Lost in thought, Daniel slowly stoked the fire with the poker and then returned it to its holder. The evening was proving to still be quite warm, but the wounded man lying in their bed was shivering as if it were the dead of winter.

"Again, I apologize," Saul said as he came to stand next to the tall woodsman. "I didn't know… I heard stories about the ruthless natives and with what happened in Fort Potterville. I thought.."

Daniel raised his hand in acceptance of the man's apology. He was sure Saul truly believed he had acted in defense of his wife and he knew he should be grateful of the intent. However, that didn't change the fact that his friend was currently fighting for his life.

"Well, it's not as bad as it could be," Cincinnatus said as he pulled the curtain that sectioned off the Boone's bedroom from the rest of the cabin. "But it sure ain't good either."

The wiry tavern keeper was the closest thing that Boonesborough had to a doctor. "Only good thing is that the ball passed straight through. More 'an likely hit the lung considerin' how he's breathin', but at least he still is. Next few hours will tell. Knowin' Mingo, he'll pull through just so he can tell me in his highfalutin talk what I did wrong. That Injun's got more lives than a barn full of cats."

The older man laid a hand on Daniel's arm, saying that he needed to return to the fort, but promised to return later that night. Saul said he would accompany him. Esther had been escorted back to Boonesborough earlier in the day, in shock from the events that had unfolded. With all that had happened, it was decided that maybe the Gorman's might be more comfortable in the quiet of Cincinnatus' establishment.

Dan followed them both out on the porch. "Get a good night's rest," he said to Saul. "In the mornin' you and me are headin' to Cherokee country to let their chief know."

The man from Philadelphia whirled to face him. "Cherokee country? What for? I thought this man said the Indian would probably live."

The woodsman shook his head. "Right now, it really don't matter what happens with Mingo. The Cherokee are going to be mad no matter what. You shot someone from their tribe and they need to know it was an accident. If they find out some other way than us explainin', they're liable to come a callin' with scalpin' in mind."

Saul swallowed hard. "I thought you said they were friendly."

"They usually are," Dan replied. "But they don't take kindly to one of their own bein' shot, no matter the circumstances."

While the frontiersman was still on the porch, his wife came around the corner carrying a bucket of water and a scrub brush. She pushed passed him without a word and began cleaning the floor where Mingo had fallen and his blood spilled.

"Becky," Dan called softly. "Leave it for later. You've had a rough day."

The redhead sat back on her knees defiantly. "It's already started to soak in," she said pointing to the bloody spot on the floor. "If I don't take care of it now, it will always be there."

Daniel sighed sadly, understanding her meaning. If Mingo didn't make it, there would forever be a marker on the wooden floor to remind them of this day.

…..

The copper-haired woman pulled the chair closer to the bed and held the wounded man's hand in her own. He had developed a high fever, as was expected, but as a result he became much more restless and agitated. He breathed in short pants, alternating with deep inhales that came with painful moans.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, the native started to edge toward consciousness. He whispered to her in Cherokee, grasping her hand tightly, almost pleading with her, as if what he was saying was a matter of life and death.

"Mingo," she called softly. "I don't understand. Can you tell me in English?"

He mumbled something in Cherokee.

Becky sighed; she hated to wake her husband. He and Saul had a long day ahead of them, but she had no idea what their Indian friend was saying and no way of judging if he at all comprehended what had happened.

"Dan," she said softly, shaking his shoulders. He woke with a start and instinctively reached for the long knife in his boot.

"Becky," he replied, his voice hoarse with sleep. "Mingo?"

She smiled reassuringly. "He's starting to come around, but he's not speaking English. I was hoping you could tell me what he's saying."

Dan rubbed the sleep from his eyes and followed her to their friend's bedside. The native continued to toss his head from side to side and babble in a language Becky could not understand. "What's he saying, Dan?" she asked apprehensively.

