By Ken Drenten

The Shawnee were an Algonquin-speaking tribe whose origins are unclear. By the 1830s, after decades of fierce wars and pressure from settlers, the Shawnee were few in Ohio. From 1831 to 1833, the United States government forced the Shawnee to give up their land claims in Ohio. The Lewiston group of the Seneca–Shawnee migrated directly to Oklahoma, and, shortly after that, the Wapakoneta and Hog Creek groups moved to the Shawnee Reservation in Kansas. (Legends of America)

CHAPTER EIGHT: Hidden Treasures

They were led into a lantern-lit cabin that smelled of woodsmoke, old leather and grease. A dark-haired woman dressed in a linsey-woolsey frock and deerskin skirt set cups of hot chicory coffee before them and served them thick cornmeal cakes fried in bacon grease, along with slabs of crisp wild boar bacon.

Proudy Bill and his two sons, John and Matthew Williamson, sat quietly at a roughly-hewn table.

As the four laid in hungrily to their breakfast, Proudy Bill continued his silence. Tritt looked up apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Bill. We haven’t eaten since yesterday. We’ve been on the trail all night.”

The chief nodded, and they all continued eating. After a few minutes, he licked off his own fingers and began to speak.

“Shaw tells me this is something important,” Proudy Bill said. “It must be for you to travel all night. Why have you come to pay me this visit?”

Tritt glanced at his three companions. “Well, first the bad news. There is at least one and probably more than one ruffian who’s following us, looking for trouble. I had to kill two of them while they were robbing a stagecoach on the National Road not long ago. I knocked another of them down in Jacksontown the other day. Hopefully he’s still in jail.”

“So, Tritt, you bring your troubles here, and a woman too?” chided Proudy Bill.

He motioned to his sons. “Go out and tell the others of this danger coming our way. Get the women and children to safety. Warn the sentries.”

Then he turned back to Tritt. “What is the good news?”

“Well – actually, we were hoping you could help us with that,” Tritt said. “This is kind of an awkward time to ask this question.”

He looked over at Susan, who reddened but did not meet his eye.

“It’s just that, well, we’ve heard some tales that may or may not be true about gold hidden long ago by the Shawnee. We’ve brought some gifts with us in return for some information about it.”

Proudy Bill shot Shaw a barely perceptible look of annoyance that Shaw returned with a slight shrug of his shoulders. Then he sighed.

“What gifts have you?”

“We have brought some brightly colored bolts of cloth for your women. We also have two sacks of beads, a bolt of leaf tobacco, two dozen blankets, a barrel of wheat flour and a box of folding steel knives.” A sample of each gift was presented in its turn.

Proudy Bill picked up the Barlow knife, opened the blade, looked it over, grunted his approval, and put it into his pocket. It was sturdy, bone-handled and of good quality.

“The question you asked I will answer after we’ve smoked a pipe together,” Bill responded. “It is not good to talk much right after eating. My grandfather would not even have spoken with you yet. He would have made you wait at least an hour or two.” He smiled ever so slightly.

“Proudy, these were good vittles,” said Mac. “We don’t mean to sound impolite or ungrateful. Thankee kindly.” The chief nodded to him. Shaw also grunted his approval of the meal.

Susan began to say something, but Tritt put his hand on hers. He had already cautioned her not to speak in the Shawnee village unless asked to speak. Some traditions lasted longer than others.

Soon a long-handled clay pipe and a leather bag of tobacco was brought out. Proudy Bill ceremoniously filled the bowl and lit the tobacco with an ember from the fire. He handed it to Tritt who smoked, then handed it to Susan, who shook her head. Tritt nudged her and she inhaled on the pipe hesitantly, then coughed.

Tritt took the pipe out of her hands and passed it to Mac, who puffed once, regarded the pipe approvingly, then smoked again. He passed it to Shaw, who smoked slowly and ceremoniously, letting out a tremendous stream of fragrant tobacco smoke.

