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Title: The fort in the wilderness

or, The soldier boys of the Indian trails

Author: Edward Stratemeyer

Illustrator: A. B. Shute

Release date: August 15, 2023 [eBook #71411]

Language: English

Original publication: Boston: Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co

Credits: David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Books project.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS ***

THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS

OR

THE SOLDIER BOYS OF THE INDIAN TRAILS

BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER

Author of "With Washington in the West,"

"Larry the Wanderer,"

"American Boys' Life of William McKinley,"

"Old Glory Series,"

"Pan-American Series," etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE

BOSTON

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Published September, 1905.

COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD COMPANY

All rights reserved

THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS

Norwood Press

BERWICK AND SMITH CO.

Norwood, Mass.

U. S. A.

PREFACE

"The Fort in the Wilderness" is a complete tale in itself, but forms the fifth volume in a line known under the general title of "Colonial Series."

When I began this series I had in mind to pen not more than three volumes, embracing colonial times during the fourth intercolonial war, when Canada, and the territory lying between the Great Lakes and the Mississippi, were wrested from the domination of France. The first volume, entitled "With Washington in the West," told of the disastrous Braddock campaign against Fort Duquesne; the second, called "Marching on Niagara," related the particulars of General Forbes's expedition against Fort Duquesne, and also the advance of Generals Prideaux and Johnson against Fort Niagara; while the third volume, "At the Fall of Montreal," took our youthful heroes down the mighty St. Lawrence, to fight under General Wolfe and to witness the conclusion of a struggle which had lasted for years and had been bloody in the extreme.

After this war the Colonists hoped for peace, but this was not to be. The Indians were enraged to see the English occupying territory which they considered their own, and soon, led by the wily and resourceful Pontiac, they entered into a conspiracy to fall upon all the frontier forts and settlements simultaneously and massacre all who dared oppose them. There was a demand that I relate something of these times to my youthful readers, and in the fourth volume of the series, called "On the Trail of Pontiac," I told of what was done by Indians and whites during the years 1761 and 1762, when the great conspiracy was slowly drawing to a head and more than one small settlement was wiped out in the crudest manner imaginable.

Early in the year 1763 Chief Pontiac considered the time ripe to strike, and in the present volume are related the particulars of the siege of Detroit, the attack upon Fort Pitt, and the uprisings at numerous other points, followed by the advance of Colonel Bouquet against the red men, the memorable battle of Bushy Run, and other contests, by which the Indians were forced to give up a struggle they at last realized was hopeless. In this volume the Morris boys do their duty as of old, helping to make this grand country of ours what it is to-day.

In writing this volume the author has tried to be as accurate, historically, as possible. May the reading of the work prove an inspiration to all who have the good of our land at heart.

EDWARD STRATEMEYER.

July 15, 1905.

CONTENTS

I.

OUT IN THE FOREST

II.

FACING A BIG BEAR

II.

IN CAMP WITH OLD FRIENDS

VV.

A TRAMP THROUGH THE SNOW

V.

A LETTER OF INTEREST

VI.

THE TRADING-POST ON THE OHIO

VII.

HENRY'S STRANGE DISCOVERY

VIII.

SURROUNDED BY THE INDIANS

IX.

THE ATTACK ON THE TRADING-POST

X.

JEAN BEVOIR APPEARS

XI.

THE FLIGHT FROM THE POST

XII.

WHITE BUFFALO'S PERIL

XIII.

SUGAR MAKING, AND HUNTING

XIV.

THE BEGINNING OF THE UPRISING

XV.

AT FORT CUMBERLAND

XVI.

UP THE OHIO

XVII.

THE ARRIVAL AT FORT PITT

XVIII.

SOMETHING CONCERNING THE TWINS

XIX.

IN WHICH BARRINGFORD IS MADE PRISONER

XX.

DEEP IN THE WILDERNESS

XXI.

AT FORT DETROIT

XXII.

THE ATTACK ON FORT DETROIT

XXIII.

IN THE WILDERNESS ONCE MORE

XXIV.

LOST

XXV.

THE ATTACK ON FORT PITT

XXVI.

THE MISSING CHILDREN

XXVII.

IN THE RANKS ONCE MORE

XXVIII.

THE BATTLE OF BUSHY RUN

XXIX.

DAVE AMONG THE INDIANS

XXX.

ESCAPE AND FLIGHT

XXI.

THE LAST FIGHT—CONCLUSION

ILLUSTRATIONS

"Look out!" screamed Rodney. "He's coming for you. Run! Run!"

They presently discovered the form of a man lying in a heap in the snow.

Crack! went one of his guns and another Indian went down.

The party came suddenly upon White Buffalo, with Grace Chowith in his arms.

They ran into half a dozen half-starved wolves.

These preparations made Dave faint at heart.

As the Indian chiefs came in they had to pass between two long files of soldiers.

The young soldiers were loading and firing as rapidly as possible.

THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS

CHAPTER I

OUT IN THE FOREST

"There's your chance, Rodney. You can't miss him if you are careful."

"I'll do my best, Dave. But you must remember I haven't had as much experience at hunting as you and Henry," answered Rodney Morris, as he examined his long rifle, to see that the flintlock and the priming were in proper condition for use. "Hadn't I better try to get a little closer?"

"Just a little, but don't wait too long, or that deer will get away from you," returned Dave Morris. "Remember, the wind is blowing almost toward him, and if he scents us he'll be off like a streak."

"Perhaps you had better do the shooting, Dave. If I miss him——"

"Never mind, Rodney. Do the best you can. You've got to get into practice sooner or later, and you might as well begin right now."

"But you were the one to see the deer first."

"And you saw the tracks in the snow. Go ahead. I'm sure you can bring him down if you are careful," urged Dave Morris.

"You stand ready to give him a second shot, if I miss," answered Rodney, and then moved off through the snow, with his cousin at his heels. The two young hunters were in the depths of a Virginia forest, and had crossed the tracks of a deer but a short while before. The animal was now in sight, stripping the bark from a young tree several hundred feet away.

Such a shot as now presented itself would have been easy for Dave Morris, but with Rodney it was different. The latter had been a cripple for several years, and had had scant opportunity for going out after game. His eye was not as trained as that of his younger cousin, nor was his nerve as steady.

"Make for the clump of hemlocks," whispered Dave. "You ought to get a fine shot from there."

Rodney did as directed, and in a few seconds more was in a position to draw an excellent "bead" on the deer, that was feeding as peacefully as ever.

It must be admitted that Rodney's hand trembled slightly as he raised his long rifle and gazed along the shining barrel. There was a brief pause, during which Dave also brought up his weapon. Bang! went Rodney's piece, and up into the air leaped the deer, shot through the shoulder.

"Good!" shouted Dave. "You've got him, Rodney."

"I—I don't know about that," was the quick reply. "See, he is trying to run away."

"I'll finish him, but he's your game," was Dave's answer, and an instant later his own weapon spoke out, and the deer leaped once more, and then fell dead in its tracks.

Hurrying up, the young hunters surveyed the haul with interest. The deer was of good size, but rather lean, for the winter had been severe, and food was scarce.

"I'm glad we got him," said Rodney, with a quiet smile. "Mother was wishing for fresh venison only yesterday. He's not as fat as he might be, but that can't be helped. Do you think there are any more around?"

"If there were, they ran off at the shots," answered Dave. He walked a few feet away. "See here, Rodney!"

"What is it?"

"The track of a bear, unless I am greatly mistaken."

"A bear!"

"Yes, and the track isn't very old either."

"Let us go after him, Dave!" cried his cousin. "I'd give almost anything to bring down a bear. It would give us so much meat,—and the skin would come in handy, too."

"I'm willing. But we must be careful. A bear at this time of year is an ugly creature to tackle. Don't you remember how old Bard Donaldson was chewed up by one last winter? And how that old she-bear tackled Nat Striker in his own dooryard the first year I went to the war?"

"Of course, I remember. But a fellow on the hunt must take some chances. I'll wager you and Henry have taken many chances when out."

"That is true, and we got into more than one tight hole, too. But I'm willing to go after his bearship as soon as we've reloaded. Let us throw the deer into a crotch of a tree, so the wolves can't get at him. Those wolves are getting pretty bold lately," added Dave.

The game was soon hoisted to a place of temporary safety, and then each of the young hunters inspected his rifle with care, and reloaded the weapon. This done, they began to follow up the tracks of the bear, with eyes on the alert for the first sign of the creature. While they are on this trail, let me introduce them more specifically than has already been done.

Dave Morris was the only son of James Morris, a trapper and fur trader, who, when at home, lived at Will's Creek, Virginia, close to where the town of Cumberland now stands. Dave's father was a widower, and the pair made their home with Mr. Morris's brother Joseph, whose household consisted of his wife Lucy, his son Rodney, already mentioned, Henry, a sturdy youth of about Dave's age, and little Nell, a girl of tender years, dear to the hearts of all.

James Morris was a natural trader, and when his wife died he left Dave in charge of his brother, and drifted to what was then called the West, or "Western Countries," where he established a trading-post on the Kinotah, a small stream of water flowing into the Ohio River. This was at the time when George Washington, our first President, was a young surveyor, and in the first volume of this series, entitled, "With Washington in the West," I related how Dave worked for Washington, and later on became a soldier, to fight under General Braddock and under Washington during the ill-fated expedition against Fort Duquesne, afterwards called Fort Pitt, and located where the great manufacturing city of Pittsburg stands.

The colonial war between England and France had now become a certainty, and with the repulse of General Braddock at Fort Duquesne, the French, aided by the Indians, sought to drive out every English settler and trader in the north and west. As a consequence, James Morris's trading-post was attacked, and he was made a prisoner. During the conflict Dave was also captured, but both were rescued from the enemy by the clever work of Sam Barringford, a frontiersman well known to them, aided by White Buffalo, a friendly Indian.

Thinking that the English settlers would have their hands full fighting the French, the Indians became very bold, and plundered many settlements, and not infrequently massacred the inhabitants. In some cases children were carried off into captivity, and this was what happened to little Nell Morris, much to the horror of all her relatives.

Aroused to the situation at last, strong forces were sent against the enemy, and in the second volume of the series, entitled "Marching on Niagara," I related how Fort Duquesne was finally captured, and what was done to bring about the surrender of Fort Niagara, a French stronghold on the Great Lakes. In this campaign Dave Morris and his cousin Henry took an active part, accompanied by old Sam Barringford, and when the fighting was over, succeeded in rescuing little Nell, who was found in the custody of some Indians under the command of rascally French trader named Jean Bevoir, who had caused the Morrises a great deal of trouble in the past.

The fall of Fort Niagara and of Fort Duquesne put the English once more in possession of all the territory lying between the Great Lakes and the Mississippi River. But the terrible war was not yet at an end, and in the third volume of this series, entitled "At the Fall of Montreal," I related how Dave and Henry continued to do their duty as young soldiers, fighting under the heroic General Wolfe and others, until the bloody struggle came to an end, and Canada passed into the hands of England.

The home-coming of the young soldiers had been a time of great rejoicing. Everybody was glad that the long-drawn war was at an end, and the boys and Sam Barringford, who had continued to fight with them, had to tell their stories over and over again.

"I sincerely trust you never have to go to war again," Mrs. Morris had said. "This constant turmoil and butchery is enough to drive one insane."

"And it has cost our Colonies a tremendous sum," added her husband. "I do not know if we can ever pay the debt."

"Now the war is at an end, I am going back to the West," James Morris had said. The old trading-post had been burned down, but he was willing to go to the labor and expense of building another, knowing well that fur trading in the immediate future was to become exceedingly profitable. He departed, taking with him Dave and Henry, as well as old Sam Barringford, and some other trappers, and White Buffalo, with his handful of faithful Delawares.

The hope for peace at this time was a vain one. The war was at an end so far as France was concerned, but the Indians who had favored the French were not satisfied, and led by the wily chief Pontiac and other leaders, they soon joined in a conspiracy, which had for its object a simultaneous attack on all the forts and settlements of the English frontier. What effect this Indian war had upon the Morrises, and the new trading-post, is told in part in the fourth volume of this series, entitled "On the Trail of Pontiac." The fighting was exceedingly bitter, and on more than one occasion it looked as if the whites would be totally exterminated. Dave was captured by the red men, and then fell into the hands of the rascally Jean Bevoir. But his father, Barringford, White Buffalo, and some others, came up in the nick of time and saved him, and Jean Bevoir was seriously wounded, and had to ride away at a break-neck speed to save his life. In the meantime, a part of the plot of Pontiac and his followers was exposed, and the Indians had to withdraw for the time being, to rearrange their bloodthirsty plans. Thus far Pontiac had been fighting for two years; he now resolved that the third year of the conflict should witness the total subjugation or annihilation of the English on the frontier. He laid his plans with greater secrecy than ever; and what the outcome was will be told in the pages which follow.

"He's a crafty one, an' he means business," was the comment of old Sam Barringford. "Ye have got to watch him with both eyes an' ears open."

"My white brother speaks the truth," was what White Buffalo said. "Pontiac is as a fox for slyness, a wolf for plunder, and a buffalo for strength. More than that, he is of the great magicians, and his word is a command to thousands." Even though the others had scoffed at Pontiac's powers as a so-called magician, White Buffalo, in common with all other red men, still believed in his power of magic.

The capture of Dave had occurred while he, Barringford, and White Buffalo, were on the way to Will's Creek. After being rescued, the youth and his friends had continued the journey, arriving finally at the homestead in safety. James Morris had returned to the trading-post, and his nephew Henry remained with him.

CHAPTER II

FACING A BIG BEAR

It was a clear, cold day in early January. The snow covered the ground to an average depth of eight inches, but many spots had been swept clear by the high winds, while other places were buried under huge drifts.

Dave and his cousin Rodney had left the Morris homestead early in the morning, to be gone all that day, and possibly the next also. The stock of fresh meat at the cabin was running low, and as Joseph Morris was away from home on business, it fell to the lot of Dave and Rodney to replenish the larder. It was now well along toward the middle of the afternoon, but previous to discovering the deer they had brought down only two rabbits and a wild turkey.

"That is next to nothing," Dave had said. "Why, we can eat all of the bag at one meal." The bringing down of the deer made him feel better, and the prospect of laying low a bear filled him with enthusiasm. As my old readers know, he was not such a hunter as his cousin Henry, who often went out just for the sport of it, but he loved to bring in meat that he knew was needed.

"I'd like to be as good a shot as Henry is," remarked Rodney, as he trudged along by his cousin's side. "I can tell you, he's a wonder. Sam Barringford says so, and he ought to know."

"Henry takes to it naturally," answered Dave. "But you needn't to worry, Rodney,—you shoot better now than many of the settlers do. Look at Brown, and Katley, and Jabbs. They can't hit a thing, although they have tried often enough. Since you've got around again you have done wonderfully well."

"I suppose Henry is doing some tall hunting out around the trading-post these days."

"More than likely—if the Indians will allow it." Dave's face grew sober for a moment. "I wish I was sure that everything was all right at the post."

"Don't you imagine it is?" came quickly from the young man who had been a cripple.

"I don't know what to think—we haven't heard from them in so long. I don't like to talk of these things at home—they only worry Aunt Lucy and the rest. But it's queer father didn't send us some sort of a message around New Year's."

"I was talking to Sam Barringford a few days ago about Pontiac. Sam feels almost certain that Pontiac won't rest until he has one grand fight, and either wins or gets whipped."

"Pontiac is certainly a masterful man—his authority over the different tribes is simply wonderful. When I met him, I could see at once that he wasn't a fellow who would allow himself to be dictated to. Every one of the other chiefs had to bow to him—they couldn't help themselves."

"They are afraid of his magic."

"Perhaps, but some of the other big chiefs must know his so-called magic is simply humbug. No, he's a natural born leader, and they can't help but follow him."

Rodney gave a long-drawn sigh. "Beats all how much fighting we have been having of late year's," he said. "First it was with the French, now it is with the redskins. It seems to me we never will be settled. For two years the crops haven't amounted to anything, because we couldn't attend to them and fight the redskins too. I wish we could have peace."

"You don't wish it any more than I do, Rodney. Look at all Henry and I had to go through with,—when we were in the army. They talk about the glories of a soldier's life. I think there was more hard work than glory."

"Really?" Rodney glanced at his cousin in an odd way, and smiled. "You say that, but I'll wager a shilling that if war came again you'd be one of the first to march against the enemy."

"Perhaps so. It would depend on what the war was about. I've got no use for a fellow who stays at home when his duty is at the front—especially if he's a young man, and hasn't a family depending upon him."

"Well, I agree with you on that, and I should certainly have joined the army myself if I hadn't been so crippled. As you say, if—What's the matter?"

"Wait a minute, and stop talking," answered Dave in a whisper. "These tracks look pretty fresh to me, and if that's so, that bear can't be very far off."

They had covered a good half mile since bringing down the deer. The trail led up to the top of a small hill, covered with a stunted growth of ash and pines, with here and there a dense clump of bushes. On the other side of the hill was a series of rocks, leading down into a small ravine, where, in the summer time, flowed a tiny brook, but which was now partly filled with ice and snow. A stiff wind was blowing, and it pierced them through and through when they gained the summit of the rise.

"Phew! this is cold!" murmured Rodney, who had spent many winters by the fireside in his easy chair. "I suppose you don't mind it, but it cuts me like a knife."

"Come, we'll get behind yonder rocks," answered Dave. "Don't make any noise after this."

"Do you see the bear?"

"Not yet. But I feel certain he can't be far away. Such rocks as these are just the place for a bear's den. We don't want to—Hark!"

Dave broke off, as a distant rifle shot reached their ears. Thus was quickly followed by another, and then all became as quiet as before.

"What do you make of that?" questioned Rodney.

"Somebody else must be out hunting in this vicinity."

"You don't suppose there are Indians around?"

"No,—all the Indians have gone northward for the present, so Lieutenant Plawood was telling me yesterday. They were ordered by the commandant at Fort Cumberland to keep their distance, and they promised to do so."

"An Indian won't hesitate to break his promise if he feels like it."

"That is true; but they are not on the war-path just now. It's too cold for them."

Both of the young hunters now became silent, and after a survey of the bear tracks before them, proceeded along a ridge of rocks overlooking the ravine. Presently they came to a space where the wind had swept the rocks clear of snow, and here the trail appeared to come to an end.

"This looks as if we were stumped," whispered Rodney.

"I'm pretty certain his bearship went off in that direction," answered Dave, pointing with his hand. "Let us climb down——"

Dave got no further, for at that instant the bear burst upon their gaze, leaping suddenly from behind a point of rock not five rods away. He was a big, shaggy beast, with a pair of eyes which were just then looking their wildest. One of his ears was gone, and the blood was flowing from a wound in his neck.

"There he is!" shouted Rodney, and taking hasty aim, he pulled the trigger of his rifle. The bullet hit the bear in the hindquarters, inflicting a deep but by no means serious wound. The discharge of the weapon was followed by a snarl of pain and rage, and then the wounded beast leaped out on the rocks directly in front of the two young hunters.

It was a chance not to be missed, and as the bear arose on his hind legs, Dave took aim directly for his heart. Down came the hammer of the flintlock, but, alas! the weapon failed to go off.

"Shoot! Why don't you shoot?" yelled Rodney, trying his best to reload.

"My flint is cracked," answered Dave. "Confound the luck!" He took aim again and pulled the trigger as before, but now the bear was crouching down on the rocks, and the bullet merely cut a furrow along his shaggy side. Then came a perfect roar of rage, and the big beast leaped from rock to rock and came directly for the hunters.

"Give him another, Rodney!" sang out Dave.

"I haven't got my priming ready!" gasped the young man.

"Then run for it! Run, or he'll have you down!"

On coming closer the bear had turned from Dave to Rodney, and was now within a dozen feet of the former cripple. Rodney started to run, and seeing a high rock some feet away, leaped for it, slipped, and rolled down into the gully. The bear watched him in evident amazement, and as he disappeared in the snow, turned once more toward Dave.

The young hunter was trying to reload with all speed. But his rifle was of the old-fashioned English pattern of 1755, and to load and prime it in a hurry was next to impossible. As the bear came on he backed away, until, reaching a hollow which was covered over with drifted snow, he, too, went down and out of sight exactly as his cousin had done.

Such sudden disappearances were evidently a new experience for the bear, for he stood stock still, gazing first at the gully and then at the hollow, as if wondering which of his human enemies would be the first to reappear.

As fortune would have it, Rodney was the first to emerge from the snow, puffing and spluttering. He had his rifle still in hand, but the weapon was not ready for use, and the bear seemed to know it. With a snarl, the beast hurled himself down in front of the former cripple. But his leap was a trifle short, and Rodney, with quick presence of mind, rolled out of the way. Then the young hunter uttered a loud shout for assistance.

Dave, coming up out of the hollow, heard the shout. Close at hand was a small rock, and catching it up he hurled it at the bear, taking the beast in the back of the head. Again the bear snarled, and now turned once more.

"Look out!" screamed Rodney. "He's coming for you. Run! run!"

"Look out!" screamed Rodney, "He's coming for you. Run! Run!"

Dave did run, over the rocks, and then toward a clump of low-branched trees. Once in the trees he felt he would have time to reload and give the bear a shot that might finish him. But there was ice on the slope, and suddenly he slipped upon this, fell sprawling, and then rolled over and over into another hollow. Strange as it may seem, the bear slipped likewise, and came down almost within arm's length of the youth he was after.

"Get away from here!" gasped Dave, as soon as he could speak, and grasping his rifle by the barrel, he made a wild pass at the bear. This caused the beast to tumble back for a moment. Then the young hunter started to roll away, but the bear was on the alert, and in a twinkling he made two leaps, and came down fairly and squarely on the youth.

CHAPTER III

IN CAMP WITH OLD FRIENDS

It was only the softness of the snow beneath him that saved Dave from serious injury. As the bear came down on the young hunter both sank so deeply that Dave was buried completely from sight. The beast ripped the sleeve of his hunting jacket, but that was all.

By this time Rodney was coming up once more. He managed to reload, and taking a somewhat unsteady aim, he let drive, and struck bruin in the left side. The wound caused the bear to utter a grunt of pain, and scramble up beside where Dave lay.

"Jump, Dave!" cried Rodney. "Jump for your life!" But Dave did not hear him, for the reason that his ears were completely filled with snow.

At this critical moment something occurred which filled Rodney with satisfaction. Forth from the forest came two men, one a tall, bronzed frontiersman, dressed in a thick hunting shirt and a coonskin cap, and the other a somewhat aged Indian of the Delaware tribe. Both were armed, and each carried several rabbits and turkeys in his game bag.

"Sam Barringford! And White Buffalo!" ejaculated the former cripple. "Hurry up! The bear has Dave in the snow, and is going to maul him."

"Not ef I know it!" sang out the old frontiersman addressed, and he brought around his long rifle with a movement so quick it could scarcely be followed. Several long leaps took him to the very side of the beast. Bang! went his weapon, and the bullet entering the creature's ear, passed directly through the brain. This shot was followed almost instantly by one from White Buffalo, which took the bear in the eye, and with a shudder the beast sank down, gave a quiver or two, and remained still forever.

"Good for you, Sam," said Rodney, when it was over. "That was a prime shot. And yours was good, too, White Buffalo."

"White Buffalo's shot was not needed," answered the Indian, simply. "But White Buffalo could not stand by and see his friend Dave in such great danger. The bear was big and powerful. There are times when one shot is not enough for a big bear."

"It's the same that we hit afore," came from Sam Barringford. "He is a sockdolager, an' no error. We tried our prettiest to bring him down, but he got away from us."

By this time Dave was climbing out of the snow as best he could. As he cleared his face, he gazed in astonishment at the newcomers, and then at the bear.

"Did you—did you kill him?" he questioned.

"Reckon as how we did, Dave," answered Sam Barringford, with a broad grin. "Sorry if you didn't want it done, lad."

"Didn't want it done? Oh, Sam, I'm thankful you came up."

"White Buffalo gave him the one in the eye, and I soused it into his ear. Arfter thet he kinder lost interest in livin'," added the old frontiersman.

"Then I must thank you, too, for my escape," said Dave, going up to the Indian. "How are you?" and he shook hands.

"How? how?" returned White Buffalo. "Glad Dave not killed. He was big bear."

"I've never seen a larger around these parts," returned the young hunter. "Have you, Sam?"

"Never, lad. Dock Fisher once got one about as big, but he wasn't so heavy, to my way o' thinkin'. White Buffalo an' I spotted this chap three hours ago, and clipped him, but he got away—as you found out."

"He was hurt just enough to be ugly," came from Rodney. "I'm thankful he is out of it," and he gave a deep sigh of relief.

