In the Northwest Territory
It went against all of Black Fox’s instincts to come within sight of the village, let alone venture into the midst of what could only be regarded as his enemy’s home. Nat had insisted on going with him, though how much help the white man could be on the assignment remained to be seen. Nevertheless, there he stood in a small copse of trees, watching smoke rise from unnumbered morning cooking fires spread across a broad, flat meadow.
“It won’t get any easier,” Nat said.
“I know,” Black Fox replied. His gaze remained fixed on Red Cap’s village.
Nat laid a hand on Black Fox’s shoulder.
“I’ll kill anyone who even so much as looks at you funny. We’ll be walking out of that village later today just as sure as I’m standing here talking to you. Together.”
Black Fox turned and gave Nat a skeptical look.
“I thank you for those words. I think that maybe you should not be too quick to kill—not this time.”
“I reckon you may be right about that. Still . . .” Nat shrugged and held his hands up, palms out, in a look that seemed to say “If that’s what you want.”
They had stowed their weapons a hundred yards further from the village, along the route they had planned for making a hasty escape if necessary—their firearms, at least. In case of an emergency, neither of the men was keen on the idea of parting with the small blades hidden about their clothing.
Black Fox took a deep breath, nodded to Nat, and stepped out of the trees, with his hands in the air and waving a stick at the end of which they had tied one of Nat’s old shirts. The shirt had been the closest thing to a white piece of cloth that they could procure before leaving on their mission. Nat followed, holding his hands high as well, and they slowly walked toward the village. Most of the village was still abed, but the women would have been stirring for some time, preparing a morning meal for their men and children.
It was, in fact, one of the women whose dwelling was on the edge of the village who first spotted them. She quickly disappeared inside and one of the warriors who had tracked down Black Fox and Nat weeks before emerged. Upon seeing them he sounded a general alarm and in less than a minute, the two outsiders found themselves surrounded by a dozen or more warriors, threatening them with a panoply of the village’s weaponry—the earlier-acquired muskets conspicuous among them.
“We come to speak to Red Cap,” Black Fox said, forcing his voice to be commanding yet calm. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see Nat maintaining a defiant posture, although a spear came within inches of his throat. Though his companion spoke no more than a few words of the Shawnee language, Black Fox was sure that his body was doing all the talking necessary.
“Stubborn Warrior” stepped into the midst of the ring of warriors and glared at Black Fox. “To Red Cap you will go. Be glad that his last order to me was that you be captured alive. Otherwise you and your . . . companion would be dead already. Or dying.”
A few of the men lowered their weapons and made way for Black Fox and Nat to proceed to the center of the village under heavy guard. If they had so much as wiggled a toe in the wrong direction, painful death would have followed before they could take another breath.
When they arrived at Red Cap’s wigwam “Stubborn Warrior” ordered his captives to their knees before stepping inside. Moments later, Red Cap himself emerged.
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“Why have Black Fox, son of Crooked Tree, and his white comrade returned to my village?” the chief asked.
Before Black Fox could answer, however, Red Cap continued.
“He must know, surely, that he risks his life by coming here. What can be so important that the son of Crooked Tree would risk not only his own life, but that of another?”
Red Cap surveyed the small crowd that had gathered. Black Fox did not look, but he could sense all the eyes that were fixed on him at that moment.
“We come for peace,” he began, but Red Cap cut him off.
“What is this talk of peace? Did I spare your life and offer you the hospitality of my village only so that you could escape? After that, well, little has gone well for my people. I have no doubt that it is you and this white man who are to blame.”
“We do not come to ask peace for ourselves. We come because we seek peace for all of our people: yours and mine—” He hesitated for the briefest of moments before continuing: “and the white men.”
A murmur went up from the crowd; the chief scoffed, but did not interrupt.
“There is to be a peace council. The new chief of the land that the white men call Kentucky and the chief of the land they call Virginia will be there. They invite you, Red Cap, and all the other chiefs of this land and of the land south of the river to come and make peace.”
Red Cap’s eyes grew wide. “Peace with the white men, you say? The ones who burn our villages and drive us from the land of our fathers? What peace can we have with such men? We have made peace with Wilkinson, the chief of Kentucky, once before. The trader Doane has given us what we need to fight back against the raids of the white men. Why, then, should we make peace now that we are better prepared for war than ever?”
Nat coughed. Black Fox looked at him and Nat nodded toward the chief as if he wanted to speak. Black Fox merely shook his head. A look of frustration flashed across the white man’s face, but he made no further protest.
“I can make you and your people do nothing,” Black Fox continued, speaking loudly enough for the still-assembling crowd to hear him clearly. “But you must know that Doane and Wilkinson are no friends to Red Cap and his people. They have sold you muskets, true, but they know that what they sell you is only enough to make them a profit, not enough to win a war against the white men. They have not tricked you, but they have not dealt fairly either. They do not care who wins a fight, but only that there be a fight.”
“I have heard enough,” snapped Red Cap. “You have said what you came here to say. Now leave. The honor and respect due to your father is used up. My warriors have obeyed my command that you be left alive, but I give them a new order: Black Fox must leave Red Cap’s village today and if he ever approaches within sight of this village again, he will be killed on sight—” Red Cap stared intently at Nat—“he and anyone who is with him.”
The chieftain gestured toward his warriors and swept his hand in a wide arc, signaling that they should lower their weapons. The fearsome men made a corridor that led toward the edge of the village and Black Fox and Nat deliberately made their exit amidst a sea of menacing faces and a chorus of intimidating shouts.
After passing the last of the dwellings, the two men walked in silence for close to half an hour. They took a circuitous route back to where they had left their belongings, just in case they had been followed.
“That could have gone better,” Nat said as he retrieved his powder horn from its hiding place and slung it over his shoulder.
Black Fox nodded his agreement.
“What do you think they will do?” Nat asked.
Black Fox did not answer immediately. He continued securing his bed roll to his pack before speaking.
“I do not know what they will do. I only know that we must reach the next village before nightfall.”
The look on Nat’s face made it abundantly clear that the answer was far from satisfactory. Despite that frustration, however, the two men continued packing their things and made off to the west in the direction where Black Fox hoped to meet with greater success. He knew as well as anyone that for a peace to succeed it must be a general one, bringing together all the bands of his people and all the white men too.
Red Cap was well-regarded or feared by both sides; without his agreement, any peace that was forged at the council stood little chance of lasting. The chieftain had a well known tendency for being hard headed and for being driven as much by honor as any of his people, but from what Black Fox knew of him, Red Cap was never unreasonable. It might have been only a hope that Red Cap would see that peace was the best thing for his people, but that hope—however small a hope it might be—was all that Black Fox had. He would cling to the hope for as long as he could.