After they had passed the pipe around a second time, conversation was expected.

“I know Shaw and I’ve heard of Tritt. Who are you other two?” asked Proudy Bill in what he considered a polite way of including them in the exchange.

“Well, I’m Mac. We go back a long ways, Tritt and me. And I’ve known Shaw for a few years, too. We’ve all worked on the road and canal together, on and off, not to mention some soldiering and scouting.”

Proudy Bill nodded to Susan. “And you?”

“My name is Susan Whitworth. Mr. Tritt saved my life at that stagecoach robbery he told you about, and he introduced me to his friends after that. I’m from Maryland, I …”

“I see,” interrupted Proudy Bill. “Many people have come here from Maryland and Virginia. We called them Long Knives. Hmm. Now there are more of them than us in Ohio. We live here because this is our home.”

He suddenly reached out and took one of her hands in his. Susan was surprised but did not cry out.

“You have rough hands. Good. Not soft like most fair-skinned women. You are not afraid of hard work. Are you married?”

“Why, I, um…,” she sputtered.

“You will make a good wife for one of these men,” he said. “Or maybe for one of my men,” he said with a sudden smile.

Tritt looked at her and said, “Honey, why don’t you put on that blue gingham kerchief I bought you like I told you.”

She looked at him with questioning eyes, but pulled out the scarf and wrapped it around her head.

Tritt noticed Proudy Bill’s wife had been looking at Susan, then her husband, with a jaundiced eye that softened a bit when she put on the scarf. Bill had noticed it too.

“I am sorry,” Proudy Bill said with a wave of his hand. “I see that you and Tritt are already married. Good. Good. I have now made my wife jealous, but I am always curious about the ways of you English people. Now, I have something to show you.”

He stood up and went to a wall of the cabin and took down a large leather pouch tacked there. He carefully pulled a sheaf of parchment out of the pouch. Tritt hoped it was a map, but he was quickly disappointed.

“The governor of the State of Ohio has given us this paper that lets us stay here as long as I live,” he said, showing them the paper. “After I die, my people must go to a place faraway to live. So, I must live a long time for my people.” He smiled again.

“Now, you ask of Shawnee gold,” he continued. “I cannot tell you much about it. I believe this was a story started by some of the Long Knives in the time of my grandfather. They used it as an excuse to burn our villages, to kill our wives, sons and daughters, and to steal everything we owned.” His face now wore a grief-stricken expression.

“This was after we had expressed our desire for friendship and brotherhood with them. My father was among those who died. We fought many battles against the Long Knives and we lost more each time. Now we try to forget such times and to live in peace. Now our treasure is in God, in the Bible, in this land and in our families.”

His face had grown contorted in the dark cabin. It was silent for a moment while the four shared embarrassed glances with each other.

“Proudy Bill, we are sorry to be asking about something that has caused you so much pain and heartache,” Tritt said. “Believe me, we didn’t intend to . . .”

He held up a leathery hand. “You did not know. I believe you are being true. Your reputation is an honest one.”

At that moment, John Williamson came to the cabin door and spoke quietly and urgently to the chieftain’s wife, who relayed the message to him.

“Now, as you said, there are some evil men coming who will try to do to us as others did in my grandfather’s time,” Proudy Bill said. “We must not let that happen.”

The old chief gazed at Tritt. “Shall we act quickly to run like rabbits or shall we fight one more battle? Since you brought the trouble here, do you have something you intend to do?”

Tritt met his dark and glittering eyes. “We act quickly to stand our ground and fight. And yes, I do have something in mind.”

NEXT: SHAWNEE PRIDE

Ken Drenten is creator and editor of Dusty-Tires.com, a travel blog for out-of-the-ordinary places in Ohio.

Subscribe to Dusty Tires and receive a weekly email with the latest blog article. It’s free!

All rights reserved, Dusty Tires (dusty-tires.com), 2025.