The characters from Daniel Boone the television show belong to 20th Century Fox and FesPar Productions. I only use them for my purposes.

To Dwell in Honor

No one can acquire honor by doing what is wrong.

Thomas Jefferson

Chapter 1

The dappled forest shade was cool upon Mingo's hot, sweaty body. He lay stretched full length upon the damp Kentucky earth, panting. He was acting as messenger from Menewa to the council of the Five Civilized Tribes, now returning to Chota with information for his uncle and the Cherokee council. The land grants given by President Washington were causing concern as new waves of white settlers lapped against traditional Indian hunting grounds.

The white settlements drove away game and altered the land. Relationships between the tribes were also altered. Many wise men among them recognized that in order to give their own people a secure future they needed to put aside old tribal animosities and band together. Mingo's uncle Menewa had been one of the first to recognize that peaceful coexistence was the only chance the native population had to survive. Now other leaders were acknowledging his wisdom and following his lead.

As he lay cooling in the damp leaf litter, Mingo's mind wandered to the similarities between the current conflict and the time of King Arthur. Arthur had been a wise, farsighted ruler. His rejection of the established thinking that might makes right brought England into a peaceful and prosperous time. The fact the king was legendary mattered not at all. The concepts were valid. Mingo lay drifting sleepily as the afternoon faded away.

When he awoke the sunlight was the pale yellow of early evening. Mingo leaped to his feet to gather firewood before darkness made the task impossible. Rapidly he walked through the forest, then dropped the wood near a little stream. He recovered his pack and rifle, constructed a fire ring, and settled into his cozy little camp. As he gnawed a piece of jerky he prepared his coffeepot, then leaned back against a tall sweet gum and allowed his mind to enlarge upon the connection between his time and that of Arthur

Daniel was somewhat like Arthur. Though Mingo had often seen Daniel use force, his first line of attack was with words. The tall frontiersman had gathered a tight circle of friends as support, his own Round Table of sorts. Himself. Yadkin of Carolina. Jericho Jones. Jeremiah. He had advisors like Cincinnatus. He had a queen.

As he thought of Rebecca Boone, Mingo's lips lifted in an affectionate smile. Tall, red-haired, opinionated, forceful, strong. How unlike Guinevere was Rebecca! But there was a softer side of Daniel's wife, which Mingo knew well. Gentle, fun-loving, caring, thoughtful, accepting. Mingo sighed as he thought of Arthur's Guinevere and the disaster she brought to Camelot, simply because she grew to love her husband's favorite knight.

At that thought Mingo sat bolt upright. His mind firmly, very firmly, rejected that similarity. Rebecca Boone would never, ever betray Daniel with one of his friends. Not for any reason, not under any circumstance. As his mind followed that thread he chuckled to himself. He rose and spoke aloud jestingly, his voice filled with humor.

"M'lady Rebecca, I mean Guinevere. How lovely you look tonight!" Mingo made a mock bow into the growing darkness of the forest. Above him two squirrels chattered in annoyance.

"Oh, Lancelot, how handsome you look in the firelight." Mingo made his voice high and soft as his pretense continued, silliness overcoming his usual solemn demeanor.

"My dear Lady, how you flatter your humble servant. May I please be your escort at this year's Maying?" Here Mingo dropped to one knee in pretended supplication, his hands crossed over his heart, his handsome face alight with fun.

A feathery laugh startled him and he nearly fell over in surprise. Hot blood rushed into his cheeks as embarrassment gripped his heart. He scrambled backwards as far as the trees would allow him and grasped his rifle. The soft laugh came again. Then through the trees to his left stepped a woman. Her black hair was braided behind her head and her beaded dress draped her slim body beautifully.

"How gallantly you made your supplication, M'lord," she giggled. "I accept."

"Please forgive me, Miss. I didn't know you were there," Mingo stuttered, his embarrassment plain on his firelit face.

"Rather careless weren't you, Mingo of the Cherokee? As one of Menewa's most trusted messengers I would have thought you'd be more alert."

Her soft criticism made the tall Cherokee even more uncomfortable. She watched his body language and read it perfectly. Once again she laughed softly.

The sound was enchanting. Mingo stole a glance at her figure standing straight and proud before his little campfire. She was small, even for a woman. She was very like his cousin Tekawitha. Chastising himself for his ungentlemanly behavior, embarrassment continuing to flood his face with blushes, he beckoned her to seat herself before the fire.

With perfect grace and displaying no sign of embarrassment herself, she sat. Her large dark eyes gazed into Mingo's face. He could feel the full force of her eyes and shifted uncomfortably. Her lips lifted in a knowing, satisfied smile. She stretched forth her tiny hands to his crackling campfire.

Mingo reached into his pack and brought out a piece of jerky. He extended it to his surprise guest, then offered her a drink from his water bag. She accepted both with dainty grace. As he watched her lips touch his water bag he again shifted on the hard ground, crossing his long legs at the ankles and bending his knees to help dispel the discomfort. He lowered his gaze. As his eyes left the delightful view before him his mind began to ponder her appearance.