"We have been looking for you for over a week," went on Dave to the old frontiersman. "I thought you'd go out hunting with us."

"I've been over to Fort Bedford—thought I could larn something about them twins—but I couldn't," answered Sam Barringford. "Struck White Buffalo at the fort, an' we decided to do a little hunting between us, an' bring the quarry to your place. Have ye had any luck?"

"Yes, we got some rabbits, and turkeys, and one deer."

"Good enough! Rodney, how do you like bein' out?"

"I like it very much."

"My brother Rodney is getting strong," said White Buffalo, with as much of a smile as he ever exhibited. "It is well, and White Buffalo's heart is glad."

"And what is the news from among the Indians, White Buffalo?" asked Rodney.

At this question the Indian looked grave, and for a moment he turned his face away. As my old readers know, White Buffalo was a chief of the Delawares, but during the war with France, and the Indian uprisings, he had been at variance with the majority of his tribe, only a handful supporting him when he sided with the English. The others had fought with the French, and under Pontiac, and where they were now the old Delaware chief did not know.

"Those who are now in authority tell not their secrets to such an aged man as myself," answered White Buffalo. "Because White Buffalo would not fight against his friends, they call him a squaw, and say his heart has turned to water."

"Don't you care, you did what was right—and those Indians will find out so, sooner or later," answered Dave, quickly.

"White Buffalo tells me that the redskins are a-holdin' many secret meetin's," came from Sam Barringford. "Pontiac is stirrin' 'em up. Thet Injun expects to do big things next season, mark my words."

"Pontiac is still as powerful as ever," continued White Buffalo. "It has reached White Buffalo's ears that he has called a special council, whereat the red men for many miles around can tell of the wrongs which have been done them. When they meet, Pontiac will fill them with words of fire and of blood, and the war-hatchet will be dug up once more."

"Our soldiers ought to stop that pow-wowing," said Rodney. "It seems to me it is time somebody put his foot down heavily."

"The whole trouble is, that it costs money to carry on a war against anybody," said the old frontiersman. "The Colonies are poor, and England is carrying a whopping big debt. I heard 'em talkin' about it over to Greenway Court."

"Were you there?" cried Dave.

"Yes, an' saw a lot o' your old friend, includin' the Washingtons," was the frontiersman's reply. "They sent their regards to you."

"I'd love to visit the Court," murmured Dave.

The young hunter had had one sleeve of his hunting jacket ripped open by the bear, but had suffered no serious bruises, for which he was thankful. It was decided to haul the dead bear from the hollow and then place him on a drag made of a tree bough, and all hands would help in dragging him to the Morris homestead.

"He ain't goin' to be no easy load," was Barringford's comment.

"Better a heavy load of game than no game at all," said White Buffalo, sagely.

"Remember, we have that deer too," put in Rodney. "We'll have to put him on top of the bear."

"In that case we can't reach the house to-night," said the frontiersman. "It's too late to travel nine miles with sech a load."

"Well, let us go where we left the deer. It will make a pretty fair sort of camping place," returned Dave.

Like the true woodsman that he was, Barringford carried a sharp hatchet and a strong hunting knife, and soon had a suitable bough chopped and trimmed. Then all set to work to haul the bear out of the hollow and tied him on the drag. It was hard labor and made them perspire freely regardless of the cold. A stout cord was tied to the front of the drag and the four proceeded to haul their load through and over the snow as best they could.

"I don't believe it's as cold as it was," remarked Dave, as they trudged along. "Or else this work is making me warm."

"It's moderatin' fer another fall o' snow," answered Sam Barringford. "I was calculatin' we'd git it by noon to-day."

"More snow come to-night," said White Buffalo.

"I wish it wouldn't come until after we get home," said Rodney. "This load is bad enough as it is."

It took the best part of two hours to reach the spot where the deer had been left. As they came closer a mournful howl rent the air.

"Wolves!" cried Dave. "I knew they'd be after that meat."

"Yes, but they are running away," answered Rodney. "They are not hungry enough to show fight," and he was right, as the hunters came into view the wolves lost no time in slinking out of sight, nor did they show themselves again.

"A fine deer," said White Buffalo, on inspecting the game. "Mistress Morris will be glad to get such good meat at such a season."

"Here is the spot I thought of for a camp," said Dave. "Is it all right, Sam?"

"It is, lad; and we can knock together a shelter in no time. I'll cut the branches and you and Rodney can do the building, while White Buffalo starts up the fire. Bein' as I haven't had anything to eat sence sunrise I've got an amazin' holler vacancy in my interior, which same needs attention."

"You shall have your choice of bear steak or venison cutlets," cried Dave.

"And I'll cook it just the way you like it," added Rodney, whose life at home had made him an excellent cook. "We brought a little coffee along, too, and some bread."

"Good!" shouted the old frontiersman. "An' with our tobacco, we'll feast like kings; won't we, White Buffalo?"

"I hope you aren't going to eat the tobacco," said Dave, with a twinkle in his eye.

"Now, don't go for to poke fun at an old man, Dave. Ye know what I'm a-drivin' at. Here's another for ye!" And Barringford threw down a big bough directly on the young hunter's head. "Got to keep ye down somehow, ye know," he added.

It was astonishing how quickly they had a cozy shelter of boughs and brushwood constructed. In the meantime the Indian lit the fire and the pot Dave carried with ice and snow, so that they might have boiling water for their coffee. All voted in favor of a thick, juicy bear steak, and Barringford cut it from the game without injuring the hide—for in those days, as now, a bear robe was worth considerable money.

When the smell of the broiling steak filled the air, all gathered around the fire in anticipation of the well-earned feast. The young hunters were as hungry as the older men, but Rodney insisted upon helping Barringford and White Buffalo first, while Dave gave each a drink of the steaming coffee and a chunk of the bread. In those primitive days there was no style to the meal, and instead of knives and forks those gathered around used their fingers, and one small coffee bowl, with a wide top and a narrow bottom, had to serve for all.

"This is prime, and no mistake," said Dave, after masticating a particularly sweet bit of the bear meat. "It seems to taste twice as good out here as it does at home."

"Which proves that fresh air is a good sauce," answered Sam Barringford. "Now, I'd rather eat out o' doors any day than under a roof—thet is, onless it's stormin' putty hard."

The meal finished, the old frontiersman and the Indian sat down for a quiet smoke, while the two young hunters gathered some additional firewood, for use during the night and for breakfast. The day's outing had made Dave tired, and he was glad, at eight o'clock, to turn in. The others soon after followed his example, and it was not long before all were sleeping soundly.

CHAPTER IV

A TRAMP THROUGH THE SNOW

In the morning White Buffalo was the first to awaken, and without arousing the others, he started up the fire and put on some water to boil. It was snowing and the new fall covered the old snow by several inches.

"Phew! this is quite a storm!" cried Barringford, as he peered from the shelter. "An' comin' down more yet, too," he added, with a look at the dark sky.

"I hope we don't get snow-bound," was Rodney's comment, as he started to boil what was left of the coffee. "We're not situated for anything of that sort—unless we want to live on bear meat and venison."

"Be thankful we've got the meat, an' rabbits an' turkeys," said the old frontiersman. "It's a heap sight better nor to be snow-bound with nuthin' at all."

For breakfast they fixed up a pair of the rabbits, and these went very well with the remainder of the coffee and the bread. The snow kept coming down steadily, so they ate the meal under the protection of the shelter. The wind had died down utterly, consequently it was not nearly as cold as it had been.

"Do you think we ought to start for home in such a snow-storm as this?" questioned Dave. "If it comes down any heavier we might lose our way."

"Humph! this ain't nuthin' to the snow-storm I got caught in the winter I found them twins," said Sam Barringford. "I don't want none like thet again, not me! We can get git home in this, right enough."

The storm the old frontiersman referred to had occurred two years before. It had been little short of a blizzard, and while out in the worst of it Barringford had come to a spot where a man and a horse lay dead and partly devoured by the wolves. A bundle rested in a tree near by, and much to the old frontiersman's amazement it contained two baby boys, in all probability twins, by their close resemblance to each other. With the bundle clasped to his breast the old hunter had tried to fight his way through the blizzard to the Morris homestead, three miles away. He had almost reached it when he found himself exhausted, and had been rescued by James Morris and his brother Joseph. At the cabin, the twins had been cared for by Mrs. Morris. Nothing could be learned concerning their identity, or the identity of the man found dead beside them, and they had at last been adopted by Barringford, who was an old bachelor, and who called them Tom and Artie, after two of his uncles. We shall learn more of these twins as our story proceeds.

About eleven o'clock there was a slight lull and Barringford announced that they had better start without further delay. The others were willing, and in a short space of time the camping spot was left behind, and they were crossing the first of the hills which separated them from the Morris homestead.

"This is the sort of storm to keep up for several days," observed Rodney, and he was right, the fall of snow lasted for forty-eight hours longer and made all the roads in that vicinity impassable for the time being.

It was nightfall when they reached the Morris homestead, standing as my old readers know, in the midst of a rather large clearing. It was a rude but comfortable cabin, long, low, and narrow, with the back roof sloping down to a kitchen porch. There were four fair-sized rooms, all on the ground floor, and above them a loft used occasionally for a sleeping room, and stored with seeds and with supplies for the winter. Not far from the house was a rude shelter of logs and sods for the cattle, back of which, in the summer time, flowed a gurgling brook of the clearest spring water.

As they approached the cabin Dave and Rodney set up a loud shout. This brought Joseph Morris from the cattle shed, and likewise brought Mrs. Morris, little Nell, and the twins to the doorway of the homestead.

"Hullo! back again, eh?" sang out Joseph Morris. "Good enough. And Sam and White Buffalo, too. Glad to see you once more."

"I didn't know you expected to be back from town so soon, father," answered Rodney.

"I had an accident that made me cut my trip short," answered Joseph Morris. He limped forward. "Bess got frightened at a wildcat and threw me over her head. In coming down my foot struck a sharp rock, and I gave my ankle a bad twist."

"That's too bad," said Dave. "I hope the wildcat didn't trouble you."

"I didn't give him a chance. I had my old Spanish pistol with me, and I blazed away at such a close range that I about blew the wildcat's head off. I had a time getting home, I can tell you. Bess wouldn't come near the dead cat, so I had to hobble after her the best I could for several rods."

"Ye had better keep off the foot for a few days," put in Sam Barringford. "A twisted ankle ain't nuthin' to fool with."

"I'm going to rest—now the boys are home again. But I couldn't let my wife look after the cattle in such a storm as this," returned Joseph Morris. He gazed at the drag and the various game bags. "A deer and a bear, and rabbits and turkeys! You've had luck, that is certain."

"Yes, and a narrow escape in the bargain," answered Rodney.

The two young hunters passed toward the house, leaving the men to talk the matter over between them. As they approached the twins set up a cry of welcome and little Nell joined in.

"Uncle Davey tummin'!" cried one twin.

"Uncle Roddy tummin'!" echoed the other twin.

"Did you get a deer?" asked Nell, eagerly. She was a sweet-faced girl, with dancing eyes, and curly hair that hung far down over her shoulders.

"Oh, Nell, you mustn't expect a deer every time," remonstrated her mother. "I am glad to see you back, boys. I see you got some rabbits and turkeys," and she gave each a warm smile.

"Yes, and we got the deer, too," added Rodney, with a touch of pride in his tone. "But Dave is to be thanked for that."

"Nonsense," cried the youth mentioned. "Rodney had as much to do with bringing him down as I did. But we got more than that, Aunt Lucy—that is, the whole crowd did. Sam Barringford and White Buffalo are with us. They stopped at the shed to talk to Uncle Joe."

"And what more did you get?" questioned little Nell, eagerly.

"A bear—a great big bear—one of the biggest ever shot around here."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mrs. Morris, while Nell shrank back, as if half expecting bruin would come after her. "That was certainly luck. I'm glad the bear didn't get you."

"He came close to it," said Dave, and after kicking the snow from his feet, he entered the living room of the cabin and told his story, while Rodney did the same. The latter was rather winded from his long tramp through the snow and glad to sink down in his old chair by the open fireplace and rest. Dave hung up the guns and powder horns, and placed the small game in a pantry, and by that time the older men came up to the door.

"That certainty is a big bear," was Mrs. Morris's comment.

"Oh, I'm almost afraid to go near him," said Nell, with a shudder. "Think of being out in the woods all alone and meeting such a creature!" And she shuddered again.

The twins, however, were not so fearful, and both ran out in wild delight and climbed directly on top of the game. Sam Barringford caught up first one and then the other and gave each a squeeze and a kiss, which made them crow loudly.

"Nice Uncle Sam!" said each. "Love Uncle Sam!" And then he gave them another kiss. In his way, the old frontiersman was as fond of the children as if they were his own flesh and blood.

"White Buffalo did not bring his little lady any pappoose this time," said the Indian, when Nell greeted him.

"Never mind, I've got the other doll yet," answered Nell, and brought it forth, dressed in a gown she had just been making. "Isn't it grand, White Buffalo?" The old Indian chief had presented her with this doll of his own making two years before.

"White Buffalo bring this for his little lady," and slowly and cautiously he brought forth from under his heavy winter blanket several strings of highly ornamental beads.

"Oh, how beautiful! How very, very beautiful!" screamed Nell, gazing at the beads with wide-open eyes. "Oh, White Buffalo, are they really for me, really and truly?"

"Yes. They belonged to White Buffalo's little cousin. But she is dead and so are all of her folks, and so now they are to go to my little lady, if she will have them."

"This is kind of you, White Buffalo," said Mrs. Morris. "As Nell says, they are very beautiful."

"Then let her wear them, let her wear them always," returned the old Indian chief, gravely. "Always," he added. His words meant much, as we shall learn later.

As late as it was, Sam Barringford set to work to skin the bear, while Dave performed the same operation on the deer. Then the carcasses were hung up in the cold pantry, where they would be safe from molestation by any wild beasts that might be prowling around. In the meanwhile Mrs. Morris bustled about, preparing a hot supper for all.

Within the cabin, it was a picturesque and comfortable scene. The walls were of rude logs plastered with clay to keep out the wind. The fireplace was large and in it burned a back log six feet long and a foot in diameter, and also several other smaller sticks. Over the fire hung several pots and kettles, and on a spit a good-sized piece of meat was broiling.

The furnishings of this little room were plain, for the first cabin of the Morrises, that containing so many heirlooms of both families, had been burned down by the Indians. There was a long table, without a cloth, several chairs, and two good-sized benches, often called puncheon benches, for they were made of split logs, smoothed off on the upper side and held up by four props, or legs. There was also a shelf, containing the family Bible, several books, and a few gazettes and "almanacks." Back of the door was a loaded rifle, and a shotgun rested on a pair of elk antlers not far away. In one corner stood a spinning wheel, which Mrs. Morris used whenever she had time to do so. A rude wooden box hanging close to the fireplace contained a few knives, forks, spoons, and kindred things, and another shelf contained some plates and bowls.

When the meal was ready, the boys and men washed, and all sat down at the table. Joseph Morris said grace, and the food was passed around, so that each might take whatever he wanted. Only White Buffalo waited to be served by Mrs. Morris, and during the repast the Delaware said not a word, nor did he open his mouth until after a "pipe of peace" had been passed around by Mr. Morris, to himself and Sam Barringford.

"White Buffalo has been well received, his heart is glad," said the old Indian to Mrs. Morris. This was all he ever said after dining at the cabin, but his words had the ring of truth in them.

The meal over, all gathered around the fire, to talk over matters in general, and to tell of their various experiences. Rodney was glad to rest and retired early. Joseph Morris had to admit that his twisted ankle hurt him not a little, and he bathed it with some liniment and bound it up. When all of the others had withdrawn, Sam Barringford and White Buffalo made themselves comfortable on the cabin floor before the cheerful blaze. Outside the snow came down as thickly as ever, and occasionally the rising wind swept mournfully through the tree branches. As Dave turned over on his rude but comfortable couch, he was glad he was home again and not out in the trackless forest with its many perils.

CHAPTER V

A LETTER OF INTEREST

One snow-storm succeeded another during the following two weeks, so hunting was out of the question for Sam Barringford and White Buffalo. The former amused himself with the twins, while the Indian either sat by the fire smoking, or made toys out of wood for Nell. Occasionally the Delaware would tell stories of great hunts or great fights with rival tribes, and the little miss never tired of listening to his tales.

"White Buffalo is the best Indian that ever was," declared Nell to her mother. "Oh, he is just—just beautiful!"

"He certainly is good-hearted," answered Mrs. Morris. "Would that all the red men were the same," and she heaved a deep sigh, as she remembered the many perils of the past.

Instead of getting better Joseph Morris's twisted ankle seemed to grow worse and for the time being he had to keep off his feet. It was not a serious hurt, but he was afraid that it might become so if he attempted to use the member.

"You had better take it easy, Uncle Joe," said Dave. "I can do the outside work well enough."

"And I'll do my share," added Rodney, and between them they looked after the cattle, brought in the wood and water, and did what they could to keep the snow from the door.

In those days the Morris homestead was as completely isolated as if it had been located a hundred miles from any settlement. The nearest neighbor lived a quarter of a mile away, and only seventeen families resided within a radius of two miles. The majority of the roads were mere trails, used alike by human beings and wild animals. There were but few bridges over the streams, so that in traveling much fording had to be done. Each cabin had a small clearing around it, but otherwise the primeval forest stretched for miles upon all sides. At times, especially in winter, the wild animals would become particularly bold, and wolves had often appeared, trying to get at the meat hung up in the pantry, and once a half-starved doe had come to the door to be fed.

On account of the wars, Dave had lost considerable schooling, and a part of each winter day was given over to studying, in which Rodney joined. The main studies were reading, spelling, writing, and arithmetic. There were no copybooks and but little paper, so much of the writing was done on smooth birch-bark, with pens made of turkey quills. There was one general "History of the Old World and the New, Containing a Complete Account of All Civilized Nations," a thin volume, printed in large type and containing several curious maps and equally curious engravings. This was also used as a text-book, and it was not long before Dave almost knew the volume by heart.

"The author doesn't know as much of the great West as we do," said Dave one day, to his uncle. "See, he hasn't located a single fort or settlement west of Winchester. All the rest is to him 'The Unexplored Western Countries,' said to be overrun with ferocious wild beasts and Indians who are cannibals."

"Some day the great West will be explored," answered Joseph Morris. "But it will take years and years to do it. Our troubles with the Indians must first be settled."

"Do you think the Indians will ever be at perfect peace with us, Uncle Joe?"

"Not until we have conquered them. We must show them that we are masters. It is a mistake to let some of them believe that we want to be friendly just because that is the proper thing. Many Indians take that as a sign that we are afraid of them."

"White Buffalo doesn't look at it in that light."

"White Buffalo is an exception to the rule. He has lived among the whites for many years and he understands us. But the wild red men of the forest can never understand us, nor can we understand them, for our ways of living are so different. It's not in the nature of an Indian to be at peace all the time. He loves to hunt, and if he can't hunt wild animals, he hunts his rival red men, or us whites."

"Thet's exactly it," said Sam Barringford, who sat by, cleaning and oiling his rifle. "Barrin' a few like White Buffalo the critters ain't more'n half human, to my way o' thinkin'. Look at the way they sculp folks, an' burn 'em at the stake, an' sech. It's enough to make one sick a-thinkin' on it."

"But some of the lawless trappers are almost as bad," replied Rodney. "They do fearful things when they are in the humor for it."

"It's the liquor, Rodney," answered the old frontiersman. "Put liquor into a hot-tempered man an' ye make a fiend o' him. Those fellers see the redskins do things, an' then they want to go the red varmints one better, an' there ye are."

"Oh, I know that rum has caused a whole lot of trouble in this world," answered Rodney. "For my part, I'd like to see the manufacture and sale of the stuff stopped."

"Won't never see that, lad—too many folks a-makin' money out o' the traffic. Besides, ef they did try to stop it some would be makin' it on the sly, an' drinkin' it, too."

"If the red men would only turn to farming all might go well," said Joseph Morris, thoughtfully. "But they seem to hate work in the fields. An Indian would rather hunt all day for a single turkey, or fish all day for a single trout, than gather a bushel of corn if it was given to him. Even White Buffalo won't work the ground if he can help it."

At last the snowstorms seemed at an end, and one day Dave, Rodney, and White Buffalo went out to hunt. The red man had his bows and arrows with him, and showed them how easy it was to bring down some birds on the wing without disturbing the other game that was near. No large game was discovered, but the three returned to the cabin loaded down with half a dozen small animals and twenty-six birds of various kinds. They also laid low two foxes, and the skins were given to Mrs. Morris for a muff.

One night Dave and Rodney were on the point of retiring when there came a loud knock on the side of the cabin. Mrs. Morris, Nell, and the twins had already gone to sleep, and the others were dozing near the fire.

"What's that?" exclaimed Dave, and by instinct he leaped for the gun behind the door. Seeing this, Rodney reached for the weapon resting on the elk antlers.

The knock was repeated. It came from the side of the cabin where there was no door. Joseph Morris roused up sleepily.

"Did you let something fall, boys?" he asked.

"No," answered Rodney. "Somebody is knocking on the side of the house."

Awakened by this declaration, Joseph Morris sprang up, and so did Sam Barringford and White Buffalo. Again came the knock.

"Who is there?" demanded Joseph Morris, loudly.

"A friend! Let me in!" was the low answer.

"Who are you?"

"Ira Sanderson."

"Ira Sanderson!" ejaculated Dave. "Oh, he must bring news from the trading-post!" He ran towards the door and started to open it.

"Wait—it may be a ruse," said his uncle, stopping him. "Sanderson, are you alone?" he called out.

"Ye—yes. Let me in. I—I am hurt."

No more was said. Opening the door cautiously, Joseph Morris stepped outside, followed by Dave and the others. At first they could see nobody, but presently discovered the form of a man lying in a heap in the snow, close to the wall of the cabin. The man was limp and almost unconscious, and they had to carry him inside, where he was placed on the floor in front of the fire and given stimulants.

They presently discovered the form of a man lying in a heap in the snow.

As my old readers know, Ira Sanderson was a hunter and trapper well known in that vicinity. He had accompanied James Morris on more than one expedition to the west, and had once taken charge of the trading-post during Mr. Morris's absence.

"Father must have sent him with news," said Dave. "Is he shot, or what is the matter?"

It was soon ascertained that Sanderson had been struck in the side by an arrow. The wound had been bound up in a rude way, but the loss of blood had so weakened the hunter that he could no longer stand up. It was a good hour before he felt strong enough to speak and then he said only a few words.

"I left the trading-post four weeks ago," he said. "Got captured by the redskins. They carried me up the Monongahela, an' were goin' to burn me at the stake, but I gave 'em the slip. Then comin' from Fort Pitt I got plugged in the side, as you see. But I kept on, until I got in sight of the cabin, when all my strength seemed to leave me."

"Is everybody safe at the trading-post?" asked Dave, eagerly.

"Safe so far, Dave. But there ain't no tellin' how long it will last. I—I—I'll tell you all about it when—when I'm stronger. Here is a—a letter your father—writ——" He pointed to his breast and then fainted.

While the others worked over the wounded messenger, Dave brought forth the letter mentioned and perused it, not once but several times. It was written in James Morris's characteristic style, and ran, in part, as follows:

"You will be glad to learn that so far the season has been a very good one. I have made a bargain with some French as well as English and Indian trappers for their furs, and they are bringing in all that I can handle. A few of the Frenchmen tried to get the best of me, but I showed them that I knew my business and since that time they have not bothered me. They now realize that the French cause in the Colonies is hopelessly lost.

"One of the French trappers used to be a personal friend of that rascal, Jean Bevoir. He says Bevoir is recovering from his wounds, and expects to go back to trading himself in the near future. I do not care what he does, so long as he does not molest us again. But if he tries any of his underhand work I am going to do my best to put him in the hands of the authorities, for he richly deserves a long term of imprisonment for his past misdeeds.

"Pontiac's failure to unite all the Indian tribes in a war against us last year and the year before, has caused some of the Wyandottes and Delawares to desert him. But the others seem to stick to him still, and I am afraid they are plotting greater mischief than ever. One trapper told me that the Indians up at the Lakes are very restless, and hold a great many pow-wows and war talks. Yesterday I had three strange Indians here, Ottawas, and I did not like their manner in the least. They took careful note of how the post was laid out, and asked one of the men if we had any extra guns on hand. I half believe they were spies, but as I could not prove it, I had to let them go.

"Henry wants to be remembered to all at home. He is well and has had some great success at hunting. He fixed up a trap last week and on Saturday night brought in the most ferocious wolverine ever seen in these parts.

