Some say I did not join the soldiers and Indians when they headed out down the trail because the Indians had warned me something might happen. Others have said that maybe I felt crushing guilt and stayed there at the forks of the river under the big hemlock to reflect in solitude on my recent actions. I’ll set the record straight, though it is not in the least to my credit. My recollection is that after a long stretch of camping in the woods with soldiers, I had enjoyed about all the male companionship I could stand and began wishing for the company of women. I calculated that it was but a half day’s ride to Welch’s Tavern, at least for me, knowing the shortcuts and going at a good clip on a fine horse. With Smith’s party moving at foot pace, I had time to drop in for a night with Welch’s accommodating female employees before catching back up the next day. That, to the best of my remembrance, is why the mounted soldiers and their pedestrian prisoners left after daybreak, Smith navigating nervously by the little scrap of map I had drawn for him.