A woman, alone in the Kentucky forest at dusk, unarmed? It was very unusual, even for an Indian woman. He had noticed no camp equipment, no knife or other weapon. His eyes flicked to the soles of her moccasins. They showed no recent wear. She had ridden to this remote place in the forest, not walked. Suspicions grew quickly as Mingo's mental prowess exerted itself.

The Indian woman noticed his intense inward gaze. She cleared her throat and sought to distract him. "Not many Cherokee know of King Arthur. You are well educated, are you not? I too was educated far from my people. Tell me about your experiences and I will tell you of mine."

Mingo did not fall into the trap. He raised his eyes to her pretty face and replied. "I was educated in London. Thus I enjoy thinking about the literature of England and the different world governments. It passes the time."

"Aah. Besides the government of King Arthur, which other governments intrigue you?"

On his guard now, Mingo's reply was devoid of any true information. "The governments of all people intrigue me, Miss. May I ask where you were educated? You seem to have received a very good education also."

Her face smoothed into an expression of innocence, but Mingo could see now that there was a hidden purpose behind her child-like behavior. "I was sent by my father to learn the white man's ways. I went to a New Orleans academy years ago with my brother."

"Your brother? So, you were sent to learn the white woman's ways while he learned the white man's ways. Your father is very wise." Mingo's voice held the trace of a taunt.

A spark of anger flashed in her dark eyes before she controlled herself. But Mingo had seen the spark and was on guard now. This woman had been sent to him with a purpose; of this he was now certain. What it was he had no idea. He poured a cup of coffee and extended it to his guest. She shook her head and he leaned comfortably back against the tree behind him and sipped the hot liquid. But his hand rested on his loaded and primed rifle lying close beside his right leg.

It was unlikely that her mission was to kill him. She would use a knife for that purpose and she had none. Besides, his death could easily be accomplished through an ambush. She was after information. But for whom? And why? She was dressed as a Creek but had been educated in New Orleans. She knew who he was, so it was likely that she knew where he had been. The Creeks had been represented at the conference. She probably knew why he was there. Or did she? Was that the information that she sought? Carefully Mingo began to seek his own answers.

In the firelight he carefully looked at her small figure. Her features were well proportioned, her cheeks full and smooth but not high-boned. Her skin was lighter than most Creek people. Her nose was slender and upturned. She had white blood. As the knowledge flooded Mingo's mind his uneasiness grew. He lowered his eyes to prevent her seeing his discoveries.

She had allowed his searching gaze. But when he lowered his eyes she frowned. She gracefully rose and walked to seat herself beside him. He controlled his natural desire to shift away and sat quietly, waiting. Her small hand rested on his forearm warmly.

"Mingo, I don't want you to be suspicious of me. What about me makes you uncomfortable?" Her warm skin emitted a sweet fragrance of strawberries. She continued to sit very close, her body pressed against his arm. Her slender leg was pressed against his. He looked down into her wide dark eyes and saw an offer reflected there. Physically he responded, but his mind clamped down and controlled his body. Coolly he replied.

"Your nearness is making me uncomfortable, and I don't even know your name. It is not customary for two people to love each other before knowing if they are of a suitable clan. This is true for both Cherokee and Creek. So tell me, forest sprite, who are you? Nimue?"

He saw the understanding flash in her dark eyes before she quickly extinguished the flame. She scooted away from his side but he dropped his cup, reached out and grabbed her arm, holding her close beside him. All soft emotion was gone from his eyes as he looked steadily into hers. Seconds passed as defiance beamed from her hard black eyes. Mingo quickly slipped behind her and pulled both arms behind her back before she could bolt.

His voice behind her was harsh. "You know me. What is it that you are trying to discover? Tell me!"

Her laugh was hollow and derisive. "Discover that yourself, you Cherokee breed. Yes, I know you. Traitor! Puppet! Dog! Betrayer of your own people!" Her words dripped with poison and her pretty face was flushed with hatred.

Mingo frowned at her epithets and taunts. Suddenly he knew that he was in grave danger. He kicked the fire apart and pulled her with him as he scrambled into the screen of trees. He felt her fill her lungs with air to scream and quickly placed his left hand over her mouth as his right encircled her ribs and squeezed. She struggled against him, clawing his hands, kicking his legs and pushing against his tall strong body. He wrapped his own long legs around hers and stopped her wild thrashing.

"Stop it! Stop it or I will squeeze harder!"

She continued to struggle against him and he tightened his grip. She bucked for several more seconds, then weakened. Mingo did not fall for her tactic and kept the pressure constant. He could feel her shallow, rapid breath against his hand and her pounding heart through her ribs. All compassion and courtliness was gone, and he sat holding her tightly until she passed into unconsciousness. He allowed her body to slump over as he crawled to his pack and withdrew a length of rope. He tied her tightly to a nearby tree and wrapped his belt around her mouth. Then he laid down a dozen feet away from her and waited.