"Since penning the above, I have just come from interviewing two other strange Indians. They did a little trading, but spent most of their time in looking over the trading-post. They wished to know what I wanted for four good guns, but told them I had no firearms to sell. This angered them, and they went off muttering to themselves. I must say I did not like their looks at all.

"Ira Sanderson is to start with this letter to-morrow. He can give you more details than I can write. I am anxious to hear from you, for I know the Indians must be as restless around Fort Cumberland as they are here."

CHAPTER VI

THE TRADING-POST ON THE OHIO

Leaving Ira Sanderson to recover and tell his story to those at the Morris homestead, let us journey westward and learn for ourselves what had occurred at James Morris's trading-post during the months in which Dave had been absent.

The new trading-post, built on the bank of the Ohio River after the first post, located on the Kinotah, twenty miles away, had been destroyed, was a substantial affair of heavy logs. The main building now consisted of four rooms, and not far away was a storehouse of two rooms, to which was attached a horse stable of fair size. The post was built on a tiny bluff overlooking the broad Ohio, and close at hand was a small brook backed up by rocks. A strong palisade of sharpened logs driven into the soil ran around a portion of the grounds which was not protected by the water, and here was located a heavy pair of gates, ten feet wide, secured by two strong crossbars. At convenient distances loopholes were cut in the palisade, to be used for shooting purposes in case of an attack.

On all sides of the trading-post the forest stretched for miles, broken only by the river and smaller streams, with here and there a tiny waterfall or a lake. In some spots the wilderness of trees and underbrush was so dense that to cut a path through was next to impossible. For miles and miles the only settlements were those of the Indians, who wandered from place to place, as their fancy pleased them. And this was but a hundred and forty odd years ago. To-day this same section of our country contains numerous towns and cities, the river counts its hundreds of steamboats, and the luxurious railroad trains dash by well cultivated farms. Truly the progress of our country has been marvelous.

For several weeks after Dave was rescued from the Indians, and left to continue his journey eastward, matters moved along smoothly at the trading-post. Henry missed his cousin greatly, for the two young soldiers had been like brothers since childhood. But he did not complain, for he knew that his Uncle James must feel equally lonely.

Every day the hunters and trappers who made the post their stopping-place came and went. Some were kind and considerate enough, but others were brutal, and a few wished to carouse and fight, something which Mr. Morris would not tolerate. A great many had been to the war and found it difficult to settle down after so much fighting.

"The war spirit gets into a fellow's veins," said one old trapper to Henry. "It seems so quiet with nothing going on."

"I know the feeling," answered Henry. "I was in the war myself."

"So Tony Jadwin was telling me, Henry; he said you saw lots of fighting, too, you an' your cousin Dave."

"We did—more than I want to see again."

"The Injuns ain't done makin' trouble, Henry."

"I believe you," answered the youth, seriously.

It was the next day that the three strange Indians put in an appearance, as described in James Morris's letter. Henry saw them, and he and his uncle talked the matter over after the red men had departed.

"They certainty did act suspicious," declared the youth. "And they were wicked-looking customers, too."

"I shall notify Jadwin to keep a sharp lookout in the future," answered James Morris. Tony Jadwin was now his right-hand man at the post, a hunter and trapper as well known as Sanderson and Sam Barringford.

Following this visit came the visit of the two other Indians. They caught Henry cleaning up several guns and pistols, and this made them speak of buying some firearms.

"They were actually angry because we wouldn't sell to them," said Henry. "Uncle James, they certainly mean mischief."

"Just my notion, Henry. But they can't do much single-handed."

"Don't you think there are other Indians around?"

"Jadwin hasn't seen any—I mean any that are strange. Those Delawares who train with White Buffalo are here, but I don't fear them."

"Have you any idea what has become of Pontiac?"

"A French trapper told me yesterday that Pontiac is reported to be in the vicinity of Fort Detroit. They say he has some sort of a home on an island in the Detroit River."

"If he was down here he'd be certain to make trouble."

"Pontiac isn't thinking of us just now, Henry. I believe he is plotting to attack the big forts. He'll leave the under chiefs to attack the little posts and the settlements."

For several days after Sanderson's departure for the east, matters ran along smoothly at the trading-post. Only a few well-known Indians came in, to exchange furs for other commodities. These Indians reported having seen some Ottawas on the Ohio, moving to the northward.

"Perhaps they have left the vicinity," said James Morris, and breathed a short sigh of relief. He had seen so much of excitement he wanted no more of it.

On the following day Henry went out to do some fishing. He had with him a strong pike pole and also the necessary lines and bait. He traveled a short distance down the river, and finding a spot that suited him, cut a circular hole in the ice with his pike pole and then started to fish.

It was a clear, cold day, and as the fish did not bite very lively the youth occasionally walked around to keep his blood in circulation. Once he walked a short distance up the shore, to look around a bend, and there to his surprise saw six Indians, hurrying into the depths of the wilderness with a heavy bundle among them.

"Can they be going to our post?" he asked himself. "If so, they are taking a roundabout way of getting there."

He watched the Indians out of sight and then returned to his fishing. But he had lost interest in the spoil, and soon wound up his lines and hurried back to the post, where he told his uncle of what he had seen.

"Six Indians, and all strainers, eh?" said James Morris. "If they are coming here they ought to arrive soon."

He hurried out and made his preparations to receive them. At the post at the time were Tony Jadwin and three other frontiersmen—all the others, and the friendly Indians, being out hunting or trapping. James Morris called the crowd together.

"They may be friendly, but we must take no chances," he said. "Load your guns and keep on guard."

These orders had been given so many times before, that the men knew exactly what was expected of them. Jadwin took his station at the stockade gates, and the others lounged around, each with his gun and a pistol ready for instant use, should any shooting be necessary.

But the Indians did not come, and by nightfall the temporary alarm was over. One of the frontiersmen began to poke fun at Henry and said he "reckoned as how" the youth had made a mistake.

"No, I didn't make a mistake," answered Henry. "I saw them as plain as day. Perhaps they were going to some other post."

"If so, they have a long tramp before them," returned the frontiersmen. "No other post nigh to thirty miles from here." This was true.

On the following day two friendly Indians reported seeing a fine herd of deer a short distance down the river. This interested those at the fort, and two of the men went off shortly after noon to see if they could bring down some of the game. Henry wanted to go along, but Mr. Morris demurred.

"I would rather have you here," he said to his nephew. "With those men gone we may need you. You can go some other time."

Henry saw the wisdom of his uncle's reasoning and so contented himself by working around the post, taking care of some hides which had recently come in, and in exercising one of the horses. Henry loved a good horse almost as much as he loved hunting, and he spent a full hour in the saddle.

"Rides as ef he was born to it," remarked Jadwin, who was looking on. "Just see him stick when the horse makes that sharp turn!"

"Henry is an out-door young man if ever there was one," answered James Morris. "And my Dave is about of the same nature," he added.

The winter sun was almost setting when two Indians appeared at the stockade gates. They were strangers and set up a cry for admission.

"What do you want?" demanded James Morris, as he appeared at the top of a small ladder, gun in hand.

"Want to sell skins," grunted one of the red men, a dirty individual with particularly repulsive features.

The Indians had a big bundle on a drag, and each carried his bow and arrows on his back. Seeing this, James Morris called to the others in the post to be on guard, and then descended the ladder and opened one of the gates.

"Where do you come from?" he asked, as the Indians came in, dragging their big bundle.

"Come from the south," was the answer. "Two moons of hard hunting," and the Indian pointed to the bundle, meaning that the latter contained the results of a two months' hunting tour. "Make trade to-morrow," he continued.

"To-morrow?" queried James Morris. "Don't you want to trade now?"

"No. Black Ear not here. Black Ear own some skins. He come to-morrow, den all trade."

"You mean that some of the skins belong to Black Ear?"

"Yes."

"And he will be here to-morrow?"

"Yes."

"All right then, you come in to-morrow and trade. You can't stay here overnight. I don't allow that sort of thing any more."

"Indians no want to stay. But want leave big bundle skins. Heavy bundle, Indians tired. Put bundle in dare," and the red man pointed to the storehouse.

"All right, you can put the bundle in there if you wish," answered James Morris, carelessly.

"Bundle safe dare?"

"Yes."

"No touch bundle—Black Ear say wait—he angry if touch bundle skins."

"I shan't touch 'em, so don't worry," answered the owner of the post. "Come on," and he showed the Indians where they might deposit the big bundle. It was placed in a corner of the storehouse, and then, with a sharp look around the post, the strangers prepared to depart.

"Give Indians rum?" said the one who could speak English.

"I haven't any rum."

"Give Indians a little tobacco."

"I'll do that," said James Morris, and handed over a fair-sized pouch full. For this the red men seemed to be very grateful, and hurried away, saying that they would come back with Black Ear in the morning and do their trading.

"Very well," said Mr. Morris. "I'll do the best I can by you."

He followed the red men to the gates, and after they were gone barred the barriers as carefully as before. The Indians did not look back, but plunged at once into the depths of the forest. When they were out of sight of the post one Indian looked suggestively at his companion.

"Think you did the white trader suspect?" asked one, in his native tongue.

"He suspected nothing," was the reply. "The plan was too well laid."

"We must hurry and tell Rain Cloud and let him gather the others. At the cry of the whip-poor-will we must stand ready to fall upon the post and kill all who are stationed there."

CHAPTER VII

HENRY'S STRANGE DISCOVERY

"Uncle Jim, I didn't like the looks of those Indians at all," said Henry, after the red men were out of sight.

"Oh, they didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary," answered James Morris. "They've got a pretty big bundle of skins with 'em."

"Perhaps they stole the skins. To me they looked like Indians who couldn't be trusted."

"I'll question them closely when they come in again, Henry. I certainly want no stolen skins, in trade or otherwise."

"Did you ever see those redskins before?"

"I believe I saw one of them last year, but where I can't remember. They were about as dirty as any around here," added the trader. "I wouldn't let them sleep here even if I knew it to be safe. I'd have the place alive with vermin."

"It's queer how some of them hate a bath, especially in cold weather," said the youth, with a laugh. "Perhaps they think the dirt helps to keep 'em warm."

The night was cold and clear. There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly, so it was not as dark as it might otherwise have been. Only a faint breeze was blowing, not sufficient to move the stark tree branches of the great wilderness which surrounded the lonely post.

Ever since the last uprising of the Indians, Mr. Morris had made it a point to have somebody on guard during the night. All the trappers who remained at the post knew that such duty was expected of them, and that they were doing it as much for their own protection as for the good of others. Guard duty began at six in the evening and ended at six in the morning, and the twelve hours were divided equally among whoever happened to be at the post during that period of time.

Tony Jadwin was the first to do guard duty that evening, and it was arranged that Henry should be the one to relieve him. But though free from duty, Henry was not disposed to lie down, and he wandered around, from the stable to the general living room.

"Why don't you go to sleep, Henry?" asked his uncle. "You'll be tired out when it comes your turn to go on guard."

"I don't feel a bit like sleeping, Uncle Jim. I'm as wide awake as an owl."

"Better lie down, anyway. It's a good night for sleeping."

"I can't get those Indians out of my mind," went on the youth.

To this James Morris did not answer, and presently Henry left the main building of the post and walked back to the stable, to get a pair of gloves which he had forgotten.

As he passed the horses one of the animals gave an uncertain snort, as of fear. The youth stopped by his side and patted him.

"What is it, Nelson?" he asked softly.

But the horse could not answer and merely rubbed his nose against Henry's face. The youth patted him again and then passed on, secured the gloves, and prepare to leave the stable.

"Guess I'll take a look at that bundle of skins," he said to himself. "It won't do any harm to turn it over and see what it looks like."

Henry's experience as a hunter and trapper had given him a good idea of the value of hides and furs, and James Morris often appealed to him when in doubt over a certain skin that was offered in trade. He had seen a peculiar looking skin sticking from the end of the bundle and he wondered what it was and if it was of great value.

On his journey to the stable, the youth had carried a lantern,—a big, old-fashioned affair,—and this was still in his hand. Coming to the storeroom door he flashed the rays of the light inside.

What he saw caused him to start back in amazement, and for the moment he could not believe the evidence of his senses. The bundle was moving!

Henry stared for several seconds and as he did this he saw the hand of an Indian come forth from the bundle and clutch at one of the thin rawhides which held the skins together. Then he discovered that the foot of an Indian was sticking out of the other end of the bundle.

The perils of the wilderness, and of army life, had taught Henry to act quickly in case of an emergency, and setting down the lantern, he drew his hunting knife and rushed forward.

"Stop right where you are, you skunk!" he cried. "Don't dare to move another inch, or I'll stick you with this!" And as he uttered the words he let the point of the sharp hunting knife fall on the back of the Indian's hand.

There was a disappointed grunt from inside the bundle, and the hand was pulled back several inches. Henry had caught the rascal inside in the very act of liberating himself.

Stepping to the storehouse doorway the youth blew upon a whistle he carried. It was the signal that something was wrong, and in a moment Tony Jadwin came running to the spot.

"What's up, Henry?" he cried.

"I've got a prisoner. Collared him bound hand and foot too," and the youth had to smile at his own little joke.

"A prisoner? Where?" quickly asked James Morris, who was behind Jadwin.

"Here, in the bundle, Uncle Jim. I knew all along that those Indians couldn't be trusted."

"In the bundle—what do you mean?"

"There's a redskin in this bundle. I caught him in the very act of trying to get out."

"It must be a plot to capture the post!" ejaculated James Morris. "Jadwin, get back to the stockade at once, and fire on the first redskin who shows himself!"

"Shall I go, too?" asked Henry.

"Yes. I'll take care of this rascal, and then I'll join you," answered the trader.

Waiting to hear no more, the youth ran for the main building of the trading-post and secured his rifle, and also an extra rifle and a pistol. Tony Jadwin was equally armed, and each ran for a corner of the inclosure.

"We'll have some hot work cut out for us, if an attack comes," said the old trapper. "Reckon as how that redskin meant to kill us while we slept, or throw open the gates on the sly."

"You're right, Tony. I wish the rest of the men were back. Wouldn't it be a good idea to fire a signal for them?"

"It ain't likely they are in sound o' a gun, lad."

No more was said, and each took his place at the palisade and gazed through one loophole and another anxiously. All was quiet outside and not a single human being was in sight.

A quarter of an hour passed, and then James Morris joined his nephew, carrying several loaded guns and pistols.

"Well?" he questioned, laconically.

"Haven't seen anybody yet," answered Henry.

"I tied that rascal up good and hard," said the trader.

"What did he have to say for himself?"

"He tried to worm out of it by saying he was drunk yesterday and his friends must have tied him in the bundle for fun while he was sleeping. He professes to be friendly and says he will fight the others for playing such a trick on him."

"Do you believe such a yarn, Uncle Jim?"

"No, and I told him so. If any of those redskins appear don't let them get too close."

James Morris went off, to interview Tony Jadwin. He was gone but a minute when Henry saw something dark moving cautiously along a mass of brushwood down near the brook.

"An Indian, I'll wager a shilling," he murmured to himself, and raised his rifle. "More than likely he is waiting for a signal from the rascal we caught." And in this surmise the youth was correct.

The Indian outside passed behind some trees and was followed by a second red man and presently a third. Henry gave a low whistle, which brought his uncle to the spot once more.

"Saw three of 'em," said he. "They are back of yonder trees. It is too dark to get much of a look at 'em."

"Tony saw two," answered the trader. "Henry, I am afraid we are in for it," he continued, seriously. "Had you not found that rascal in the bundle we might have all been murdered by this time."

"I wish there was some way of letting the others know how we are surrounded."

"There is no way just now. One of us might try to go out toward sunrise—if we can keep them off that long. I presume they are waiting anxiously to hear from the fellow we have captured."

"To be sure. I think—There is another, and he is coming pretty close!" added Henry, excitedly.

"Wait—I'll talk to him. There is no use of our keeping silent any longer," said James Morris. He raised his voice. "Hold, there!" he shouted. "What do the red men want around this post at this hour of the night?"

The Indian addressed was evidently taken by surprise, for he stood stock still for fully a minute before replying.

"Who calls to Rain Cloud?" he asked at last.

"I call, the owner of this place," answered the trader. "This is no hour for coming here, and Rain Cloud knows it."

"Rain Cloud would speak to his white brother," said the Indian, smoothly.

"What about?" and there was a peculiar sharpness in James Morris' voice as he spoke.

Again the red man hesitated before answering.

"Rain Cloud and two of his warriors come for aid. A white hunter is sick in their camp."

"Who is it?"

"Rain Cloud knows not his name. He has eaten of some bad meat and is very sick. He must have medicine or he will die. He begged Rain Cloud to come to you for aid."

"Don't you believe him!" whispered Henry. "It's another yarn, Uncle Jim."

"If Rain Cloud wanted help why did he not come alone?" questioned the trader.

"Rain Cloud is alone," answered the Indian.

"It is a lie—Rain Cloud had many of his warriors with him. We have seen them—hiding behind the trees and rocks. What is more, we have captured one of Rain Cloud's men—he who thought to play the fox in the bundle of skins."

At this there was a murmur of rage from the Indian, a murmur that was taken up by others who had heard the conversation. They now knew why they had not received the signal agreed upon.

"Then my white brother will not give aid—will not open the gates?" questioned Rain Cloud.

"I'll not open the gates to-night," answered James Morris. "And I want Rain Cloud and his warriors to go away. He can come in the morning, but he must come alone, and he can bring the sick man with him if he will. Then, if all goes well, I will release the rascal I caught in the bundle."

"My white brother will not give medicine now—will not let the warrior in bundle go?"

"No."

"But if Rain Cloud attack post, what then? My white brother's warriors are gone—he cannot fight. Better be friends with Rain Cloud and open gates."

"If you start to fight we'll do our best to defend ourselves," answered James Morris. "And, remember, at the first shot fired by you, the red man who was in the bundle dies," he added, determinedly.

CHAPTER VIII

SURROUNDED BY THE INDIANS

For the moment after James Morris made the announcement that he might kill the Indian discovered by Henry in the bundle of skins, there was silence on the part of the Indian chief outside the palisade of the trading-post.

"My white brother is hard-hearted," said Rain Cloud at last. "Why must there be trouble between us?"

"The trouble is not of my making," answered the trader. "Rain Cloud is playing false. The Indian in the bundle was not drunk. Rain Cloud and his warriors must go away. I have had my say."

"Rain Cloud will go away," answered the Indian, and turning he vanished into the wilderness from whence he had come.

"Do you think he will really go away?" questioned Henry.

"I wish I could answer that question truthfully," said his uncle. "Perhaps he will go—for fear we may kill our prisoner."

"Who is the prisoner?"

"Some kind of an under chief, by his outfit. He will not tell his name."

Jadwin was anxious to know the result of the conference, he having been too far away to hear all that was said. The trader hurried to the old hunter and explained the situation.

"Don't trust 'em," said Jadwin. "We've got to do our best to hold the post till morning."

"I'd like to know how many of the enemy there are."

"No telling that, now."

With hearts that beat anxiously the men and Henry remained on guard, moving from one part of the inclosure to another. Once Henry thought he saw two warriors stealing along the frozen brook, but he was not sure.

"If they are going to do anything at all, they'll do it soon," thought the youth. "It's too cold for them to stand around and do nothing," and he slapped his hands to keep them warm.

An hour passed—a long time just then to those in the inclosure. Henry was sleepy and gaped more than once. To keep himself awake he commenced to walk briskly from one loophole to another.

"What's up, Henry?" called out his uncle.

"Trying to keep warm."

"This doesn't look like an attack," went on James Morris. "You can go in for a few minutes and get warm, if you wish."

"All right, Uncle Jim. If you want me, call."

The fire in the main living room of the post had been stirred up and Henry hurried inside, to enjoy the cheerful blaze. In one corner was the Indian who had been discovered in the bundle—Mr. Morris having brought him in to keep him from being frozen to death. He was tightly bound and glared wickedly at the youth as he entered.

"Caught you nicely, didn't I?" said Henry.

"Let poor Indian go," said the red man.

"Not just yet."

Henry turned toward the fire and prepared himself a cup of hot coffee. He had just taken one swallow of the beverage when there came a whistle from outside, followed by a shot.

"The attack must be on," he muttered, and catching up his rifle he darted away to where he had left his uncle. He found James Morris at the gates, with one bar already down.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Quick, Henry, two of the men are outside—the redskins are after 'em," answered the trader.

There was no need to say more, and Henry leaped to pull away the other bar. Only one gate was opened and through this dashed the two hunters who had gone out in the morning after the deer. Then the gate was again closed and barred.

"Jadwin fired the shot," said James Morris. "He saw the redskins coming after these men. Are you hurt?" he questioned of the hunters who had entered.

"Got a nip in the arm, that's all," answered one, Bill Lemington by name, who had drifted to the post from the Mohawk Valley. "We had to scoot for it though, I can tell you," he added, panting.

"We didn't see the red varmints until we were almost on top of them," said the second hunter, a tall, slim individual who rejoiced in the name of "Peaceful" Jones, as he was such a fighter. Peaceful Jones came from the South, and it was said upon good authority that he had once fought seven Indians single-handed, and come out of the battle with only three wounds, none of them serious. He was very meek usually, but when aroused was a regular tiger for rage. On more than one occasion Peaceful Jones had served as a guide to Sir William Johnson, the Indian Superintendant.

"But how happened it that you were on the move at this hour of the night?" questioned James Morris.

"We got wind that something was wrong about sundown, and we have been trying to get in to tell you ever since," answered Bill Lemington. "We made two attempts before, but thought the redskins too many for us. I didn't think it best to risk an open fight, although Peaceful was willing enough."

"There were only nine Injuns that we see," explained Peaceful Jones. "I could have had a beautiful shot at two on 'em. But Bill wanted to come in quiet-like if we could, so we done it. Any trouble here yit?"

"A little," and James Morris related how the Indian had been found in the bundle. Both hunters laughed loudly and congratulated Henry on what he had done. They were so accustomed to fighting that the thought of an attack in the near future did not bother them.

From Jones and Lemington it was learned that the other hunters were several miles away, but that six expected to return to the post by noon of the next day, along with several of the friendly Indians.

"I know this Indian," said Lemington, on entering the living room of the main building. "He is Black Ear, and he used to hang around the trading-post run by Jean Bevoir."

"Then he must be one of Jean Bevoir's old tools!" cried Henry. "I'll hate him worse than ever for that," he continued, thinking of the many things the rascally French trader had done to cause the Morrises trouble, and of how the unfriendly Indians had aided him in this work.

The slight wounds Jones and Lemington had received were attended to, and then the whole party went on guard. Several Indians had shown themselves, and Jadwin said he had wounded one of the number, although how seriously he could not tell.

"The fellow staggered pretty well after I nailed him," said the frontiersman. "But he got behind the trees and I couldn't see if he fell or not."

"He must have been done for if you hit him," remarked Lemington, who knew that Tony Jadwin was not the one to waste a shot, especially on an unfriendly Indian.

Another hour went by, and it began to cloud over a little. Jadwin had just gone to the house for a hot drink and now he set up a sudden shout.

"That prisoner is gone!"

"What's that?" came from James Morris, quickly.

"Your Injun's got away from you, Jim."

"You don't mean it!" ejaculated the trader. "Why, I tied him up good, hands and feet."

"Some on them are reg'lar rattlesnakes fer crawling out o' cords," was Peaceful Jones's comment. "The question is, whar did he go to?"

Several lanterns were lit and a search instituted, but nothing could be found of the missing prisoner. The sudden turn of affairs worried Mr. Morris a great deal.

"Do you think he is hiding around here, Uncle Jim?" asked Henry.

"It is possible—although I have looked everywhere. If he went over the palisade it's queer some of us didn't see him."

"Is anything missing?"

"Yes, my old hunting knife, and that rifle Dave used to use before he got his new one."

"We can be thankful that he didn't throw all the extra arms over the stockade."

"Perhaps he was afraid of being seen. He may have slipped away under our very noses."

"If he went out to join the others we'll be sure to hear from them before the night is over," said Henry.

Black Ear had gone over the palisade less than ten minutes before. It had been a hard task to release himself from his bonds and it had cost him a badly skinned wrist. He had thought of little else but flight, fearing the whites would come after him any instant, and had picked up the old knife and gun only because they chanced to be handy.

Once outside, the Indian lost no time in joining Rain Cloud and the others of the band to which he belonged. They were surprised to see him and listened to his story with keen attention.

"They are now but five or six persons in the post," said Black Ear, in his native tongue. "Perhaps on the morrow there will be a dozen or more. Now is the time to strike."

