how much time he had lost in his search. Time was crucial and he could not afford to waste any of it on some Indian’s limp excuse for a sob story. Black Fox would lead him there as quickly as possible starting tomorrow or Nat would make life miserable for him. The pistol wasn’t the only threat in his arsenal. He reminded himself that getting people to do what he wanted was part of his job and that he was good at it. This brutish fur trader would be no exception. Having comforted himself in his own set of skills he rolled onto his back and quickly fell asleep.