The frontiersman sat in the chair his wife had abandoned, listening carefully to the Cherokee's ramblings. He leaned in close, trying to communicate with the native with softly asked questions. After a while, he sat back in the chair and frowned as he turned toward his wife. "Most of it seems to be nonsense. He's talkin' about a bear lost in a cave, deep snow coverin' everything and a trip to the salt lick. I think he might be talkin' to his ma and maybe Menewa. He's also tryin' to warn someone that it is coming. I have no idea what 'it' is."

Suddenly Mingo's eyes opened wide. "Please, Father! No!" He called out, wincing in pain as he drew in a deep breath." I promise it won't happen again!" Then his eyes closed again and he fell silent.

Daniel and his wife exchanged a sad look. They both had had a brief encounter with Mingo's father during his stint as Governor of Virginia and the man had seemed surprisingly civil. However, they knew that something darker lay below the surface. By nature, Mingo seemed to possess a gentle soul, yet his English father brought out in him an anger that seemed wildly out of character. There was more than meets the eye, but the very private Cherokee refused to speak of it.

Half an hour passed and Mingo seemed to lapse back into unconsciousness. Dan returned to bed and Becky returned to the vigil beside their friend's bedside.

…..

At dawn, Daniel rose and prepared his pack for the half day trip to Chota. He was dreading this, knowing that Menewa would be furious with the white man, Saul. Especially since the life of one of the members of his clan still hung in the balance.

It was several hours before the frontiersman and his guest reached the main village of the Cherokee. They were about half mile out when the sentinels surrounded them. Saul tensed and moved closer to Daniel.

The frontiersman held out his hand to the other man in reassurance. "Don't worry," he said calmly. "All part of the process."

"We have come to council with Menewa," he said to one of the natives. The young brave nodded and turned toward the village. A moment later he returned and motioned for them to follow.

Menewa exited his lodge briefly and then ducked back inside, muttering something to the young brave. "The Chief will meet with you alone," the native said, pointing to Daniel. "He will remain with us," he continued, nodding his head toward Saul.

The older man stared at Daniel and then at the two braves standing on either side. "Dan?" he questioned nervously.

The woodsman smiled. "Nothin' to worry about, Saul. They're just gonna keep you company for a while. I shouldn't be too long."

Dan chuckled at the look of doubt on the man's face, and then sobered as he ducked into the Cherokee chief's lodge. "Menewa," he greeted the Indian seated cross-legged on the bearskin floor.

"Boone," he returned and held out the peace pipe; an invitation to sit and to council cordially. After the pipe had been passed, Menewa got down to business. "Why are you here?"

Dan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "There's been an accident and Mingo's been hurt."

"How?" the older man asked.

"Well, he's been shot."

Menewa sat up straighter and arched his eyebrows. "Why?"

The frontiersman shifted; although the Indian seemed calm, Daniel could tell the chief was starting to get angry. "As I said, it was an accident. Someone who doesn't know Mingo thought he was going to hurt my wife."

"Mingo had a weapon on her?"

"Uh, well, no, not exactly."

"He was unarmed?"

This wasn't going as well as Dan had hoped. "He probably had his knife, maybe his tomahawk in his belt, but nothing in his hands, no."

Menewa started to grind his teeth. "So how does an unarmed man 'accidentally' get shot?"

Daniel decided that it was probably a rhetorical question and decided not reply.

"The man with you, he is responsible?" the Cherokee asked, pointing to the lodge entrance.

Dan nodded.

"Will Mingo live?"

"I hope so," the woodsman answered truthfully. "It happened yesterday afternoon. He made it through the night. He's strong and has survived things that should have killed him."

"Then know this, Boone," Menewa said, rising to his feet. "This 'accident' will be punished. If he survives, it will be Mingo's decision to make. If he does not, the decision is mine by right and that white man will pay with his own life."

Daniel nodded, but he knew he could not let that happen. He would spirit the man away to Salem and to the magistrate. That would surely end any friendly relations that he would have with the Cherokee and possibly put the settlement in danger, but it was the right thing to do.