"My brother is right," answered Rain Cloud. "We should have struck before, but the trader threatened you with death. Now we are free to act, and the sooner 'tis done, the more certain we are of victory."

All told, the Indians under Rain Cloud numbered twenty-two. They were of several tribes, gotten together more for plunder than for the purpose of aiding the conspiracy which will be described in detail later on. Several of them had aided Jean Bevoir in the past, and had heard from the rascally French trader that James Morris was rich and had much of value stored at his trading-post.

The Indians consulted together and it was not long before their plan for attack was complete. The band was to divide into two parts, one under Rain Cloud and the other under Black Ear. Black Ear, with four warriors, was to steal down to a point between the river and the brook and make a demonstration there, as if to get into the grounds at that point. As soon as those in the trading-post rushed forward in that direction, the Indians under Rain Cloud were to make a rush for the palisade close to the gates. As soon as some were over the palisade they were to throw the gates open, thus letting in the others, and then between both parties the whites were to be shot down or tomahawked as speedily as possible.

The plan pleased all of the Indians present, and it took but a few minutes to make up the two parties. Then Black Ear departed, making a wide detour, so that his movements might not be witnessed by those at the post. It was no easy task to get through the woods and down to the river, but the red men thought nothing of this, their whole mind being set on capturing the post.

"There is much of value there," said Black Ear. "I saw it with my own eyes—rum, and tobacco, and furs, and great quantities of provisions." His description was correct excepting for the rum. James Morris kept but very little liquor on hand, and did not advocate its use excepting in cases of necessity.

After the departure of Black Ear, Rain Cloud called the other Indians together and made a fiery war speech to them.

"The whites are tired out with watching and they cannot shoot straight," said he. "We shall win an easy victory. We have but to be bold and before the sun rises the post shall be our own." And then he added: "Spare them not, for if they be allowed to live it will be but to tell tales about us—and that would cause trouble. A dead enemy can tell nothing."

CHAPTER IX

THE ATTACK ON THE TRADING-POST

Following the disappearance of Black Ear, those in the trading-post redoubled their vigilance. Each person was armed to the fullest possible extent, and each kept on the alert for a first view of the red enemy.

"They'll not wait another day," said one of the frontiersmen. "They will be too much afraid of the others coming back to aid us."

Presently came a noise from the direction of the brook and the river, and James Morris ran to that portion of the inclosure. In the uncertain light he saw seven or eight dark objects moving forward. Some were Indians and some were branches over which the red men had thrown blankets. The branches they carried at arm's length, so that in the semi-darkness it looked as if one Indian was moving by the side of another.

"They are coming!" shouted the trader, and taking aim at one of the objects, he fired.

A yell rent the air, followed by a war-whoop from the little band under Black Ear, and they lost no time in seeking the shelter of some brushwood bordering the brook. One had been hit in the shoulder, but the wound was of small consequence.

"Wait up—I don't reckon they're all coming that way!" sang out Tony Jadwin. "They wouldn't be so foolish."

"You're right," answered Henry, who was close at hand, and who understood Indians pretty well since those first fights so many years before.

"Tony, you and Henry can stay at the front of the post," called out James Morris. "I'll see if they mean business, or if it is only a ruse."

There was no time to say more, and a second later Henry and the old hunter found themselves alone, the youth close to the stockade gates, and the old frontiersman at a corner, where two loopholes covered an angle of the palisades.

"I see somebody!" called out the youth, a minute later. "He is sneaking by the big hemlocks."

"Nail him," answered Jadwin, laconically, and a second later his own rifle rang out, and a red man who had shown himself for a moment tottered and fell face downward in the snow. Then Henry fired and a second Indian staggered for a moment and then limped back whence he had come.

The killing of one follower and the wounding of another was not what Rain Cloud had anticipated this early in the attack, and he and the others came to a temporary halt about fifty yards from the stockade gates.

"Wait until Black Ear has drawn them away," he said.

The Indians down by the brook were now raising all the din possible. But the shot from James Morris's rifle made them chary about showing themselves, and although Black Ear urged them forward not one would go.

"Let Rain Cloud open the gates," they said. "We have drawn the white men to this corner, that is enough."

The din went on for fully quarter of an hour, and the Indies hoisted their dummy figures into view several times. But James Morris and the others were too wise to fire.

"Save your ammunition until you are certain it is a redskin," he said.

Presently Henry gave a low whistle, to signify that the Indians were making toward the gates. At once his uncle came running up, leaving two frontiersmen to watch the movements of the warriors under Black Ear.

"Have you seen them, Henry?"

"Yes, just spotted four of 'em," was the low answer.

"I see three," put in Tony Jadwin. "Let us wait till they come out into plain view."

"Right you are," came from the trader. "I rather thought they'd try for the gates."

After this there was utter silence for several minutes. Then, just as the din down by the brook started up again, a dozen Indians came out of the forest with a rush, straight for the gates.

"Now then, give it to 'em!" shouted James Morris.

Three rifles spoke up almost as one piece, and down went three of the red warriors, and two others stumbled over them. For a second the remainder wavered, and the voice of Rain Cloud was heard, urging them forward.

"They are coming again!" cried Henry. He had been reloading his rifle. Now he grabbed up another weapon, cocked and primed for use.

"Give it to 'em!" shouted Tony Jadwin. "Sail right in!" And crack! went one of his guns and another Indian went down. Then Henry and his uncle fired. In the meantime came several shots from the vicinity of the brook. A few of the Indians discharged their guns, but the palisades kept the whites from harm.

Crack went one of his guns and another Indian went down.

Dismayed by the accuracy of the whites' aim, the Indians under Rain Cloud fell back. Those down by the brook waited for a victorious signal from the vicinity of the gates, but as it did not come, they, too, ran back into the forest, and for the time being the attack came to an end.

"They didn't gain much that trip," observed Jadwin, dryly, as he reloaded his guns, and the others did the same. "A few more like it and they'll begin to think they've struck a hornet's nest."

"It's lucky we didn't all go down to the brook," said Henry. "These rascals in front would have been over the gates in no time and had 'em wide open."

"Never trust a redskin to do what you think he's going to do," said Jadwin. "It ain't in his nature to do a thing straight-like. He'll trick you if he possibly can."

Satisfied that the attack was over for the time being, James Morris ran down to where the two frontiersmen were guarding the brook and river side of the post. They reported that the Indians had withdrawn, taking their wounded or dead comrades with them.

"I hit one of 'em in the side," said one of the guards. "I think he got it putty bad, too."

"Keep on the watch," said the trader. "They may come back when we least expect it."

"We're going to keep on the watch, seeing as how we don't want to be sculped," said the second frontiersman.

After that there was little to do but to wait until morning. More hot coffee was made, and Henry ran around serving each man with a big bowl of it. The clouds were drifting away again, leaving the sky as bright as it had been early in the evening.

"I hope those redskins don't try to ambush those who are on the hunt," observed James Morris, as the first streak of dawn began to show in the east.

"If you think you can spare me, I'll go out and do what I can to warn 'em," came from Tony Jadwin.

"Do you think you can make it, Tony? I don't want you to get shot down."

"I can make it, don't worry about that," answered the old frontiersman, confidently.

The matter was talked over, and it was decided that Jadwin should leave at once, before it became too light. He departed by way of a small tunnel which had been dug under the palisade and which came out of the ground in a hollow tree on the edge of the forest. This tunnel was something new, having been dug at James Morris's direction immediately after the traders return to the post during the previous summer.

"The Indians may be in camp near that tree," said the trader. "If so, you'll have your hands full keeping out of their sight."

As it happened some of the red men were close to the hollow tree when Jadwin reached the outer end of the tunnel. But he outwitted them by climbing up inside the tree and then swinging from that tree to the next, from which he dropped behind some brushwood and sneaked away without the Indians suspecting his movements.

The coming of morning was hailed with relief by those inside the trading-post. The vigil of the night had been an exacting one and all were more or less worn out. But sleep was as yet out of the question.

"We must keep awake until we hear from Jadwin," said James Morris. "I trust he returns by the middle of the afternoon."

Asked by his uncle to do so, Henry prepared a hasty breakfast for all hands, of which they partook freely. It was scarcely finished when one of the frontiersmen, stationed near the gates, announced that an Indian was showing himself, bearing a branch and a white flag.

"What do you want?" called out James Morris, as he showed himself at the gates.

"Want to talk to white brother," answered the red man.

"Go ahead and talk, but don't come any closer."

"White brother heap brave man," went on the Indian. "Rain Cloud love a brave man."

"Never mind about my bravery. What do you want?"

"Rain Cloud has forty warriors under him, and forty more will soon arrive. Rain Cloud would save his white brother from being killed and scalped. Let the white trader and his friends go away from the post in peace, taking food with them, and the red men shall not touch them. Our white brothers can go to Fort Pitt."

"So you want me to surrender the post, with all that is in it, eh?"

"Our white brother can take food, and his guns."

"Supposing I don't care to surrender?"

"Rain Cloud would be sorry. How can three men hold out against so many Indians? My white brother had better think deeply ere he refuses to go."

"What makes Rain Cloud think that we have but three men here?"

"Rain Cloud has counted them and he knows."

"There were but a few men here yesterday morning. But we have more now, and Rain Cloud knows full well that they can shoot."

"Then my white brother refuses to surrender?" asked the Indian, angrily.

"I have not said that, Rain Cloud. I must talk it over first with my men. Come back later for my answer."

"Be it so. Rain Cloud will wait, but not for long," replied the Indian, and walked back into the wilderness once more.

"What do you think of his proposition?" asked James Morris, after he had told the others of what the Indian chief had said.

"It would be all well enough if you could trust the Indians," said one of the frontiersmen. "But they ain't to be trusted nohow."

"That's just it," came from Henry. "They'd let us march out and then shoot us down in cold blood. I'd never trust that band to let us march to Fort Pitt in peace."

"I do not believe in surrendering the post—at least, not just yet," said James Morris. "If Jadwin manages to get back with the others, we can drive these rascals away, and perhaps give them a lesson which they will never forget."

"Why not put the Indians off as long as possible, Uncle Jim? Tell Rain Cloud we can't make up our minds what to do."

This was agreed to, and when the Indian chief came for his answer James Morris told him the force at the post was divided on the question.

"You must surrender at once," said Rain Cloud. "If this is not done my warriors will renew the attack. The forty other Indians have arrived."

"We'll not surrender," said the trader and made a sign that the interview was over. As he did this a rifle shot rang out, and he fell back into Henry's arms, limp and unconscious.

CHAPTER X

JEAN BEVOIR APPEARS

"Uncle Jim, are you—you——" began Henry. He could not finish.

Crack! It was the rifle of one of the frontiersmen that rang out, and Rain Cloud, rushing back toward the forest, gave a shudder, whirled around and fell on his back, stone dead.

"My uncle has been wounded in the head," cried Henry. His heart was in his throat. What if his relative was dead? The thought was a horrible one. He saw that the blood was streaming down over the man's face. There was a wound running over the temple toward the left ear.

Laying his uncle down in the snow, Henry knelt beside him. He heard several shots fired but paid no attention. He took up some snow and soaked away the blood with it.

"Oh!" murmured the wounded man, and opened his eyes with a quiver. Then he started up. "The rascals! What a dastardly thing to do!"

"Uncle Jim! Then you are not killed!" ejaculated Henry. "Oh, thank God for that!"

Now that the blood was away he saw that James Morris had suffered nothing more than a scratch, ugly enough, it is true, but not at all serious.

"It was a close shave," said one of the frontiersmen. "A little closer and he would have been killed on the spot."

"I nailed Rain Cloud for it," came from the other guard. "He has gone to his happy hunting ground."

"I don't know if he was to blame, exactly," began Henry, and shuddered.

"Sure he was to blame. No doubt but that the Injuns had it fixed to fire on your uncle if he wouldn't surrender."

A fierce war-whoop now rang out, drowning all other sounds, and for the first time since coming to the post, the Indians let drive a volley of bullets and arrows. Fortunately not one took effect, although one arrow, sailing up in the air, dropped directly over Henry's shoulder, and another hit the fringe of a frontiersman's jacket.

As soon as he could recover from the shock received, James Morris caught up a rifle and joined in the defense, and Henry did the same. The Indians were now coming forward in a body, and the whooping was incessant. After the first volley shots were fired irregularly, and those inside the post returned the fire whenever a favorable opportunity showed itself.

"They are at the gates!" was the cry, in a few minutes, and there followed a crash. The red men had come up with a big log, which they used as a battering ram. Just as the gates were struck, the defenders of the post sent in a volley and two red men fell lifeless beside the log.

"That's the way to serve them!" cried James Morris. The blood fairly covered his face, making him hideous in the extreme, but he paid no attention. A number of rocks were at hand, which those inside the post seized and hurled on the heads of the red men without. This was too much for the Indians, and once more they retreated, leaving the log and their dead behind them.

"Listen! I hear shots from a distance!" exclaimed Henry, during the lull that followed.

He was right, the shots could be plainly heard, and they kept coming nearer. The war-whoops of the Indians sounded out, and then a yell which they knew must come from the throats of white men.

"Jadwin has found the others, and they are having a fight back there with the redskins," cried James Morris. "We must be prepared to let our friends in if they reach here."

The shouts and shots continued, first working around to the side of the post, and then coming again to the front.

"I see one of our men!" cried Henry at last. "Here they come!"

As he spoke, seven white men and an equal number of friendly Indians were coming along through the snow of the wilderness. At a distance were the enemy, headed by Black Ear. All were fighting desperately and a number had been wounded on both sides.

James Morris was at the gates, and at the proper moment he threw one open and some friendly Indians came rushing in, carrying a wounded comrade between them. Then followed the whites, Tony Jadwin being the last. Three of the latter were wounded, but none fatally. As soon as all were inside, the gates were closed and barred as before.

A howl of rage and disappointment filled the air, coming from the wilderness. Black Ear and his warriors had fought well, but the whites and the Indians of White Buffalo's tribe had outmatched them. With their dead and wounded they withdrew to a considerable distance, to hold a council and decide upon what was to be done next.

"Had a hard time of it getting back," Tony Jadwin admitted, when he could get his breath. "The redskins are worked up to the last degree, on account of the killing of Rain Cloud. I believe they will send off for reinforcement."

"If it hadn't been for Tony we should have been surrounded and shot down in cold blood," remarked one of the hunters. "He reached us in the nick of time, just as we were having breakfast. The redskins could have dropped us like pullets in a barnyard."

"I ran every foot of the way," said Jadwin. "Once I went into a hole up to my waist. But I knew it was for me to do what I did, so I done it."

"Friend Tony, big warrior," said one of the Indians. "No forget him. Tony save us all, yes," and he nodded to emphasize his words.

A count was made, and it was found that nine whites and four Indians were in fit condition to go on guard. Two of the others had been wounded in the legs, but they declared that they would sit by and load the guns, if another attack should come. All realized that they must do their utmost, or run the risk of being killed and scalped.

But for the time being the followers of Black Ear had had enough of the struggle. They had not anticipated so desperate a resistance, and a few were in favor of marching away altogether.

"The trading-post is too strong—it cannot be taken," said one. "The white men are better shots than Little Wolf thought. They have eyes like eagles."

While the red men were in conference an Indian who had been acting as a guard came running in with the news that fifteen Indians and three white men were approaching from the north.

"One of the white men is a French trader," said the warrior who brought the news. "He once had a trading-post here."

At this news Black Ear's face brightened.

"It must be Jean Bevoir," he said. "He was to join us long ago, but could not get here."

"Will he aid those at the post?" questioned another.

"Not he. James Morris and Jean Bevoir are as the wolf and the wildcat. They hate each other."

After a few words more, Black Ear went out to meet Jean Bevoir, who was coming through the forest accompanied by two Frenchmen named Planette and Delot. The latter two were wild, harum-scarum fellows, out for any deed of daring which might promise a rich reward.

As my old readers know, Jean Bevoir was a crafty rascal who in the past had given the Morris family endless trouble. Years before he had claimed the spot upon which James Morris's first trading-post was built, and ever since he had argued that the profits of the Morris trading-post belonged to him. During the war he had done much to harm the Morrises, and during the uprising of the past year he had done his best to make Dave a prisoner. But he had been driven off and had received wounds which if not serious were decidedly annoying.

Jean Bevoir was now an outcast, so far as the better class of French trappers and traders were concerned, and the English traders wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Under such circumstances the Frenchman had gathered around him a number of Indians belonging to the Wanderers, the Sacs, and the Ottawas, and the two wild fellow countrymen just mentioned, and with these he proposed to plunder whatever place gave him the chance. He did not know yet if it would pay to attack the Morris post, but had resolved to investigate before pushing further to the southward. He knew he could do nothing at the north, for he had learned privately that all the attacks in the vicinity of the Great Lakes were to be under the directions of Pontiac and he and the great Indian chief were no longer on good terms.

"My white brother is welcome," said Black Ear, on meeting Jean Bevoir. He spoke in his native tongue, for the Frenchman understood the Indian language very well. It was said that the rascally trader had Indian blood in his veins.

"What have you been doing?" asked Bevoir.

Knowing that he could trust the man before him, Black Ear related what had occurred. Jean Bevoir listened with close attention. It pleased him to know that James Morris had been shot.

"I trust that you killed him," he said, cold-bloodedly. "And how many do you think are now at the post?"

This was a question Black Ear either could not or would not answer correctly, and he said he thought about nine or ten, of whom several were wounded.

"You know how to fight these white men," said he, in a flattering tone. "Make an attack, and Black Ear will aid all he can." He knew that he could no longer get his own warriors to lead in the onslaught.

Jean Bevoir was only too willing to attack James Morris's post, but said that he and his followers must first have time to rest and get something to eat. A deer had been shot while on the march, and this was cut up and prepared as the Frenchman and the Indians desired. The party also carried a cask of rum, and each person was given a small horn of this. The liquor set the Indians wild and they uttered whoop after whoop as they danced around the camp, tomahawks in hand, shouting out how they were going to capture the post and slay every man in it.

In the meantime, after the Indians had withdrawn from the vicinity of the trading-post, Henry begged his uncle to allow him to go outside and learn, if possible, what the enemy intended to do next.

"I can go out by way of the tunnel," said the youth. "And if it is dangerous I won't go any further than the hollow tree."

At first James Morris demurred, but as he also was anxious to know what was being done outside, he at length consented.

"But you must be careful, Henry," he said. "Those Indians may be up to some of their tricks."

The youth promised to be on his guard, and with a pistol in hand, and hunting knife in his belt, he slipped into the inner end of the tunnel, and worked his way slowly and cautiously along, under the palisade, and in the direction of the hollow tree.

The tunnel was just large enough for the youth to crawl along on hands and knees. The walls were composed largely of rocks, with here and there a patch of dirt, through which numerous tree roots protruded. Some rabbits had made their home in the tunnel, but they had been scared away by Tony Jadwin.

At last Henry gained the foot of the hollow tree. Here he had to squeeze his way between several thick roots. Close at hand was a small opening and through this he gazed, to learn if any of the enemy were at hand.

Not an Indian was in sight, and with increased caution, he drew himself up into the hollow tree until he reached an opening among the branches. Then he stuck his head out and looked around the forest fronting the trading-post.

"Well, I vow!" he muttered to himself. "Jean Bevoir, as sure as I am in this tree! How in the world did he get here, and what is he going to do?"

CHAPTER XI

THE FLIGHT FROM THE POST

Henry knew full well that the rascally French trader could be in that vicinity for no good purpose. The enmity between Jean Bevoir and the Morrises was of too long standing to admit of any other conclusion.

He could not hear what was being said, but from the appearance of things saw that the Frenchman and his companions were on good terms with the red men who had attacked the trading-post. An animated discussion was going on, in which Jean Bevoir and Black Ear were taking the principal parts.

"I'll wager they are plotting to make another attack," said the youth to himself.

As well as he was able he counted the force now at hand. He had scarcely finished when, to his dismay, he saw another band of red men, nine or ten in number, approaching. They were greeted by Black Ear in a kindly fashion and then introduced to Jean Bevoir. The newcomers were all armed with rifles—weapons which some of the Indians who had participated in the first attack did not possess.

A few of the Indians were now moving directly beneath the hollow tree, and, for fear of being discovered, Henry slid to the bottom and entered the tunnel once more. He had to work his way to the post backward and this took considerable time.

"I am glad you are back," said his uncle. "I was afraid they might see you."

"You'd never guess who is out there with those redskins," returned Henry. "Jean Bevoir and two other Frenchmen, with some more Indians."

"Jean Bevoir!" ejaculated James Morris. "You are certain of this?"

"Yes, Uncle Jim, I saw him as plain as day."

"Will that rascal never get done molesting me?" muttered the trader. "You say he had two other Frenchmen with him?"

"Yes."

"It's a pity that Frencher wasn't killed long ago," said Tony Jadwin. "He don't deserve to live, he don't."

"He will assuredly aid those redskins in another attack upon this place," said James Morris.

Henry told of all that he had seen, and those inside, the trading-post listened with interest. The coming of the Frenchmen and the additional Indians put a new face on the matter, and James Morris shook his head doubtfully.

"It is possible they may be too many for us," he said to Jadwin. "If they once get inside the palisade I do not see how we are to fight so many of them."

"I'm ready to fight to the end," answered the old frontiersman.

An hour went by, and then came a call from one of the trees outside. It was Jean Bevoir himself who was speaking.

"I vant to talk to James Morris," he said, in strong French accents. "Vat I haf to say ees important."

"So it's you, Bevoir," answered James Morris, coming to a loophole but not showing himself. "Haven't you had enough?"

"I not come to talk of ze past," growled the Frenchman. "Maybe you know ze bad fix you be in, oui?"

"Perhaps I'm not in such a bad fix as you imagine."

"Ve haf many Indians here, and I am here vid some of my best hunters. If ve break in ze post, you can do nothing."

"We can fight."

"Bah! Ve are five to one. Bettaire listen to vat I say—if you vant to save your life."

"What have you got to say?"

"You march avay an' ve shall not touch you, not a hair of your head shall be harmed, I pledge my honaire."

"Your honor doesn't amount to a bag of sand," murmured James Morris.

"Jean Bevoir speaks the trut. Vill you go or vill you be butchered by ze Indians?"

"I'll talk it over with the others," said James Morris.

He felt that he owed it to his companions to consult them, since it might be a matter of life or death to them. There was not alone the danger of being shot down, but the still greater horror of being captured alive and tortured by the red men.

A vote was taken and it was learned that only two men were in favor of accepting Jean Bevoir's terms. One had been wounded and the other said he was sick. But the balance voted to fight to a finish.

"I'll not trust Jean Bevoir," said one of the hunters. "He is fully as treacherous as the redskins. He would let those Injuns do as they pleased with us, while he looted the post."

"That is exactly what I think," said Henry. "We had better fight for it, or try to leave the post on the sly."

It was not long after this that the French trader called out once more, demanding to know what they intended to do.

"We intend to fight, Bevoir," answered James Morris, firmly.

At this announcement Jean Bevoir muttered a loud imprecation not fit to place upon these pages, and withdrew. A minute later a fierce war-whooping was heard among the hostile Indians. Immediately the Indians in the post responded.

"Good! that will show 'em that we mean business!" cried Tony Jadwin, and gave a whoop on his own account.

Slowly the evening came on. There was a promise of snow in the air, and soon the thick flakes began to come down lazily, shutting out the landscape on all sides. So far the hostile Indians and Frenchmen had kept their distance, but all in the post felt that another attack might come at any moment.

In the midst of the suspense came a loud thumping on the puncheon logs that covered the entrance leading to the tunnel under the palisade. Two logs were thrown aside and there appeared a frontiersman, ragged and capless, and with a wound on his left hand.

"All-Glory Bidwell!" cried James Morris. "Where did you come from?"

"From the Miami!" gasped the newcomer. "Thank fortune I am here, although I see you, too, are surrounded by the red varmints." He was so exhausted he could scarcely stand. "I've been running steadily for eighteen or twenty miles," he added.

"Did you come from the fort up there?"

"Yes. The Indians surrounded us and we had a fearful fight. I reckon most of the men are dead. The Indians attacked Robertson's place, too, and Ike Barlow is dead. It's a general uprising, I'll warrant."

"Are any of those redskins coming this way?" asked Tony Jadwin.

"Yes, forty or fifty on 'em, and they are tuned to the top pitch for fighting, too. Pontiac has been preaching to 'em all winter. They say they are going to drive all the English out of the West."

"I thought it would come," replied James Morris. He gave a deep sigh as he thought of the time and labor he had spent on establishing the new post.

Another consultation was held, and it was resolved to fight, if the attack should come within a few hours. If it did not come, those in the trading-post were to pack a few of the things and leave in secret, providing such a movement could be accomplished.

"It's out of the question to leave by way of the tunnel, since the Indians now surround the hollow tree," said James Morris. "We had better try it by way of the old ditch."

The ditch he mentioned was one dug to drain water into the brook. During the summer it had been choked with weeds, and the brushwood was thick upon either side. Where it entered the brook there were half a dozen big rocks and an old willow tree.

A guard had been posted near the end of the ditch and so far he had discovered no hostile Indians in that vicinity.

"You may go down there and see if you think the coast is clear," said James Morris to his nephew, and Henry hurried off at once, rifle in hand, and with a pistol and a hunting knife in his belt.

The snow was now coming down more thickly than ever, and at first the youth could see next to nothing. Then of a sudden he made out the forms of two Indians coming forward slowly and cautiously.

Henry did not hesitate about action. In those days it was considered good policy to "shoot first and ask questions afterwards," and Henry acted on that policy. Up came his rifle, and as the firearm rang out one of the red men pitched forward in the snow badly wounded. The other leaped up and discharged his gun toward the post, but the shot did no damage.

Hearing Henry shoot, James Morris rushed to the spot, to find his nephew reloading.

"Brought down one Indian, a second got away," said the youth.

He was about to say more, but a fierce war-whoop rang out, drowning every other sound. On all sides of the trading-post the Indians sprang up as if by magic. It was plainly to be seen that there had been heavy reinforcements, and that the post was doomed.

"We must fly," said James Morris, sadly. "There is nothing else to do."

Even Tony Jadwin saw the force of this argument, and in a few minutes all in the post were making their way through the frozen ditch to the brushwood lining the brook. As they moved along the gates of the post went down with a mighty crash, and a score of red men entered the inclosure, and behind them came Jean Bevoir and the other Frenchmen.

"Spare zem not, zey deserve death!" came in the voice of the rascally trader. "Fight zem to a feenish!" And he discharged a pistol at the nearest man.

James Morris pointed his own weapon at Jean Bevoir. But as the hammer fell a red man leaped between unintentionally and received the bullet in the side. Then the trader had to flee and went along the ditch by his nephew's side. Shots were being fired in all directions, and several whites and Indians fell, either killed or wounded. One English trapper was scalped almost in front of Henry's eyes, who could do nothing to stop the deed, as his firearms were empty. A red man leaped upon James Morris, but Tony Jadwin sent him back by a blow from a gunstock.

"Give it to 'em!" roared Jadwin, dancing around. "Give it to the varmints!" And he rushed at another enemy and laid him low. But then he received an arrow in his shoulder, and was glad to follow his friends in their flight. Yells and groans resounded on all sides, and the hostile Indians continued to whoop as they ran from one building of the post to another, looking for any person who might have hidden himself. One sick trapper was found and he was tomahawked on the spot.

The majority of the enemy had concentrated at the front of the post and at one of the near corners, which was to the advantage of those trying to escape along the brook. By the time this flight was discovered, the Morrises and the others had reached the shelter of some trees. Then came a rush of the enemy, and shots flew thick and fast. But those from the post held the others in check and at last reached the forest.

"This way," said Jadwin. "I know a trail they'll have some difficulty in following," and he led the way under a cliff of rocks overhanging the Ohio River. Then he made a sharp turn to the eastward, and came out in another patch of timber where the underbrush was very heavy. Through the latter was a trail just wide enough for the passage of a single person. It was winding, so that to follow it was difficult, especially with so much snow falling.

From the post came loud shouts of triumph. The Indians and Jean Bevoir were now in sole possession, and those who had been forced to leave had brought next to nothing with them.

"We shall have to do what we can to reach Fort Pitt," said James Morris. "It is our one chance for safety."

He spoke the truth. Yet Fort Pitt was many miles away, and there was no telling how many dangers lay in the trail before them.

CHAPTER XII

WHITE BUFFALO'S PERIL

During the previous two years there had been many atrocities committed by the Indians, but the present year of 1763 was to witness horrors which had, as yet, seen few parallels in history.

The anger of the red men from the Great Lakes to Chesapeake Bay was at a white heat. They had been promised much by the French and the English during the intercolonial war, yet they had received little. The French could give them nothing, having lost practically all, and the English, generally speaking, counted the red men as being in the way. Besides this, many of the traders had treated the natives shamefully, securing their furs for next to nothing, giving them rum, and when they were intoxicated robbing them, and having no respect whatever for the families of the Indians.

But with all this it is doubtful if the Indians would have listened to Pontiac and entered this distinguished chief's conspiracy had it not been for the report which was circulated among them by French traders of Jean Bevoir's stamp. These rascals, with nothing to lose and everything to gain, told the red men that the king of the French "had been sleeping," as they expressed it, and that now he was awake, and was sending over an enormous army with which to wipe the English settlers off the face of the earth.

"Let the Indians arise in their might and fight the English," said these traders. "Crush them, and the king of France will bless you and reward you handsomely." Some few red men would not believe this, remembering how the French had treated them before, but others did believe, and these were willing to listen to Pontiac, and enter into a scheme which had for its sole object the uprooting of every English settlement and fort in the West and along the Great Lakes.

The original scheme was to fall upon all the sorts and the larger settlements simultaneously, but this fell through because of the lack of communications—there being as yet few roads and trails—and also because of the lack of Indians, many having perished during the war just closed. More than this, there were a number of hot-headed bands,—like that now under Black Ear,—who could not wait until Pontiac gave the signal to strike, but rushed off to slay and plunder at the first opportunity.

In the days that followed Ira Sanderson's arrival at the Morris homestead, the hunter who had brought Dave the letter from his father recovered rapidly. He told about many of the things already described, but, of course, knew nothing of the arrival at the post of Black Ear and his followers and Jean Bevoir.

"Something is goin' to happen out thar, sure ez shootin'," said Sanderson. "The Injuns is powerfully restless."

"I wish I was out there," answered Dave. It pleased him best to be at his father's side.

The news worried all at the Morris homestead, and as day after day slipped by, they looked anxiously for another message, but none came.

"I'm going over to Fort Cumberland," said Dave, ten days later. "Perhaps the commandant there has news of Fort Pitt, if not of our trading-post."

"Shall I go along?" inquired Rodney, "It's good enough weather for me to walk," which was true, as the snow had cleared away to a considerable degree and the trail was well packed down.

Fort Cumberland was only a few miles away, and by noon of the next day Dave and Rodney presented themselves there. The officer in charge knew them well, and invited them to his private quarters.

"I received word from Fort Pitt day before yesterday," said the commandant. "Nothing unusual has happened, but several tribes of Indians are reported as hanging around and acting suspiciously. Nothing was said about Mr. Morris's trading-post."

"Do you look for another uprising soon?" asked Rodney.

At this the commandant of the fort shrugged his shoulders. "I can't say as to that. We are keeping a strict guard—I can do no more."

After the visit to the fort, several weeks passed slowly enough at the Morris homestead. All sorts of rumors were rife, one being that a small settlement to the north had been wiped out, and that a farmer living a few miles to the southward had been butchered with his wife and three children. James Morris and the boys heard this news, but did not tell Mrs. Morris or little Lucy for fear of adding to their terror.

During this time Sam Barringford went off on business, and Ira Sanderson and White Buffalo also took their departure.

"Where are you going, White Buffalo?" asked Dave, of the aged Indian chief.

"White Buffalo will go to meet a messenger from the trading-post. He looks each day for one of his braves."

"Did you tell him to come?"

"Yes. He should have arrived three days ago," and the chiefs face clouded.

"Perhaps something happened to him."

"White Buffalo trusts not."

Not far from the Morris homestead was a log cabin recently erected by a young settler named Moses Digly, who had a wife and a sister-in-law named Grace Chowith. Digly came from the west of England, having tired of trying to make a living there by farming. He had cleared quite a garden patch, and expected to do considerate planting early in the spring. His wife and sister-in-law were much interested in fowls, of which they kept a large number in several sheds.

One night somebody came to the place and stole several chickens. This angered Moses Digly and he set a watch for the thief, on the very evening of the day that Withe Buffalo left the Morris homestead.

The sun was just setting when some Indians stole out of the woods and surrounded the little cabin. Moses Digly was drawing a pail of water from the well when an arrow whizzed through the air and pierced his back, entering his left lung.

"I am shot!" he cried, and fell over the well curb. Seeing this, his wife ran out to aid him, when an Indian came up behind her and sunk his tomahawk deeply into her head. She fell beside her husband, and both expired almost at the same time.

The sister-in-law of the settler, Grace Chowith, was at that time in one of the sheds with the fowls. As the Indians ran toward the cabin, she turned and hurried into the woods as fast as her trembling limbs would permit. She ran for a long distance and at last stumbled into a hollow where an aged Indian sat smoking his pipe.

"Do not kill me! Do not kill me!" she shrieked and threw herself at the feet of the red man. Then she began to rave, and from that moment on she was, for nearly a year, practically insane.

The aged Indian in the hollow happened to be White Buffalo. He had seen Grace Chowith several times, and he at once surmised that something was wrong.

"What has happened to my white sister?" he questioned.

"They are dead! You have killed them!" shrieked the poor bewildered woman. And these words she repeated over and over again.

White Buffalo knew of nothing to do but to conduct the crazed woman to the Morris homestead and this he started to accomplish. But the moment he asked the woman to go with him she shrieked louder than ever, and finally dropped into a death-like swoon at his feet. Then he raised her up in his arms and placed her over his shoulder.

White Buffalo could no longer carry a load as in years gone by, and it took him some time to cover even half the distance to the Morris dwelling. In the meantime, a trapper, passing near the Digly cabin, saw something of how the Indians had taken possession and were starting to burn it to the ground, and gave the alarm. A crowd of twelve hunters and soldiers went out to capture the Indians, if possible, but when they arrived at the spot they found the cabin ablaze from top to bottom and the miscreants gone.

"Come on after 'em!" was the cry of one of the hunters, and all lost no time in hunting for the Indians. Various trails were tried, without success, and then the party came suddenly upon White Buffalo, with Grace Chowith still in his arms, in a faint.

The party came suddenly upon White Buffalo, with Grace Chowith in his arms.

"Hullo, here is one!" was the cry of a soldier, and he was on the point of firing upon White Buffalo when another of the party stopped him.

"That redskin is a friendly one—he's a friend to the Morrises," was the explanation. "I've seen him there plenty of times."

White Buffalo was quickly surrounded and was asked to tell how it came that he had the young woman as his captive.

"My white sister is no captive," said he, calmly. "White Buffalo sat in woods, smoking his pipe, when she came running up, shrieking as if filled with the great Evil Spirit. White Buffalo sorry for her, and as she is like dead he will take her to the Morris home. That is all."

"Did you have a hand in burning down the Digly cabin?" asked another, sharply.

"White Buffalo is at peace with his white brothers—he burns no cabins and hurts no person."

At that moment Grace Chowith recovered from her swoon, and struggled to her feet.

"Let me go!" she screamed. "Let me go. Do not slay me as you did my sister! Let me go!"

"Did this Injun slay your sister?" asked another of the crowd.

"Yes! yes! And her husband too!" was the answer of the poor woman, who did not realize what she was saying. "Moses was shot, and Nellie tomahawked—close to the well. Oh, save me! Do not let him tomahawk me!" And she fled to the arms of one of the soldiers.

Black looks were cast at White Buffalo, and more than one rifle was pointed at his head. He did not quail, but faced the crowd calmly.

"You hear what she says," said one old settler. "She says you killed her sister and her brother-in-law."

"It is false. White Buffalo knows nothing of such a crime."

"But she says you did do it," came from another. "She ought to know."

"He did! he did!" shrieked Grace Chowith. "Oh, do not let him touch me!" And then she swooned once more.

"She must tell the truth," put in one of the soldiers who had thus far said but little. "She saw the thing with her own eyes. Digly and his wife were killed close to the well, just as she says. Why should she accuse this redskin if he didn't have a hand in it?"

This appeared to be sound reasoning, and again black looks were turned upon the aged chief. But he stood his ground as calmly as before.

"White Buffalo has spoken the truth—the woman lies," he said.

There was a moment of suspense, during which several heard a sound at a distance. Some persons were approaching on horseback. They soon came into view, and proved to be a settler named Thompson and Dave.

"Why, White Buffalo, what does this mean?" demanded Dave, bringing his steed to a halt.

"He's a bad Injun, that's what it means," spoke up a frontiersman in the crowd. "He murdered, or helped to murder, Moses Digly and his wife."

"Oh, White Buffalo, this is not true!" gasped Dave.

"It is not true, Dave."

"Tell me about it," went on the youth, and in a few words received the story.

"I speak the truth. Does not Dave believe me?" asked the aged chief, and now for the first time he showed some emotion.

"I do believe you, White Buffalo," answered the youth, promptly. "There is some awful mistake here, and we must clear it up."

"Ain't no mistake," came in the rough voice of one of the party, a man who had lost his son in an uprising a year before. "Thet Injun's responsible an' I fer one vote to shoot him!"

"Yes! yes! shoot him!" was the cry, and again several weapons were aimed at the aged chief's head.

CHAPTER XIII

SUGAR MAKING, AND HUNTING

It was a moment of extreme peril for White Buffalo. The settlers and soldiers surrounding him were worked up to a high pitch of anger and excitement, and it looked as if he would be shot down without further parley.

But at that moment Dave sprang to the front and stationed himself before the aged Indian.

"Don't shoot!" he cried. "Don't do it, I beg of you. I am certain this Indian is innocent. I have known him for years and there is not a better red man in all Virginia than he."

Dave spoke so positively that the guns were lowered and there followed an awkward pause.

"I, too, know this man," said the settler named Thompson. "I certainly thought him a friend to the English."

"This young woman accuses him of the murder," asserted a soldier, doggedly.

"Don't let him go, because of what young Morris says," came from another. "He don't know Injuns as well as some of us older heads do."

"Perhaps not, but I know White Buffalo," answered Dave, bravely. "More than once he has aided my father and my uncle, and our folks. I'd trust him as quickly as I'd trust a brother."

"Dave is my friend," said the aged chief, gratefully. "White Buffalo will ever remember him for his kind words."

"I go in fer shootin' him!" cried one of the frontiersmen, a fellow known around Fort Cumberland for his loose habits. "The only Injun worth havin' around is a dead one. Shoot him!"

A spirited discussion took place, and it was soon evident that fully half of those present were in favor of taking White Buffalo's life. The Indian listened calmly to what was said. He showed not a trace of fear.

"I'll not stand for this," whispered Dave to the aged chief. "You must get away, somehow, White Buffalo. See, here is my horse. Take him and ride for your life."

"White Buffalo is not afraid to die."

"I know that. But I want you to live. Here, take the horse and go. I know you can make——"

Dave did not finish, for just then a wild yelling came from a distance, followed by several shots. The soldiers and settlers turned their faces in that direction, to learn what the new alarm could mean. It was the opportunity that White Buffalo needed and he realized it as fully as did Dave.

"Quick, the horse!" whispered the youth, and turned the steed around. In a twinkling White Buffalo was up in the saddle. The animal gave a bound, and like a flash disappeared around a bend of the forest trail.

"The Injun is escaping!" roared one of the settlers, and fired his rifle at the retreating red man. But his aim was poor and the bullet merely clipped through the branches of the trees.

One or two wished to follow White Buffalo, but it was realized that to do so on foot would be useless.

"You're out your horse," said one settler to Dave, and winked his eye suggestively. He had been in favor of giving White Buffalo a chance for his life.

"I don't care," answered Dave, calmly. "I'm sure he was not guilty and I am glad he got away."

"You wouldn't say that if some of your own folks had been massacred," grumbled the man who had lost his son.

There was no time to say more, for the yelling at a distance was increasing. The party moved off in that direction, taking Grace Chowith with them. Later on the poor young woman was removed to the home of some relatives in Philadelphia, and placed under the care of a medical expert, when her reason gradually returned to her.

It was learned that the yelling was due to a party of Indians who were somewhat intoxicated, having stolen a keg of rum from a trading-post half a mile away. The Indians attempted to fight the settlers and soldiers when they appeared, and as a result six were shot down, two dying at once and one on the day following.

This was the end of the excitement for the time being. The report that there was a general uprising was premature, and in a few days the vicinity of Will's Creek became as quiet as before. The Indians lost no time in disappearing, so that not a single red man could be found in that locally.

"They know enough to keep their distance," said Rodney. "If they show themselves now they'll be shot down like so many dogs."

"Oh, if only this conflict would come to an end!" sighed Mrs. Morris. "Shall we never have peace and quiet again? It is simply dreadful to live in this unsettled fashion all the time." And she hugged Nell to her breast as she thought of what might happen to her little daughter in case the homestead was attacked.

Dave had told his uncle of what he had done for White Buffalo and Joseph Morris warmly approved of his action.

"It would have been an outrage to shoot White Buffalo," declared Joseph Morris. "He is one of the best Indians that ever lived. He is welcome to the horse as far as I am concerned."

"He'll return that horse some day," answered Dave, confidently.

Day after day went by and the Morrises looked anxiously for more news from the trading-post. But not a word came in, and at last Dave felt greatly worried.

"I must get out there as soon as spring comes," said he, to his uncle. "I want to know what father and Henry are doing."

"I am equally anxious," answered Joseph Morris. "But we can do nothing until the weather gets settled."

The snow was fast disappearing and soon it was gone altogether. Now was the time for sugar making, and the Morrises and two of their neighbors prepared to go out into the forest where there were some maple trees and start a camp.

Sugar and syrup making always interested Nell, and she begged to be allowed to go out to the camp.

"All right, I'll take you," said Rodney, who was going. "But you must promise to behave yourself."

"As if I didn't always do that," answered the young miss, with a pretty pout.

"And you mustn't eat all the sugar, either," said Dave, with a smile.

"No, for I want to bring some home for the twins," returned Nell. "Oh, but they just love maple sugar—and so do I," she added.

The party was soon on its way, and by the middle of the afternoon the camp was established. Then the trees were tapped and the little funnels inserted, and the kettles placed beneath. The sap ran quite freely and Rodney calculated that they would get all the sugar and syrup they expected to, and perhaps a little more.

In those days syrup and sugar making was carried on in a primitive way. There was no costly apparatus—the outfit consisting principally of a pair of big copper kettles and several pans and ladles. Rodney was a good hand at making sugar and he attended to that part of it for the Morris family, while Dave attended to tapping the trees and bringing in the sap, and also to the needed firewood for boiling.

A rough shelter had been erected in the sugar camp and all slept in this at night, the women and children on one side and the men on the other. Because of the Indian attacks one man remained on guard each night, everybody taking his turn at this duty.

For several days the sugar making went along without interruption. All in the camp were happy, and little Nell enjoyed herself to the utmost. There was another little girl in the camp with her, and the two were company for each other.

On Saturday of the week Dave and Rodney agreed to give up sugar making for the day and do a little hunting. They had seen some game at a distance and both were anxious to bring down whatever came in sight. Nell was left in charge of some friends, and off they started directly after an early breakfast.

Their course was along the bank of a small stream which, deep in the woods, formed a fair-sized pond. The spot was a beautiful one, the large trees shading a good portion of the pond. Around the water hovered many birds, and with a shotgun Rodney succeeded in bringing down several of them. He also brought down a pair of squirrels, while Dave laid low a wild turkey of fine size.

"That spoils our chance of a deer around here," said Rodney. "But that first shot was too good to be missed."

"We can't look for a deer every time we go out," answered Dave. "Why even old hunters know better than that. Sam Barringford has gone out all day, so he tells me, without a sign of anything larger than a turkey or a rabbit. Game is not as plentiful as it was years ago. Some day I suppose there won't be anything left to shoot."

A little while after that they came on the track of a deer, and concluding that it was fresh, they resolved to follow it for a mile or two. The tracks led directly through a patch of tall timber and then to a rocky elevation overlooking a part of the settlement at Fort Cumberland.

"There's the deer!" whispered Rodney, suddenly, and pointed to the top of the rocks.

"What a fine shot!" returned Dave. "Rodney, you can bring him down with ease."

"You had better take him, Dave. You found the tracks."

"Never mind, you try for him," answered Dave, for he knew his cousin was anxious enough to have the shot.

Thus urged, Rodney looked to his rifle, to see that it was ready for use. Then he knelt down on the ground and rested the barrel of the weapon on a rock. Taking careful aim he pulled the trigger.

"Good, you have him!" shouted Dave, as the deer leaped high in the air and then dropped in its tracks. The bullet had done its work well, and the game was dead before they reached it.

They were soon on the point of rocks and inspecting the prize. It was a fine young buck and Rodney felt correspondingly elated.

"I declare, you'll soon be as good a hunter as Henry!" cried Dave, enthusiastically. "That shot was a prime one."

"I had everything in my favor," answered his cousin, modestly. "He seemed to be making a regular target of himself when I aimed at him."

"That may be true, Rodney, and yet some hunters would have had buck fever at the last minute and missed him. I've seen lots of 'em get the fever, and they couldn't hold a gun steady to save their lives."

"We are going to have some fun getting this game down into the camp, Dave."

"We can sling the carcass on a pole and you can take one end and I'll take the other. There's a sapling I can cut down for the purpose."

While Dave was cutting the pole Rodney took another look at the young buck and then at the surrounding country. Far off to the west of Fort Cumberland he saw a cloud of smoke arising.

"Daddy Farker must be burning some brush," he thought.

The man he mentioned was an old settler well known in that section of Virginia. He lived alone with his grandson and was rather a queer character. He played the violin, and was always asked to furnish the music for any "shin-dig" in the neighborhood. It was said by some that he had frequently played for old Lord Fairfax at Greenway Court, but this is a matter of doubt.

"Dave, look here!" cried Rodney, presently. "What do you make of that?"

Dave came upon the rocks and gave a sharp look in the direction pointed out.

"Why, that is Daddy Farker's cabin that is burning!" he cried. "And see, there are some Indians running across the clearing! It must be another uprising!"

CHAPTER XIV

THE BEGINNING OF THE UPRISING

Dave's surmise was correct, it was indeed Daddy Farker's cabin that was in flames, and the old settler himself lay on the cabin floor, tomahawked and scalped. But he had sold his life dearly, for close at hand lay the bodies of two Indians. The grandson, a boy of nine, had fled to the woods, and now the red men were doing their best to find him.

"You are certain it is the cabin?" queried Rodney.

"Why, yes, I can see the chimney in the very midst of the flames. Rodney, this is some more wicked work of the redskins and nothing else."

"What ought we to do?"

"We'll have to get back home as fast as we can. If those redskins find that we are at the sugar camp they'll do what they can to surround us."

"Then come on, and never mind the deer. It's a shame to leave such game behind, but——"

"Let us throw it up in a tree," suggested Dave, and they did so. But it was the last they ever saw of the game, for coming back for it proved out of the question.

They started back for the sugar camp with all speed. Rodney was willing to have Dave go ahead, but the latter declared he would not leave his cousin alone. He let the former cripple set the pace and, of course, kept by his side with ease.

Their sudden appearance at the camp caused surprise and there was consternation when they told what they had seen.

"Yes, we must get back at once—delay is dangerous," said one of the men in the camp. "Come, let us pack up right now." And he set to work and the others joined. By three o'clock in the afternoon the return to Will's Creek was begun, a settler named Buswick going ahead as a vidette, to see that the way was clear.

The whole party was less than a mile from the first cabin at Will's Creek when they heard shots and shouts at a distance, and Buswick came running back with news that half a dozen Indians were in sight.

"They've got their war-paint on," he said. "They mean business this time."

"Are they coming this way?" asked Dave.

"I can't say as to that—at least, not yet. I thought I had best report to onct," answered the settler.

Along the side of the trail was a deep gully, and finding the Indians were coming closer, the whites crawled down into this hollow and hid among the bushes. The men might have offered battle, but did not wish to do so because of the women and children.

It was not long after this that the Indians came along the path and passed close to where the party was in hiding. They were nine in number and all hideous in their war-paint. Little Nell kept tight hold of her brother's arm. She was resting directly between Rodney and Dave, and both silently vowed that they would save her from harm or perish in the attempt.

But the Indians were in too much of a hurry to look into the gully, and in less than three minutes the danger of discovery was over.

"They are gone!" murmured Rodney, and gave a sigh of relief.

"Are the bad Indians gone?" questioned Nell, in a trembling voice.

"Yes," said Dave.

"How awful they looked, all smeared with yellow and red," went on the little miss. "None of them were as good-looking as White Buffalo."

The Indians soon passed out of sight and hearing, and then the journey to Will's Creek was resumed. They were just in sight of the Morris homestead when they saw a man riding toward them on horseback. It was Sam Barringford, and his condition and also that of his steed proclaimed that he had ridden hard and for a long distance.

"Sam!" cried Rodney.

"Rodney! And Dave an' Nell!" burst out the old frontiersman. "Is the cabin safe yet?"

"I think it is," answered Dave.

"Thank Heaven for it! Do ye know what's took place? The redskins are risin' all over the land."

"Is it a general uprising?" queried one of the settlers.

"It is, an' they say the Injuns are burnin' cabins an' killin' all the settlers everywhere. I just came from McReary's place. It's burnt down, an' McReary is dead, an' so is his old mother. Higginby's place is gone, too, and so is Spodd's. But Spodd got away and said he was going to Winchester."

"Daddy Farker's place is burnt down," said Rodney.

"It's a black day for this section of the country," went on Sam Barringford. "The Injuns are fairly wild and I was told some of 'em are acting like mad-men. They hung up one man over to Bedford by the heels and cut him all to pieces." And this statement, revolting as it was, was strictly true.

When the Morrises and Barringford reached the homestead they found Joseph Morris and his wife much agitated over the condition of affairs. The good woman of the home was glad to see her daughter come back in safety, and hugged the girl many times. The twins crowed loudly at the old frontiersman's appearance.

"If matters grow worse we'll have to go to Fort Cumberland," said Joseph Morris, as he limped to the doorway to look out. "I'd hate to leave the place, but we can't stay here to be butchered."

"Let us leave while there is yet time, Joseph," said his wife. "Remember, if we are surrounded, all escape will be cut off."

"I will have Sam go out and see how the land lies first," answered Joseph Morris. "Things may not be so bad after all. In such excitement as this, affairs are greatly exaggerated."

Sam Barringford went out half an hour later, when he had somewhat recovered from his hard ride. Dave went with him, leaving the others to prepare for flight at a moment's notice.

We, who live in the security of these days, cannot realize the hardships and horrors of the years gone by. The settlers, and especially the women and children, dwelt almost constantly in the fear of the red mans war-whoop, with its burning and plundering, its tomahawking and scalping. Every man dwelt with a gun behind his door, and when he went to the field to plow, or to hoe corn, he took the weapon with him. Nearly every cabin had its hiding-place, where the women and children might huddle in case there was not time to flee. Some people made free to confess that they did not get a whole night's sound sleep sometimes for a month, and when they arose in the morning it was with the thought whether or not the day would bring more trouble from their red neighbors. So treacherous had some of the Indians been in the past, that many would no longer trust them, no matter what professions of friendship they made.

The Morrises had suffered so much in former years that Mrs. Morris was almost inclined to urge her husband to give up the land claim at Will's Creek and move further to the eastward. But the claim was a fine one, and Joseph Morris hated to part with it, just as his brother hated to part with the trading-post lands on the Ohio.

"This place will be valuable one day, Lucy," Joseph Morris was wont to say. "We may not see it, but Henry and Rodney and the others will, and for their sakes we ought to try to hold it." And then Mrs. Morris would say no more, but utter a sigh that came from the depths of her heart.

As night came on, Rodney stationed himself on the roof of the cabin, to watch the surroundings as much as possible. Barringford and Dave passed along the brook and then crossed to the forest trail leading to the old Braddock Road, built at the time of General Braddock's advance upon Fort Duquesne.

Both the old frontiersman and the youth who had served in the army knew the value of silence at such a time, consequently scarcely a word was spoken by either as they pushed forward, making a grand semi-circle to the westward of the Morris homestead. All had now become oppressively silent—the calm before the storm of the uprising should burst in all of its fury.

"If the Injuns are in this vicinity they are keepin' amazingly quiet about it," remarked Sam Barringford, at last. "Not a trace on 'em anywhar, eh, Davy?"

"I haven't discovered anything yet, Sam. But they may be near for all that."

"Right ye are, lad. Which way do ye allow we'd better go next?"

"Let's walk the old red deer trail. Then, if we don't see anything of 'em, we may as well go home again."

"Jest what I was on the p'int o' suggestin'. Come on," and off the old frontiersman stalked, with Dave just behind him. As agreed beforehand, one looked ahead and to the right, while the other looked to the left and to the rear. Thus they kept all points of the compass covered constantly.

They were almost at the end of the red deer trail when Barringford came to a sudden halt. At the same instant Dave caught the sound of distant footsteps approaching rapidly.

"Whoever he is, he is coming this way, and he is in a hurry," whispered the youth.

"By the way he runs I calkerlate he's an Injun," came from the old frontiersman, and he looked at the priming of his flintlock, something which at once caused Dave to inspect his own weapon. "Git behind yonder bushes an' we'll see who he is, an' whar he's bound."

They had just disappeared behind the bushes Barringford had pointed out, when the red man appeared. He caught a brief glimpse of them, but it was enough, and with the quickness of lightning he leaped into the forest and disappeared.

"Spotted us!" muttered the old frontiersman, much crestfallen.

"Do you suppose he is alone?" asked Dave.

"Reckon as how he is, lad. But he may be nothin' but a spy, with a hundred o' the red varmints behind him."

"Shall we try to get behind him and cut him off from going back?"

Before Barringford could answer there arose on the air the loud and clear note of the night-bird, thrice repeated.

"Listen!" ejaculated Dave. "I think I know that note!"

They listened and presently the sound was repeated. Then Dave put his little fingers in his mouth and gave a loud and peculiar whistle in return. This was answered, and the youth whistled a second time.

"It's White Buffalo!" he said.

"Hullo, White Buffalo!" called out Barringford. "If it's you, come out!"

A moment later the Indian chief emerged from the thicket into which he had plunged so unceremoniously. As he came closer they saw that he was almost exhausted and that one of his moccasins was missing.

"White Buffalo, what brings you?" questioned Dave, anxiously.

"My good friend Dave!" gasped the aged warrior. "White Buffalo is glad to see that he still lives." He staggered and clutched the youth's arm. "Hearken unto the words of White Buffalo. I have run many miles—I can run no further. Go back to your home and tell all there that they must flee, or they will be massacred. The red men are rising everywhere, from the Great Lakes to the Fathers of Waters (meaning the Mississippi). Many settlements have already been given over to the flames, and many more will follow. Pontiac has sent forth the word, and none of my fellow warriors will listen to those who are friendly to the English. Already some of my own followers have deserted me, even as they deserted me during the war with the French. It is a black night for the English, and blacker nights are to follow. Flee to the eastward—to some fort—ere it is too late. I—I—White Buffalo is a-wearied—he—must—must—sleep."

And thus speaking the aged Indian chief staggered and would have fallen to the ground had not Dave's youthful arms supported him.

CHAPTER XV

AT FORT CUMBERLAND

"Did you hear what he said?" asked Dave of Sam Barringford.

"I did, lad, and ye can reckon as how he tells the truth," returned the old frontiersman. "The best thing we can do is to follow his advice an' git back to the cabin without delay."

"We can't leave him here, Sam. It wouldn't be fair."

"It's better to leave him here than to take him to the settlement, Dave. Remember, some think he is guilty of that Digly murder."

"Supposing we put him in the bushes, out of sight of the trail," suggested the youth. "We can make him as comfortable as possible. He doesn't seem to be hurt, only exhausted."

This was agreed upon, and they carried the aged Indian chief to a secluded spot where he might rest in security. As they placed him on a bed of moss and leaves, he opened his eyes.

"White Buffalo cannot go on," he said. "Must rest first."

"We were going to place you here," said Dave, "and then go on. You know why we can't take you to the settlement."

"White Buffalo wants not to go to the settlement," was the slow answer. "He will stay here. Go back—ere it is too late."

"Let me bring you some water," said Dave, and ran down to a brook near by. White Buffalo drank eagerly and then fell back on the leaves. He urged them to go on.

"You can do nothing for me," he said. "Go—it is the one wish of my heart that my brothers Sam and Dave shall escape this awful massacre."

A few words more followed, and then the pair hurried away. They looked back and saw that White Buffalo had again sunken into a profound slumber.

"He was dead tuckered out," was Barringford's comment. "I doubt if he could have reached the cabin."

"He would have forced himself to do it, even if he had fallen dead on the doorstep," answered Dave. "I can tell you, Sam, White Buffalo is a friend, if ever we had one."

"I believe it, lad. But hurry along. We have no time to spare. We must not only get ready to leave but spread the news as well."

Fifteen minutes of rapid walking brought them back to the homestead. One look at their faces told Joseph Morris that something was wrong. In as few words as possible, they told their story.

"Oh, Joseph, if this be true, let us leave at once!" cried Mrs. Morris. "Do not remain! Remember Nell and the twins!"

The appeal came straight from the woman's heart, and her husband could no longer resist. He gave orders to pack such belongings as could be carried on the backs of the two horses, and told Rodney to turn loose the cattle and start them on the trail to Fort Cumberland. This done, he hobbled around himself, to help put up the few bundles that could be carried. There were a few dishes, with one or two highly prized pieces of silver, some clothing and rugs, several feather pillows, the spinning wheel, some pots, kettles, and pans, and a few other things. Dave also made a package of the books, for he thought as much of those precious volumes as he did of anything in the cabin. Then he satisfied Nell and the twins by packing the dolls and the few toys they possessed.

In less than an hour they were ready to depart. As Mrs. Morris looked back at the cabin the tears ran down her cheeks, and seeing this, little Nell also began to cry. A few things which they prized, but could not take along, were hidden in various places outside the cabin, and then the door and the windows were closed and locked.

"I trust it proves a false alarm," said Joseph Morris. "But we cannot afford to count upon it."

No one else felt like speaking just then, and with a last look at the cabin, where so many happy days had been spent, they turned down along the brook and then took to the trail leading to Fort Cumberland. Rodney was in advance, driving the cattle before him, and Sam Barringford brought up the rear, keeping a careful watch that they might not be surprised from that direction.

Night was now upon them and soon the twins fell asleep. As lame as he was, Joseph Morris carried one while Dave carried the other. Nell was also sleepy, but insisted upon walking by her mother's side for a distance of two miles. Then she could go no further, and was glad enough to perch herself on Barringford's shoulder for the rest of the distance.

"I hear somebody approaching!" cried Dave, when they were still a mile from the fort.

They came to a halt and the horses were driven behind some brushwood that bordered the trail. Then they heard a shout in English, and there followed the appearance of three cows, driven by a tall, gawky youth of sixteen or seventeen, dressed in homespun.

"Hello there, Si Lee!" cried Dave. "Bound for the fort?"

Being addressed so suddenly made the boy jump. He had a shotgun with him, and this he swung around in awkward fashion.

"Who's thet a-callin' o' me?" he bawled. "Speak, or I'll fire on ye, sure ez taters is taters!"

"Don't get excited, Si," went on Dave, with a smile. "It's only Dave Morris. Our whole family is bound for the fort."

"Oh!" Si Lee looked much relieved. "Got the alarm then, eh? Ain't it terribul, now! They say the Injuns is a-goin' to murder every white man in these parts! Wish I was in Philadelphy, don't you?"

"Where are your folks, Si?" asked Mr. Morris.

"Pap's coming with Dick an' the things jest behind me. Marm, she's to Annapolis on a visit. Dock Haven brung the news. He had a stiff fight with some o' the Injuns over to Deer Springs. He heard the Injuns was a-marchin' on Fort Pitt, an' Venango, an' Detroit, an' all over."

"Did he hear anything about the trading-posts on the Ohio?" asked Dave, quickly.

"He didn't have no news very straight. He met an old trapper from the Miami, an' the trapper said that all the forts out in them western countries had been captured by the redskins, with some French traders a-helpin' 'em. We didn't have time to talk it over much, fer pap took to packin' up ez soon ez the news come. He wasn't goin' to be sculped, not if he could help it. An' I ain't goin' to be sculped nuther!" added Si Lee, and urged his cows along the trail faster than ever.

"I hope this news about the trading-posts isn't true," said Dave, to his uncle.

"Dave, we have got to take what comes," answered Joseph Morris, gloomily. "When we built that new cabin I fancied we should never have to leave it. But here we are going away, and the Indians may burn it down before another sunset. Perhaps, in view of all that is taking place, we can be thankful that our lives have been spared."

Si Lee drove his cows up to the cattle belonging to the Morrises, and it was not long before Mr. Lee and his son Dick came up, with big bundles on their backs. The man was a newcomer in that vicinity, and knowing little or nothing about Indian warfare, was much frightened over what he had seen and heard.

"You don't catch me goin' out thar ag'in," he said to Joseph Morris. "I'm goin' back to the James River, whar I come from. It ain't no fun tryin' to run a farm with the redskins watchin' fer a chance to sculp you!"

"That is true, Neighbor Lee," answered Mr. Morris. "But if there were no settlements on the frontier what would prevent the Indians from striking the places further eastward? The only way to get the best of the red men is to force them further and further to the west and the north."

"Well, I ain't goin' to be the one to do it," answered Nathan Lee, doggedly. He was a coward at heart, and had no desire to fight, no matter what was to be gained thereby.

When Fort Cumberland was gained, the Morrises found that seven families from the frontier had already arrived there, and also two children from a homestead three miles to the north of the fort. The children had lost their big brother, who had had them in charge, and could not tell what had become of their father and their mother.

Nearly everybody present had a tale of woe to tell. Some had been attacked by the Indians, although the majority had taken time by the forelock and hurried away before the arrival of the enemy. Not one had brought along all of his or her belongings, and many valuable things had been left behind. One settler had seen his cabin go up in flames while he was only a mile away, and another had hidden in the forest only a few minutes before the arrival of the Indians. This settler had propped up an old hat on a stick near an open window, and the red men, on their approach, had riddled the hat and stick with bullets and arrows.

With so many people coming in, it was utterly impossible to accommodate them within the stronghold, and many had to camp in the woods outside. Here the settlers put up a rude barricade, and all the men were formed into a company to do guard duty. As Dave had been a soldier, he was placed in charge of a part of this guard, something which pleased him not a little.

"It's like a touch of old times, when I was fighting under Washington, and Johnson, and Wolfe," said he, to Barringford.

"I reckon we are going to see more o' sech fighting, lad," answered the old frontiersman. "Only, maybe, 'twill be wuss," he added, reflectively.

"Sam, I'd give something for definite news from our trading-post."

"I don't doubt but what ye would, lad—I would myself. It's queer your father didn't send in any more messages after Ira Sanderson brought thet letter."

"That is just what is worrying me. If everything was all right I'm almost positive father would let us know."

"Perhaps, if he was driven out, he'll come home."

"That is possible, but I imagine he'd make for Fort Pitt first—in the hope that Captain Ecuyer would send out a detachment to drive the redskins away."

"I don't believe the commandant at Fort Pitt could give him any assistance—he'd have too much on his own hands. This ain't no common uprisin', not by a long shot. Pontiac means business, an' to my way o' reckonin' it's going to be a war to a finish."

"Then you really think the Indians will march against Fort Pitt, and Detroit, and all the other strongholds?"

"Why not, ef they can work together? It's the only way they can hope for success, for then one fort can't send assistance to another. If each is surrounded, it will have to work out its own salvation,—or go under. Pontiac is a mighty wise Injun and he knows that his reputation is at stake."

"Do you think we could fight our way through and get to the trading-post?"

"It might be done, although it would be uncommonly risky, Dave. But I don't advise it, fer if the post has fallen, we'd have all the peril o' gettin' back ag'in. Besides that, we're needed here, by the look o' things. As White Buffalo said, it's goin' to be a black night fer all on us," concluded the old frontiersman.

CHAPTER XVI

UP THE OHIO

Leaving those at Fort Cumberland for the time being, let us go back and see what happened to James Morris, Henry, and the others, after the flight from the trading-post.

The severe snow-storm that was raging, aided the party to escape from those surrounding the post, and not long after the last attack by the Indians and the Frenchmen under Jean Bevoir, all succeeded in gaining a small cave where Tony Jadwin said they would be safe.

"I don't believe they know of this place," said the old hunter. "I stumbled on it by accident last fall. And even if they do know of it and come here, three men can hold it against twenty, for the passageway is narrow."

"They'd never make us surrender unless they starved us out," returned James Morris, looking around.

The rest that followed was much needed, and as no fresh alarm came, they attended to their wounds and prepared themselves such a meal as the rations brought along afforded.

"This is certainly hard luck, Uncle Jim," said Henry. "And after all the time and money spent on the post, too!"

"It is bitter enough to have the Indians take possession—it is ten times worse to see Jean Bevoir on hand to triumph over us," said the trader.

"Perhaps Bevoir was shot down."

"I hardly think so. He is wise enough to take care of his skin, when it comes to such a mix-up as we have just had."

"Do you think the Indians will let him take possession of the post?"

"More than likely—if he treats them well. He has a pretty slick way with the red men, and always did have. He makes all kinds of promises and somehow they believe in him."

The cave was little more than a hole in the ground, irregular in shape, and having a depth of twelve to fifteen feet. Overhead was a heavy clump of trees, the loose roots dangling down in all directions. Evidently some wild beast had made a home there at some time previous, for on the flooring were several piles of small bones.

The night passed slowly, and early in the morning the snow stopped coming down, and by nine o'clock the sun was shining brightly.

A council of war was held, and it was decided by all present that the best thing to do would be to push eastward to Fort Pitt, and notify the commandant there of what had occurred.

"Captain Ecuyer has aided me before, perhaps he will aid me again," said James Morris. "Anyway, there is no sense in remaining here."

The start for Fort Pitt was made that afternoon. Only a slim dinner could be had by all, and it was agreed that after a day's march from the post, several of the hunters and trappers should go forth in quest of game before proceeding further on the journey.

"And I'll try my hand at fishing through a hole in the ice," said Henry. He had now become an expert at that sort of angling, and was always sure to come in with a fair-sized mess of fish.

They had now come out on the bank of the Ohio again and went into camp that evening in the shelter of a cliff overlooking the broad stream. Early in the morning Henry went fishing, cutting a hole with an ax which had been brought along. Jadwin and two others went off on a hunt, promising not to go beyond gunshot, in case of an attack.

A gentle breeze was blowing but by afternoon it increased to a stiff blow, whirling the loose snow in all directions. Yet, as the wind was from the southward, it was not cold, and those in the camp suffered little inconvenience from it.

"Do you know what I've been thinking," said James Morris, as he came down to see how his nephew was making out. "If they come in with much game, the best thing we can do is to build a sled and journey to Fort Pitt by way of the river."

"Providing the redskins are not watching along the banks," answered Henry.

"To be sure, we'll have to keep our eyes open."

While Henry continued to fish, his uncle took the ax and cut down several saplings, and began to build something which was a cross between a sled and a rude ice-boat. In the front he put up a short mast.

"Now, if the breeze continues, we can perhaps make use of it," said the trader.

At first Henry's luck was of small account, but then he caught two fish of good size and eight smaller ones, and when he stopped at sunset he was well satisfied with his day's work.

"We've got enough to last us for two meals," he said. "That's a good bit better than nothing."

One of the wounded men had asked for fish, and as soon as Henry got back into the camp he prepared some for the sufferer. It was gratefully received.

"Ain't tasted nothin' so good in a long time," said the wounded hunter. "Fresh fish always did strike me just right. I get tired of meat."

When the hunters and trappers came in they brought with them only some small game,—birds, squirrels, rabbits, and wild turkeys. But they had a fair quantity of it, and it was calculated that it might be sufficient until Fort Pitt was reached.

"Saw a few redskins at a great distance," said Tony Jadwin. "I couldn't make out where they were bound."

The idea of using an ice-boat and sleds on the river appealed to nearly all of the party but the Indians, who decided that they would rather stick to the river bank. The ice-boat made by James Morris was enlarged and strengthened, and Jadwin succeeded in making a rude sail out of a thin blanket he carried. Then the hunter and the trader tried the craft, and found it worked as well as could be expected. The runners were scraped and polished, but even then were not as good as metal would have been.

"If the wind stops blowing, we can drag the outfit along by hand," said James Morris. "It will be an easy way of carrying our loads."

They had not dared to take to the regular trail running to Fort Pitt, thinking that the Indians would be on the watch for them. In this they were wise, for they afterwards learned that a body of fifteen red men were on guard at a certain point on the trail, and had they met this detachment it would assuredly have gone hard with the whites.

The trip up the Ohio was resumed at daybreak the following day. The ice-boat was loaded with the game and other things, and then several of the party, including James Morris and Henry, got aboard. There was a lively breeze, and, given a start, the clumsy craft moved forward better than had been anticipated.

"Hurrah! we are off!" cried Henry, enthusiastically. "This beats walking all hollow!"

As luck would have it, the strong wind was directly in their favor. The wind had swept the river almost clear of snow on one side of the stream and they kept the ice-boat in that vicinity, being careful to avoid all the open spots.

"We don't want to be drowned," said Henry. He had not forgotten an icy bath he had once taken.

By noon the party had covered fifteen miles, those on shore having all they could do to keep up with those on the ice-boat, even though the clumsy craft had to be towed around certain bends and dangerous spots in the stream. For a mile of the distance they came to so much open water, that they did not dare to board the craft.

"Now here is a good spot for sailing!" said Henry, about two o'clock. Before them was a straight stretch of four or five miles, with the wind exactly on their backs. "I'll wager we can make that distance in jig time."

Once more his uncle and himself got on the ice-boat. With them were two hunters who had been wounded in the lower limbs. The rude sail was hoisted, Henry gave a vigorous shove, and off they set at a rate of speed which was slow at the beginning, but which appeared steadily to increase.

"A fellow could fairly fly along here with a good ice-boat," said James Morris, who was in the bow, watching for dangerous cracks, or open water.

"We can't complain," replied Henry. "We'll leave the rest of the party behind this trip."

"It is not a very good plan to separate, Henry. With so many of the enemy around we ought to keep pretty close together."

"When we reach the end of this stretch we can wait for the others to come up," said the youth, who hated to think of giving up the chance for a little sport.

On and on they went, the runners making a merry skir—r—r on the ice. Occasionally they would go over a lump with a bump that threatened to pitch them off. But all held tight, and no accident of that kind occurred.

"I never knew there was so much fun in ice-boating," declared Henry. "I wish we didn't have so many troubles to think about—we might have a fine time."

"Perhaps you are right, Henry," returned his uncle. And then he gave a long sigh, and said no more.

About half the straight stretch of the stream had been covered, when one of the wounded hunters, sitting near the front of the ice-boat, called James Morris's attention to some smoke that was curling upward from the shore ahead.

"There's a camp there," said the hunter. "Perhaps it is friends, and perhaps it ain't."

They watched the vicinity of the smoke with close attention, and were almost opposite the spot when they saw two Indians come out of the thickets and gaze up and down the Ohio.

"Redskins!" ejaculated Henry, and reached for his gun, which was lying on the pile of game.

As soon as the Indians saw the ice-boat they set up a shout, and a minute later four other warriors put in an appearance. Then one fired a shot, and all disappeared as if by magic.

"I don't like that," said James Morris.

"Shall we go after them?" asked Henry.

"No, indeed! They are in the thickets and have the advantage of us. We had better keep to our course."

"But the others of our party——"

"They must have heard that shot, and they will be on their guard. As they too are among the trees and bushes, they will have an equal chance of fighting."

On whizzed the ice-boat, and those on board continue to scan the shore. The wind was increasing, and they were bowling along twice as fast as ever before.

"Look! look!" cried James Morris, a few minutes later.

He pointed ahead, and gazing in that direction, the others saw a band of at least twenty Indians coming from the heavy timber that lined the shore at that point. The red men ran out on the ice and looked up and down. Evidently the shot had alarmed them.

"They see us!" cried Henry, a moment later. "Wonder what they will do."

"Get your guns ready," came from the trader. "I'm afraid we've got an ugly crowd to deal with now."

As soon as the red men saw the whites on the ice-boat they set up a blood-curdling war-whoop. Then, with guns and arrows ready for use, they ran out still further on the ice, directly in the path of the oncoming craft.

CHAPTER XVII

THE ARRIVAL AT FORT PITT

"They are coming for us!" cried Henry.

"They are going to try to stop the ice-boat," said one of the wounded hunters.

"Don't let 'em do it," added the other wounded man. "If they do that we'll all be killed, sure!"

"We must fight for it," came firmly from James Morris. "Men, make every shot tell."

There was no time to say more, for the craft was now almost upon the Indians. The latter were whooping and gesticulating wildly, and three ran forward, as if to catch hold of the craft as it came on.

But the wind, still increasing, still favored the whites. It swung the ice-boat a little to one side, and with a whizzing sound the craft struck two of the Indians, hurling them flat.

As the Indians went down some of the other red men discharged their firearms, and let fly several arrows. The whites also fired, and two other Indians were wounded. Henry received an arrow through his coat sleeve, but the wound made thereby was only a scratch. One of the wounded hunters was struck in the breast and he expired a short time afterward.

The terrible speed of the ice-boat was something upon which the red men had not calculated, and as the two that were struck went down, the craft fairly leaped forward, and in a few seconds the whites had passed the whole band of Indians. More shots were sent after them, and Henry and his uncle fired in return, but no further damage was done. In two minute the ice-boat was out of firing distance.

"Are you hurt, Henry?" questioned the trader, anxiously.

"It's only a scratch, Uncle Jim," was the answer, after an examination.

"I'm afraid poor Gaddock is done for," went on the trader.

"He is," said the other hunter. "We can be thankful that we got through so quickly. I thought they had us cornered."

"Perhaps there are more Indians ahead," went on Henry, as he reloaded his rifle and did the same for his uncle, while the latter managed the ice-boat.

But little more was said just then, for all were scanning the shore with anxious eyes. But no more Indians appeared, and not long after that the straight stretch of the Ohio came to an end, and they turned into a little cove, where the overhanging trees afforded not a little protection.

"That attack has convinced me of one thing," said James Morris, as he helped the wounded hunter to shore, and also carried the dead man in. "The Indians all through this territory are on the war-path. And if that is so, it isn't of much use to try to get aid from Fort Pitt. Captain Ecuyer will have his hands full as it is."

"Don't you wish the others were here?" asked Henry, "I do."

"They may have a great deal of trouble in getting through."

"And the worst of it is—for them—that we have all the provisions."

There was nothing to do but to draw the ice-boat up in the most sheltered part of the cove. This done, they removed all the stores.

"I've got an idea!" cried Henry. "If those Indians try to follow us up, why not set the ice-boat a-going with dummies on board? That will throw them off the trail, at least for a while."

"Perhaps we'll do that," answered his uncle.

As well as they could, they buried the dead hunter among the rocks. Then they moved to another spot, which James Morris thought might be still safer. Here they remained for the rest of the day and all of the night without anything happening to disturb them.

Each hour the trader grew more anxious regarding those who had been advancing along the Ohio on foot, and during the night he made a trip along the river, in the direction where the last band of Indians had been encountered.

"You'll be careful, won't you, Uncle?" asked Henry, anxiously. He hated to see his relative depart on so dangerous a mission.

"Yes, Henry, and you must be on the alert while I am gone."

James Morris left the camp about eleven o'clock, and for the next six hours the watch for Henry and the wounded trapper was a lonely one. The wind died down utterly and scarcely a sound broke the stillness of the wilderness. Once they heard the howl of a lonely wolf, but that was all.

Just before dawn they heard a well-known whistle, and then James Morris appeared, followed by Jadwin and another white hunter, and two friendly Indians. All were tired out, and it was some time before their story was told.

"We had a hard time of it," said Tony Jadwin. "We fell into a regular nest of the red varmints, and I reckon almost all of the others are dead or badly wounded. We were making for this place when we fell in with Mr. Morris."

As tired as were the newcomers, it was decided that the whole party must push on without delay, and the start was made just before sunrise, after a hasty and scanty breakfast. As much of the packs as could be carried were taken along and the rest left behind, along with the ice-boat, for James Morris said it would no longer be safe to show themselves on the river.

It was a hard and lonesome tramp, through a section of the country which was new to all but Tony Jadwin. In spots the snow filled the forest to the depth of several feet, and they had to proceed with care, for fear of going down into some dangerous pitfall. All took turns at carrying the wounded trapper, for his hurt leg was now so sore he could not step upon it. Once they ran into half a dozen half-starved wolves, and in self-defense had to shoot two of the beasts before the others would take themselves off.

They ran into half a dozen half-starved wolves.

"I hate to do much shooting," said James Morris. "It will let the Indians know where we are."

"True for you," came from Jadwin. "But we can't allow no wolves to eat us up alive."

By the following evening Jadwin calculated that they were not more than forty miles from Fort Pitt. But the country was very rugged, and it was thought that it would take at least three, if not four days to reach the stronghold.

"We'll have to reconnoiter when we get within a few miles of the fort," said James Morris. "For all we know to the contrary the place may be surrounded by the Indians."

"If it hasn't already fallen," put in Henry.

During the following day it became much warmer, so that the snow began to melt in all the sunny spots along their way. This made walking worse than before, and Henry got wet feet, something which was not at all to his liking. They saw some deer at a distance, but thought best not to risk a shot on the game, for fear of bringing some of their enemy to that vicinity.

"What a wilderness this is!" said Henry, as they journeyed along. "I'll wager very few white men have been here."

"Hardly any," answered Jadwin, who trudged by his side. "And very few Injuns, too. It's not the kind of a locality to strike for hunting. I came through last more for curiosity than anything else. Some Injuns said the spot was haunted, and I wanted to see the ghost, if there was any."

"And did you see any?"

"No, but I got a pretty good scare. I was out one moonlight night and saw a silver deer at a lick a short distance from here. Just as I spotted the deer it came straight for me. It had a bit of birch bark caught on its horns, and for the minute I thought sure it was the ghost. But I tried to keep cool, and made out to draw a bead, and that was the last of the silver deer."

The weather continued to grow warmer and walking became worse and worse. Whenever they struck a trail, it was deep in mud and slush, and they frequently had to make detours for fear of becoming stuck. It was a dreary time, and even Henry's naturally light spirits deserted him.

"I'd give as much as two shillings to be at the fort," he declared. "I'm sick of such tramping as this."

On the fourth day they came to within three miles of the fort. James Morris called a halt, and Tony Jadwin went ahead to see if the coast was clear.

As mentioned before in this series, Fort Pitt stood where the city of Pittsburg stands to-day. In former times Fort Duquesne had occupied that position, erected by the French and destroyed by General Forbes. Fort Pitt was erected under the directions of General Stanwix, and was a fairly strong fortification, having dirt and log ramparts on the land side, and a heavy brick wall on the side looking down the Ohio River. On one side swept the Allegheny River and on the other the Monongahela, and for miles around the country was an almost unbroken wilderness. To the west were a few isolated posts, and the nearest settlement eastward was two hundred miles away. Only two roads led to the fort, that built by General Braddock five years before, and the second, which was built by General Forbes a little later. Both roads were so rough that to use them for cart driving was difficult, so that those journeying on either preferred to move goods by pack-train. Frequently the spring freshets would sweep away the bridges across the various streams, so that the roads needed constant repairs or they could not be used at all.

Much to the relief of Jadwin and Henry they found no Indians in the vicinity of Fort Pitt. They at once went back to report, and a little later the whole party marched directly to the stronghold, crossing the river in a bateau that was handy. Several soldiers were on guard, but as James Morris was well known, and Jadwin too, they were allowed to come up without being challenged.

"What news?" demanded Captain Ecuyer, for he saw at a glance that something was wrong.

"Our post has been attacked, and is in the hands of the Indians and the French," responded James Morris, and entering the captain's quarters he told his story in detail. Captain Ecuyer listened with a grave look on his face. He was of Swiss birth, but had served in the English army for many years.

"This is truly unfortunate, Mr. Morris," he said. "But it is directly in line with what I have been fearing for some time."

"You have feared an uprising?"

The captain bowed. "Yes, and such an uprising is feared at every fort on the frontier. Pontiac and his agents have been everywhere among the red men, inciting them to fall upon us and drive us out. I am expecting news from other forts daily, but so far no word of importance has arrived."

"I see you are strengthening your position."

"Yes, it was necessary that something be done. If the Indians come here in large numbers——" The captain did not finish, but made a movement that meant a good deal.

"Then it will be useless for me to ask you for aid," said James Morris, bluntly.

"You mean aid to get back your post?"

"Yes."

"I cannot send my men on such an expedition for the present. I have been ordered to hold this position and strengthen it as much as possible. The most I can do is to ask you to remain here for the present, if you care to do so. Then, if I have the chance, I will be only too glad later on to aid you."

"Well, I can't go on, just at present, and as I can't turn back, I'll have to remain here," said James Morris.

"Very well then, Mr. Morris. Of course, you understand, in case of an attack——"

"I shall do my duty, just as you expect your soldiers to do theirs," finished the trader. "And I know my nephew, Henry, will be glad to serve as a soldier once more."

CHAPTER XVIII

SOMETHING CONCERNING THE TWINS

After many months of preparation, and after numerous councils of war, the great conspiracy instituted by Pontiac was now complete, and the Indians were ready to strike the English such a blow as had seldom, if ever, been struck before.

The principal meeting of the Indians was held on the river Ecores, only a few miles from where the city of Detroit now stands, but other meetings were held in the villages of the Pottawattamies, the Sacs, the Ojibwas, the Wyandottes, the Miamis, and many other tribes. Wampum belts were passed, and the arguments in favor of driving the English out waxed hot and bloodthirsty. It was reasoned (and truthfully, as later events have proved), that if the hated whites were allowed to remain, sooner or later they would overrun the whole of the red men's hunting grounds, and the Indians would not know where to go to gain their living.

It would have pleased Pontiac immensely had he been able to strike every settlement and every fort on the same day and at the same hour. This seems to have been his pet scheme, according to tradition and certain reports from those times. But he could not master such a stroke as this, for reasons already given, and as a consequence the attack started in different localities at different times.

At Fort Cumberland all was now excitement. The settlers for miles around came pouring into the small settlement, and the resources of the place were taxed to their utmost. It is calculated by one authority that as many as five hundred families of that locality were rendered homeless. Many came in badly wounded, and temporary hospitals were located everywhere. The majority of the families had to live under the trees, or in such rude shelters as they managed to erect for themselves. Every man was called on to do soldier duty, in case another attack should come upon the fort direct.

But strange as it may seem, the Indians, for the time being, gave Fort Cumberland a wide berth. Occasionally a few stray warriors showed themselves, and drove off some cattle belonging to the settlers, but that was all. The majority of the red men departed for other points, and the subsequent fate of Venango, Presque Isle, and other forts, showed how they continued their work of red-handed destruction.

As day after day passed at Fort Cumberland, and no Indians appeared, the people became a trifle calmer, and a few stole away, to see whether their homesteads had been burned or not. Among these were Dave and Barringford.

"You must be careful," said Joseph Morris, when they were ready to depart. "Don't run any chances, but turn back at the first trace of anything wrong."

The journey back to the Morris homestead was quickly made by the pair, and to their satisfaction they found the greater portion of the building standing. A fire had been started at a corner of the living room, and the apartment was much damaged, but that was all. The cattle shed had been swept to the ground.

"Not so bad but what it might be worse," said Barringford, gazing around. "Thet cabin can be fixed up in a week's time, to my way of thinkin'."

"If they don't come back some day and finish their work," returned Dave. "This attack isn't over yet, Sam, no matter how quiet it is just now."

"You are right, Dave, but I reckon the next attack will be on the forts, and not on the homes o' the settlers. The Injuns will be after big game."

They were inspecting the cabin when they saw an Indian approaching. It was White Buffalo, and they saw at a glance that he was far better dressed than before, and looked in the best of health.

"I'm glad to see you, White Buffalo!" cried Dave.

"White Buffalo glad to see Dave so well, and his brother Sam, too," answered the aged chief.

"I suppose you understood how it was that we left you in the woods," came from the old frontiersman.

"Yes, White Buffalo wanted it so," was the simple answer.

"What brought you here?" asked Dave.

"White Buffalo came to see how his friends were getting along. He is glad to know the cabin was not burned down."

"Have you heard anything from your warriors who were at my father's trading-post?" went on Dave, eagerly.

"Two of them are dead. What has become of the others I know not."

"Dead? How were they killed?"

"That White Buffalo cannot answer. They were found in the woods, between the trading-post and Fort Pitt, by Flat Chin. Being dead, they could tell nothing."

"Have you heard anything of my father?"

"No, but I have heard from some other posts. The others were attacked by Wanderers, and Sacs, and Miamis, and others, and burned. Some Frenchmen are fighting with the Indians, and among them I heard was Jean Bevoir."

"That rascal!" burst out Dave.

"I reckoned as how he'd turn up ag'in," growled Sam Barringford. "It's a great pity we didn't finish him when we had the chanct!"

Being under suspicion, White Buffalo deemed it best not to show himself around Fort Cumberland. The excitement over the massacre of the Digly family had died down, but many still believed that White Buffalo was guilty in part, if not in whole. It was said that one white settler had seen the murder done, but he was now among the missing and could, consequently, give no testimony.

"If we can find that man perhaps we can clear White Buffalo," Dave had said more than once, but the settler could not be located, much to the disappointment of all the aged Indian chief's friends.

"White Buffalo has heard a curious story," said the aged chief, after matters in general had been talked over. "The tale came from an old chief of the Ottawas, who once married a maiden of the Delawares. The chief's name is Silver Cloud, and he thinks not much of this war."

"I've heard of Silver Cloud," returned Sam Barringford. "I thought he was dead of old age."

"He has heard of my brother Sam, and when White Buffalo told him that Sam had taken two little children for his own, he was interested, and had White Buffalo tell the story of the finding of the twin boys. Then he said he knew something of the children."

"Said he knew somethin' on 'em!" ejaculated the old frontiersman. "What does he know?"

"One day Silver Cloud met a rich Frenchman, who had been drinking deeply. The Frenchman talked much and Silver Cloud gathered from his talk that he had been bitter against a rich Englishman. There had been a quarrel over some land, either in England or in New France"—(meaning Canada). "The Frenchman declared that he had had his revenge, and had had the man's two children,—little boys that were twins,—stolen, and that they had been taken to Virginia,—where they had perished in a snow-storm, along with a man who had picked the twins up."

"It must be Tom and Artie!" cried Dave. "What else did Silver Cloud tell?"

"Not much, save that the twins had been the pride of their father's heart, and that the father had been heartbroken over their disappearance, which he laid to the Indians."

"Did that Frencher tell his name, or the name of the man who had lost them twins?" demanded Barringford.

"The Frenchman told nothing, but Silver Cloud learned afterward that his name was Benoit Vascal, and that he was interested in a land grant at Detroit, or near it."

"And did this Benoit Vascal go to Detroit?" asked Dave.

"Silver Cloud said so. When the Frenchman first told the story Silver Cloud paid little attention, thinking the man was too deeply in his cups to tell what was true. But when White Buffalo told what he knew, then Silver Cloud change his mind, and said the tale must be true, and that the twins must be those that my brother Sam found and saved."

"I wish I knew the name of that Englishman," came from the old frontiersman. "I'd hate to lose Tom and Artie—I think so much of 'em—but if they've got a rich father lookin' for 'em, why, I don't want 'em to suffer on my account."

"It would be grand, for them, if they did have a fine home to go to," said Dave. "But I don't see how we're to solve this mystery," and his face clouded.

"You are quite sure the rich Englishman's name wasn't mentioned?" asked Barringford.

"Yes, White Buffalo is sure, for he questioned Silver Cloud closely."

"How long ago is it since you heard of this?"

"But last week, and Silver Cloud met this Benoit Vascal but a moon ago."

"Then it's more than likely this Benoit Vascal is at Detroit," said Dave. "He wouldn't dare to travel around much with the redskins on the war-path."

"Not unless he was friendly to the Indians, Dave."

"He was no trader, so Silver Cloud said," White Buffalo went on to say. "He was rich, and perhaps a nobleman in disguise."

Barringford and the youth talked the matter over with the aged Indian chief for some time after that, but could gain no additional information. Concerning the uprising, White Buffalo said it was likely that matters around Fort Cumberland would remain quiet for some time to come, that very few red men were now in that vicinity, and no new bands were putting in an appearance.

When the pair had left the aged chief and were on their return to the fort, both were in a thoughtful mood. Several times Barringford started to speak, but relapsed into silence.

"I reckon as how it's my duty to find out what I can about Tom an' Artie," he said, at last. "I love 'em just as if they war my own, but it wouldn't be right fer me to keep 'em from knowin' who they were, an' especially if they've got a rich father an' a good hum to go to."

"That is certainly true," answered Dave. "Mother will hate to lose them, and it will break Nell's heart. But we ought not to stand in their light for all that."

"It's a long trip to Detroit," resumed the old frontiersman, after another period of silence. "But I kin make it if I have to."

"Then you think you'll journey all the way to Detroit, Sam?"

"Ain't no other way—if I'm to do my duty by them twins. If I war in their place, I'd like sumbuddy to do as much fer me."

"How would you start to get to Detroit? I don't think it's safe to go by way of Fort Pitt and Venango."

"No more do I, lad. I'd have to take a route further to the eastward. I'd want to talk it over with some o' the other trappers fust, to find out which trails war the best, everythin' considered."

"And when would you start, do you think?"

"The sooner the better, more'n likely, Dave. Even ef that Frencher is at Detroit there ain't no tellin' how long he'll stay thar. Ef I start out after him, why, I want to catch him."

CHAPTER XIX

IN WHICH BARRINGFORD IS MADE A PRISONER

The news which Dave and Sam Barringford had to tell interested the Morrises at Fort Cumberland exceedingly.

"I knew all along that the twins must come from no common stock," said Mrs. Morris, gazing fondly at the boys, who were playing near. "They deserve a good home, and a fine education."

"Exactly the way I reason, ma'am," answered the old frontiersman. "It's my plain duty to place 'em in their father's hands, ef I can find the gentleman."

"I don't want Tom and Artie to leave me," pleaded Nell. "I just love them so." And running up she kissed the twins.

Two days passed and matters remained quiet at the fort. Then Barringford announced that he had found out all about the trails leading northward and out to Detroit, and would start on the trip on the following Monday.

"Why can't I go with you?" asked Dave. "There doesn't seem to be anything for me to do here. I hate to hang around day after day doing nothing."

"If your uncle says you can go, I'd like fust-rate to have you," answered the old frontiersman.

The matter was talked over that evening. At first Joseph Morris was inclined to refuse his permission, but he finally consented, for he could see that Dave's heart was set on the trip.

"It will be a journey full of danger," he said to his nephew. "I do not know what your father would say to it. If you go, you must be careful."

"I'm always as careful as possible, Uncle Joe; and I'm sure Sam will be extra careful this trip, with the Indians on the war-path."

"It is possible that you may hear something about your father's trading-post at Detroit," went on Joseph Morris. "I cannot understand why no news has come in by way of Fort Pitt."

"Fort Pitt may be having its own hands full," suggested Rodney, who was listening to the conversation. "I only hope Uncle Jim and Henry are safe."

Fortunately for Barringford and Dave, they found a man going to one of the posts northward with a dozen horses, which had been sold to the Colonial government for military use. This man was glad enough to have the pair go along, and offered each a mount in exchange for their work in helping to care for the animals. Rodney saw them a mile on their way, and shook hands warmly with Dave on parting.

"I wish you luck," he said to his cousin and the old frontiersman. "And be sure to come back with a whole skin," he added. He understood well the perils which might lie before them.

For several days the party of three journeyed northward with but little out of the ordinary happening. The weather was fine, with just a touch of the coming summer in the air. The birds filled the forest with their music, and here and there the early flowers began to peep forth. Winter had disappeared rapidly, much to the satisfaction of both whites and red men.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" said Dave, as they rode forward. "Oh, if only this fighting would come to an end, and we could go back to farming again, and raising cattle, and chickens, and the like! Sam, I am tired of fighting."

"So am I, lad. But so long as the red men keep it up, we'll have to do our share, I reckon. I'm not in favor of backing out, are you?"

"Oh, no, I believe in staying where we are."

At the end of a week they reached a small settlement known as Gantor's Mill, and here the trader with the horses left them, to go to a fort a few miles eastward.

"It's a good, long tramp we have before us, Dave," said the old frontiersman, as they started off on foot.

"How long do you think it will take?"

"That depends. If we find good trails, and can use the rivers and the lake, perhaps two weeks."

They carried with them a good stock of provisions and had been told where they could find a canoe as soon as the first of the rivers was gained. By good luck, they ran into no Indians, and on the following day were on the stream, and paddling along in fine style, under the overhanging trees. The leaves were growing thicker every day, and in some spots closed over the water so thoroughly that not a streak of sunshine reached them.

"What ideal places for hunting and fishing," said Dave, as he looked about him. "Sam, one could spend a month here and never notice how the time was passing."

Once they came close to several deer that were drinking. They had brought a bow and arrows along, and standing up in the bow of the canoe Dave took careful aim and fired on the smallest of the game. The deer was struck in the breast and fell over into the river, and paddling up they secured their prize.

"Fine eating here," declared Barringford. "We won't want for fresh meat for a while." And that evening they cut the deer up and fixed a portion of it for carrying and also dined on the tenderest of venison steaks.

One day succeeded another, and much to their surprise and satisfaction they saw nothing of any Indians. Once they passed what had been a village, but it was deserted, and only a stray dog, lean and hungry, came down to the river bank to bark at them.

"The redskins must be off to the war," said Dave, and he was right.

On the following day they reached the point where they had to leave the river. A march of eighteen miles through the wilderness to a smaller stream was before them. As the canoe had proved such a friend, they resolved to carry the craft with them.

"It will take time, but a canoe will be better than a raft, when we do get to that other watercourse," said the old frontiersman.

Thus far they had avoided nearly every post or fort that lay in their course, fearing to fall into the hands of the Indians who might be in such vicinities.

The way through the wilderness proved tedious, and when the next river was gained, both were glad enough to go into camp and rest for one whole day. The brambles had torn their clothing and they spent an hour in mending the rents. Then, when rested, they took a bath, which refreshed them not a little.

The watercourse was shallow and in spots so narrow that they had to fairly pull their way between the bushes. But journeying thus was better than walking, and in a few hours they reached a spot where the current carried them onward at a fair rate of speed, so that they could rest from paddling. Gradually the river widened, until they gained a tiny lake, located in the very heart of the wilderness. On two sides were trees of immense size, and elsewhere great rocks loomed up, over which, in one spot, flowed a tiny waterfall.

"This is simply sublime!" murmured Dave. "I had no idea it was so beautiful. It puts me in mind of certain spots on the Kinotah and the Monongahela."

At the other end of the lake, called by the Indians Sho-go-hepack, the river continued its course to the north-westward, and without resting that afternoon, they moved onward, covering sixteen more miles by sunset. Then they reached a series of shallows, and had to carry the canoe two miles over the rocks and through the wet places.

"This isn't so nice," remarked Dave, after slipping down in a pool of water. "These wet rocks are tremendously slippery."

"Never mind, ye ain't swallerin' no dust," answered Barringford, and then both laughed at the old frontiersman's little joke.

Beyond the shadows, the river ran swiftly, and on the next day they had all they could do to keep the canoe to its course and prevent the craft from striking the rocks which now and then loomed up before them.

"This is where we gain time," said Dave. "It beats walking and horseback riding, too."

"Nothin' better nor canoein', when the river is proper," answered Barringford.

During the day they sighted large quantities of water fowls, and each brought down some with the bow and arrows. They proved to be good eating, and gave them a variety in their meals.

The first real alarm came two days later, just as they were on the point of leaving the river and abandoning the canoe. They were now about one day's journey from the southern shore of Lake Erie. The river was nothing but a series of rapids, so to paddle further became impossible. The rocks in that vicinity rendered it difficult to carry the canoe, and the craft was scarcely worth taking, for it had hit several times during the journey and sprung half a dozen leaks.

The two travelers had just passed out of sight of the river when, without warning, they came upon half a dozen Indians, sitting in a small open space, conversing earnestly.

"Injuns!" muttered Sam Barringford, and pulled Dave out of sight. "I vow, but we came near to walkin' right on 'em!"

"That's what we did," answered the youth. "They haven't seen us, though, so we are safe."

"Follow me, Dave, an' don't make no noise," went on the old frontiersman.

Without delay, they started to walk around the resting place of the red men. This took them to a spot where the rocks were exceedingly rough, and they had all they could do to make any progress at all.

"Drop!" yelled Dave, suddenly, and sank out of sight. Barringford lost no time in doing the same. On the instant several arrows whizzed over their heads.

"There are more Indians ahead of us," whispered the youth. "I am afraid we are caught, Sam!"

He had scarcely spoken when a wild war-whoop broke the stillness of the wilderness, and fully a dozen red men came scrambling over the rocks in the direction of the whites.

"Shall we fire on them?" asked Dave.

"Yes, and then run," was the quick answer. "It's our only hope, Dave."

The two rifles were raised and discharged almost as one. Down went the two leading red men, and the others lost no time in leaping out of sight. Then Dave and Barringford took to their heels, into the thickets to the westward. It was a rough journey, and their feet were cut on the rocks and their clothing torn by the bushes, but still they kept on until they came to a spot where further progress appeared impossible.

"Are they after us?" asked Dave, in a low voice.

"Can't say yet, lad. Load up," and they loaded with all possible speed.

Looking about them, they presently found a narrow passageway between two big rocks, and then moved onward as before, until they reached a tiny watercourse, running in the direction of the lake. They were now out of breath because of their exertions and sank down on some flat rocks to rest.

"Stay here, I'm going to look around a bit," said Barringford, presently, and slipped through the brushwood like a snake.

Ten minutes passed, and Dave waited impatiently for the old frontiersman to return. Then he arose and began to look around himself. A tree was handy and he climbed this.

From the top of the tree he could get an excellent view of the surrounding country. From one point he turned his gaze to another, but beheld nothing out of the ordinary. The camp of the Indians was hidden from view.

He was about to descend again, when a distant shot reached him. Then Barringford burst into view, followed by eight or ten Indians. Dave saw the old frontiersman fall headlong, and in a minute more the red men completely surrounded him and made him their prisoner.

CHAPTER XX

DEEP IN THE WILDERNESS

The fact that Sam Barringford had been captured by the Indians filled Dave with consternation. He had fully expected that the old frontiersman would be able to evade the red men and return to where he had started from without much difficulty.

"Poor Sam," he murmured, as he saw his old friend surrounded and made a prisoner. "This is the worst yet!"

Not knowing what to do, Dave remained in the tree. He saw one of the red men appropriate Barringford's rifle and horn, and another snatched the coonskin cap from the old frontiersman's head. Then the captive was led away, out of sight.

"I must help him if I can," was Dave's one thought, as he descended to the ground. "Sam would do his best for me if I was in his place, and I must do the same."

Slowly and cautiously the youth made his way through the forest and around the rough rocks with which the neighborhood abounded. Feeling that the Indians might be ready to pounce on him at any moment, he kept eyes and ears on the alert, and did not make a step until he was almost absolutely certain that it was safe.

At last he came in sight of the Indians once more. By their dress and war paint he saw that they were Ottawas. He counted twenty-two Indians, including an under chief, who could easily be remembered by the fact that he had but one ear. This was Falling Star, afterwards known as the terror of the lake shore, because of his peculiar bloodthirstiness. Falling Star was said to have killed two other Indian chiefs, and at the end of the Indian wars lost his life by being carried over Niagara Falls in his canoe.

Dave could see that some of the Indians were questioning Sam Barringford. Evidently the replies from the old frontiersman were not satisfactory, for the red men made angry gestures, and one spat upon the old hunter. Then the Indians withdrew for a conference, leaving Barrington tied to a tree.

"Oh, if I could only release him," thought Dave, and crawled a little closer. But this was not to be, for a moment later an Indian came forward, rifle in hand, to stand guard over the prisoner.

The Indians imagined that Barrington was carrying dispatches from Fort Pitt to Detroit. They had heard that a messenger was on the way, and they insisted upon it that the old frontiersman tell them the news. As Barringford could not do this, they grew exceedingly angry, and the majority voted to burn the prisoner at the stake, in hopes of making him talk.

It was not long before the preliminaries for the burning were complete. The top of a young sapling was cut off, and the tree trimmed into a post and then Barrington was bound tightly to this. In the meantime some of the red men gathered a quantity of dry brushwood which they heaped around the prisoner up to his waist.

These preparations made Dave faint at heart, for he understood only too well what they meant. His best loved old friend was about to die and not only that, but to die in a manner too horrible to contemplate. Shudder after shudder passed through the youth and he clutched his rifle nervously.

These preparations made Dave faint at heart.

"They shan't do it! I'll—I'll kill as many of them as I can first," he muttered, and aimed his piece at the head of Falling Star.

Sam Barrington realized his peril as fully as did Dave, and stirred his brain for some means of escape. He remembered that the Indians were exceedingly superstitious and that they hated to have anything to do with a crazy person.

"Ha! ha!" he roared, at the top of his voice, and gave a shrill laugh, long and piercing. "Ha! ha! he! he! So you would light the fires and make of me a candle to light the way. What will Pontiac say to that? Know ye not who he is? He is my grandfather. And the King of France is my father. Ha! ha! Now are you surprised? Try to burn me and the waters of Niagara shall turn back and put out the flames. I am the brother of a great magician and fire cannot touch me." And then he began to sing an old ditty, with the words badly mixed:

"Old Baldy went into the woods,

To shoot a bear,

He met the Injuns, had a fight,

They tried to git his hair.

Bing! bang! went Baldy's gun right quick.

It made the Injuns awful sick—

He killed them all so mighty slick.

Hurrah, for Baldy!"

For fully five minutes Sam Barringford kept up his wild talking and singing, much to the Indians' astonishment. They crowded around, and looked at one another.

"Why sings the white hunter like this?" asked one.

Instead of answering the old frontiersman began to tell a wild and wonderful tale of a bear who stole a gun and shot an Indian who had killed her cubs. Then he began to sing once more, in a wilder fashion than ever. He rolled his eyes, and worked his ears back and forth—a trick he had learned when a boy—and clicked his teeth together.

"He is mad—he has lost his reason," said one of the warriors.

"He is only shamming," cried Falling Star.

"No, no, he has surely lost his reason," said another Indian. "Hark to him!"

"We cannot burn one who is mad," said an old warrior, gravely. "It would bring evil upon us."

At once a hot discussion arose, and while it was going on, Sam Barringford continued to rave and sing, and then uttered shrieks that were truly piercing.

At last some of the Indians could not stand it longer and coming forward they released the prisoner. Instead of running away, Barringford began to dance, and rushing up he hugged first one red man and then another, laughing horribly the while.

This was too much for the Indians who were superstitious and half the band backed away, while the others stood irresolute. Then, to cap the climax, Barringford took his gun from one of the warriors and instead of pointing it at the fellow, aimed it at his own breast and dared the Indian to pull the trigger.

"You cannot kill me," he cried. "I am Mau-le-lala, the Cloud Boy."

This was too much for some of the Ottawas. There was a legend among them that an Indian boy, who had done wrong, had turned into a white boy and sailed away in the clouds, to become the sport of the thunder and lightning. They shrank still further away, and as they did so, Barringford danced around and made strange leaps, using his rifle as a vaulting pole.

The antics of the old frontiersman took him close to where Dave was in hiding, and suddenly he caught the youth's eye.

"Away, ye Evil Spirits, away!" he roared, and waved his hand in a fashion that Dave understood. Instantly the youth withdrew, moving in the direction of the lake.

"Falling Star says he is only shamming," insisted the chief of the band.

"But if we make a mistake——" came from a follower.

There was no time for further argument. Calculating his chances, Barringford edged his way to where a big rock stood in front of a fair-sized thicket. With a bound the old frontiersman cleared the rock, struck among the bushes, and went tearing along in the direction Dave had taken. Soon the youth heard him coming.

"Sam!"

"Go on, Dave!" answered the old frontiersman. "Leg it, lad, leg it! In another minit they'll be arfter us like a pack o' hungry wolves."

"You fooled them nicely."

"Yes, but it remains to be seen ef I've gained anything by it. Ef they catch me they'll torture me good, don't forgit thet."

No more was said just then, and one behind the other they continued to force their way through the thickets, moving, as well as they were able, in the direction of Lake Erie.

"Here is a little brook, supposing we take to that?" said Dave, a little later. "Water leaves no trail, you know."

"Yes, lad, and the brook will take us to the lake."

"Have you any idea how far we are from the shore of the lake?"

"Not exactly, but I should say ten to fifteen miles."

"We won't dare to go out on the lake in the daytime."

"We can sleep in the daytime and travel at night."

They followed the brook for over a mile. Then the waterway appeared to double on its course, and they left it and continued to journey northward. Here the forest was not so heavy and consequently they covered the ground at a better rate of speed. They looked back many times, but no Indians came into view.

"I reckon as how we got the best on 'em," said Barringford, coming to a brief halt. "The trail through the thickets and along the brook has baffled 'em."

"I hope we never see them again," said Dave, shuddering. "It was a grand thing for you to act as you did."

"I remembered of a hunter in Bedford deestrict doing that same, Dave. He got the Injuns so worked up none o' 'em would come anywhar near him."

They had lost all their provisions and other things, and the old frontiersman was capless, for which, however, as the weather was warm, he did not care. Coming to a spring among the rocks, both took a drink and bathed their faces and hands. A squirrel was close at hand and Dave brought him down with an arrow.

"That will give us a bite to-night," he said. "And if we reach the lake we can do a little fishing."

The course was now directly down a gentle slope leading to the lake shore. The forest was thick, and more than once they got caught in a pocket and had to go around. There were pitfalls among the rocks, and Dave went down once, barking his shin and scratching his hand.

But such mishaps now counted for nothing. Having escaped from the enemy both felt light-hearted, and they kept tramping along until sunset. Then Barringford had Dave boost him up into a tree.

"The lake is just ahead," he announced. "There is a cove to the left, which I think will make a fust-rate stopping-place."

On they went as before. Dave was now footsore and exhausted and glad to think that a night of rest was so close at hand. Reaching the lake, they took a careful look around and then trudged to the cove the old frontiersman had mentioned. Not a single trace of the Indians could be discovered, and they almost buried themselves in a hollow, backed up by rocks and fronted by thick clumps of trees.

"We won't dare to make a fire until after dark," said Barringford. "The smoke would betray us."

They rested for half an hour and then both tried their luck at fishing. But bites were scarce and each caught only one small fish.

"Never mind, that will do till morning," said Dave. "I'm too tired to try for more. I'd rather go to bed half hungry."

With care they built a tiny fire deep down among the rocks, so that the light could not be seen from a distance. Over the blaze they broiled the squirrel and the fish and then sat down to enjoy the meal.

"Do you think one of us ought to stay on guard?" asked Dave.

"It might be safer, lad, but considering all things, I reckon we can risk it to-night. We can put out the fire, and get back in the bushes, and I don't think they'll locate us. It's going to be a dark night. Maybe it will rain."

But little more was said, and Dave soon turned in. Barringford followed his example, and five minutes later both were sleeping soundly.

CHAPTER XXI

AT FORT DETROIT

When Dave awoke the rain was coming down gently. So far, owing to the dense foliage, none of the drops had reached him, and it was an easy matter for him and Barringford to shift to a spot where the shelter was even better.

"This is going to be a steady rain," said the old frontiersman, which was a true prediction, for the storm lasted the greater part of the day.

Having rested all the night and the greater part of the morning, the two travelers felt much refreshed. During the afternoon they went fishing and this time caught a dozen or more specimens of the finny tribe, including some young lake bass that promised fine eating. Barringford also took a walk up and down the lake shore for the best part of a mile and came back highly elated.

"I located the hiding-place of some redskins' canoes," said he. "Found two big canoes and four small ones, with a small lot of provisions."

"Good!" cried Dave, his face brightening. "A big canoe and some provisions is just what we want."

"We can go around for one of the canoes after it is dark," went on his companion.

They waited impatiently for night to come on. The rain was now letting up, but it was still cloudy, with the promise of another downpour later. As best they could, they cooked themselves a big supper and also some fish for breakfast, and then hurried to the spot where the canoes were resting. Barringford picked out the best of the craft, and everything to be taken along was piled in this.

"It appears like a shame to destroy the other canoes," said the old hunter. "But I guess it's best." And having damaged the craft so they could not be used, he sent them adrift.

It was pitch dark when they set off on their long journey up Lake Erie. They had a fine pair of paddles and were soon out on the water, which was calm enough in spite of the recent rain. Barringford was in the bow of the craft and Dave left it to the old frontiersman to shape their course.

All through the long and silent night they moved on steadier, until Dave's arms ached from the use of the paddle. Occasionally one or the other would rest, but not often, for they realized the value of making the best possible use of their time. Towards morning it began to rain again, but it proved to be nothing but a shower, and by sunrise the storm had passed completely.

As soon as it was daylight, they turned into shore, and pulled the canoe out of sight among the bushes. Then followed breakfast, and after that a sleep lasting until nightfall.

Thus four days and nights were passed, and slowly but surely they drew closer to the western extremity of Lake Erie.

"We'll have to risk sailing northward to-morrow night," said Barringford, at the end of that time. "It's too much of a journey to go around the western shore o' the lake."

It was a clear night, and the old frontiersman felt that he could guide their course by the stars. They set off early, realizing that a journey of forty miles or more lay before them.

"There are some islands around here, so I was told," said the old frontiersman. "They may be used by those redskins. We'll have to steer clear o' 'em," and whenever an island appeared, they gave it a wide berth.

It was just growing daylight, and they were still some miles from the shore, when Dave uttered an exclamation.

"What is it, lad?"

"I see some strange lights over there, Sam," and the youth pointed to their right.

"You are right—an' they are coming this way," returned the old frontiersman.

"It must be a ship!"

"More'n likely, and if it's an English vessel we are in luck."

They watched the lights with interest, and presently saw them go out. Then a small schooner loomed up in the distance. Every sail was set and the craft was headed directly for the mouth of the Detroit River.

"She flies the flag of England!" cried Dave, as the schooner drew closer. He set up a loud shout: "Hullo! Ship ahoy! On board the schooner!"

The cry was heard, and soon the craft was headed directly for the canoe. The mainsail was dropped and other sails followed, and a rope was thrown to those in the smaller craft.

"Where are you from?" questioned the master of the schooner, who wore the uniform of an English naval lieutenant.

"We came from Fort Cumberland," answered Dave.

"Fort Cumberland! Certainly you didn't come all the way in that canoe?" And the lieutenant smiled broadly.

"Hardly, as a canoe makes poor traveling on land," replied Sam Barringford. "But we do come from Fort Cumberland, and we are bound for Detroit."

"It's a long journey to make—especially in such times as these," and the lieutenant looked significantly at the pair before him. "Did you meet any hostile Indians?"

"Reckon as how we'd better tell our little tale," said Barringford, and proceeded to do so. Then Dave also spoke of the journey, the officer listening closely to all that was said.

"You were truly fortunate to get through the Indian lines," he said, after they had finished. "Matters are assuming bad shape and I am afraid they will be worse before they are better."

"Are you bound for Fort Detroit?" asked the old frontiersman.

"Yes, and I'll be happy to carry you to the end of your journey."

They soon learned that the lieutenant's name was Bruitt, and that he had served on the Lakes during the whole of the war with France. This interested Dave, and he told of his own soldier life at Fort Niagara, Quebec, and Montreal.

"Glad to know you, Morris," said Lieutenant Bruitt, warmly. "You are young to have seen so much of army life."

"Well, I started in rather young," answered Dave, with a smile.

The canoe was hoisted to the deck of the schooner, and in a short while the larger craft was again on her way to Detroit. She carried a crew of sixteen and was loaded with provisions sent to Fort Detroit from the other British strongholds further to the eastward.

Lieutenant Bruitt was a young man and took to Dave from the very start. He made the youth and the old frontiersman feel thoroughly at home on board the schooner and treated them to the best the craft afforded.

From the lieutenant they learned that Pontiac had established himself on a small island near the entrance to Lake St. Clair, which as my readers know, is but a short distance from Detroit. Here the great chief was watching the English as a hawk watches a brood of young chicks.

"We are satisfied that he is up to something, but so far his plot has not been revealed," said the lieutenant. "Ugly rumors are afloat but Pontiac professes eternal friendship."

"Has he many followers about here?" asked Barringford.

"He has, and they are constantly coming in, from the north and the west."

The weather proved fair, and about noon the schooner dropped anchor, and Barringford and Dave went ashore with the lieutenant and walked up to Fort Detroit. They were allowed to enter without question, and soon found themselves in the presence of Major Gladwyn.

The fort was built almost directly upon the bank of the Detroit River, which, at this point was about half a mile wide. The grounds were almost square and were surrounded by a palisade from twenty to twenty-five feet high. Inside of the defense were located numerous houses, and a great number of small dwellings were situated outside the fort, on both sides of the river. The place had been prosperous before the war with France and it looked as if it would be equally prosperous now that the conflict was at an end.

Dave found Major Gladwyn a gentlemanly sort of military man, who had been more than ordinarily successful in his intercourse with the Indians. The major had a garrison of a hundred and twenty soldiers, about half regular army men and the other half provincials. Military regulations were strictly enforced, and in the case of an attack each man was expected to do his duty.

"You have certainly made a long trip," said Major Gladwyn, after they had told their story. "What is your mission?"

"I am looking for a Frenchman named Benoit Vascal," said Barringford. "I was told he was in Detroit. I want very much to see him."

"Benoit Vascal?" mused the commandant of the fort. "I have certainly heard that name. It seems to me I met such a person only a few weeks ago."

"You do not know if he is around Detroit at present?" asked Barringford, anxiously. "You see," he went on, by way of explanation, "it is very important that I see this man."

"You might make some inquiries. Probably you can find out more about him from the Canadians than from the English."

"Unless I am mistaken, a great wrong was done by this Benoit Vascal," said the old frontiersman. And then, as there seemed no help for it, he told the story of the twins.

"Humph! That was certainly a black enough thing to do," said the major. "I'll call in some of the Frenchmen and ask them if they know where this Vascal can be found."

As a result of the conversation, half a dozen French trappers and traders were interviewed. One said he had met Benoit Vascal and thought he knew where the man could be found. It was decided to go out in search of the fellow on the following morning.

Dave was anxious to learn if anything was known concerning his father's trading-post, and of affairs at Fort Pitt.

"So far as I can learn, matters at Fort Pitt are about as they are here," said Major Gladwyn. "There is something in the air, and there is no doubt but that certain posts and settlements have been completely wiped out. But I can give you no particulars, for none have been vouchsafed to me."

Early on the following morning Barringford and Dave set out with a good-natured French trapper named Covelle to find Benoit Vascal. The Frenchman took them up the river a short distance to a settlement where or fifteen or twenty French families lived.

"Vascal been here las' week," said Covelle. "He rich man—spend plentee money, oui."

Coming to a neat farmhouse, they passed inside and Covelle asked the woman of the place about Vascal. She nodded her head, and then said that the man had left only the day before.

"And where did he go to?" asked Barringford, quickly.

At this the Frenchwoman merely shrugged her shoulders.

"You do not know?" demanded Dave.

"She know not," answered Covelle. "But she think he traveled from here to a French trading-post on the Maumee or to Fort Pitt. She say he come back."

"When?"

"Zat she know not," answered the French trapper.

CHAPTER XXII

THE ATTACK ON FORT DETROIT

The information received about Benoit Vascal by Barringford and Dave was scarcely satisfactory, and both walked back to Fort Detroit in a thoughtful frame of mind.

"Shall we wait for the Frenchman to come back?" questioned the youth.

"I know o' nothin' else to do," answered the old frontiersman. "I only trust he comes back soon. I must see him about them twins, ef I possibly can. Sech a thing ain't to be dropped."

Besides the regular garrison at Fort Detroit there were a number of trappers there, and among them several Sam Barringford had met. The latter made the old frontiersman and Dave at home, and shared with the newcomer a small house which they were occupying.

"The Injuns mean mischief," said one of the trappers, a fellow named Cassaway. "We have got to be on our guard, or we'll be wiped out."

"I believe you," answered Dave, and told of some of the happenings around Fort Cumberland.

What the Indians under Pontiac intended to do was partly revealed to Major Gladwyn on the day following the return of Dave and Barringford to the fort. The secret leaked out in the following manner:

Among the Ojibwas of that vicinity dwelt a fair Indian maiden known to the English by the name of Catherine. She often visited the fort, and tradition states that she fell in love with the commandant.

On the day mentioned, Catherine came to the stronghold with a pair of elkskin moccasins which the major had commissioned her to make. Having delivered the moccasins, the girl seemed loath to leave the stockade and hung around until it came time to close the gates for the night.

"What is the matter, Catherine?" asked Major Gladwyn, coming up to her. "It is getting late. Why do you not return to your home?"

At first the girl would not answer, but at last she said she had something on her mind which she must tell.

"But the white master must not say that Catherine told him," she whispered. "Catherine takes her life in her hands to speak of it."

"I'll protect you, Catherine, so have no fear," returned the major.

Thereupon the girl revealed her secret, which was to the effect that on the following day Pontiac would visit the fort, bringing along sixty of his best warriors. Each warrior would wear his long blanket and under his blanket would carry a gun, the barrel filed off short.

"Pontiac will demand a council," she continued. "At the talk he will start to deliver a belt of wampum. 'Twill be the signal for an attack. The chiefs will fire at you and your officers, and the Indians in the streets will fire at your soldiers."

"You are sure of this?" demanded the English commandant.

"As I am that the sun shines when the sky is fair," answered the Indian maiden.

The major questioned the girl further, and was at last convinced that she spoke the truth. Then he sent her away secretly, that she might not be suspected of having revealed Pontiac's plot.

The news was soon circulated that the Indians were preparing to attack the fort. Major Gladwyn called a meeting of his officers, and it was decided to keep the fort under a strong guard all night. For this purpose, half of the available men were called out, including some of the trappers and traders. It was dark and stormy, and there was no telling but that Pontiac might change his mind and bring on the attack at once.

"How many Indians in this vicinity?" asked Dave of one of the hunters.

"Not less'n fifteen hundred," was the reply. "And more coming every day."

"Then if a fight comes, we'll have a hot time of it."

"Reckon we will have," returned the hunter.

The night passed slowly, and for the most part, silently. Occasionally from a great distance came the sound of the Indian drums, and fierce yells, which told of war dances, and the "making of magic" on the part of the so-styled magicians of the Lakes.

With the coming of morning the storm cleared away and the sun shone as brightly as ever. The guards at the front of the fort announced that a large number of birch-bark canoes were leaving from the other side of the river and heading directly for Detroit.

"Only two or three Indians in each canoe," said Dave. "It's a wonder they didn't fill up."

"The canoes ride deep enough," answered Barringford. "Maybe some o' the redskins are hidden at the bottom," and in this surmise the old frontiersman was correct. Each canoe carried ten to fifteen Indians.

It was not long after this that Pontiac himself appeared, marching at the head of sixty Indian chiefs, all garbed in their blankets and each carrying a hidden gun, loaded and ready for use. The red men marched in regular Indian file, one by one, and their faces were set and ferocious, for they were bent on destroying the entire garrison of Fort Detroit. They were in their war-paint of ochre and vermillion, with here and there a dab of white lead or soot, and had their heads shaven and crowned with plumes.

It was not until ten o'clock that Pontiac presented himself at the gateway of the fort, with his under chiefs behind him. On every hand were the ordinary Indian warriors, all looking forward to the glories of a general massacre.

Major Gladwyn had made his preparations with care, and every soldier, officer, and English hunter or trapper was armed to the teeth. As the Indian chiefs came in they had to pass between two long files of troops, each man with a gun to which was attached a glittering bayonet. Each officer carried his sword and in his belt two pistols. Every old hunter carried his gun, and many had an extra weapon slung over the shoulder, and each had his long hunting knife where it could be brought into instant use.

As the Indian chiefs came in they had to pass between two long files of soldiers.

The council-house of the fort was a good-sized building located not far from the water's edge. Here Major Gladwyn and his principal officers met Pontiac and his chiefs and invited them to sit down on the mats put out for them. Pontiac was much disconcerted by the show of strength made by the English and scarcely knew how to proceed. He had expected to find the garrison entirely unprepared for attack.

"Why do I find so many of the father's young men standing in the streets with their guns?" asked the great Indian chief.

"I have ordered them out for the exercise," answered Major Gladwyn, through his interpreter, a Frenchman named La Butte. "Also, I would do honor to Pontiac," he added gravely.

At last the Indians sat down, concealing their guns as best they could. There was a pause and all looked at Pontiac, who finally arose, with his wampum speech-belt in his hands. The great chief began by stating that the Indians wanted to be friends to the English, and that they had come to smoke the pipe of peace, and to swear eternal friendship.

In the midst of his address Pontiac held up the speech-belt, as if to give the signal for an attack. As he did this, Major Gladwyn made a signal to an officer who stood outside the window of the council-house. Instantly the drums sounded out, calling an alarm, and there followed a clash of arms, which made some of the red men start in spite of their efforts to maintain their composure. All realized that their plan to surprise those at the fort had failed, and the under chiefs wondered what Pontiac would do in the emergency.

Mad with mortification, Pontiac could do nothing, and had to listen to Major Gladwyn's reply to his speech in silence. The commandant assured the Indians of his friendship, and said the English intended to treat them well so long as they behaved themselves, but that swift justice would be dealt out to them if they proved in the leastwise treacherous. Then the red men were allowed to depart, which they did silently and sullenly.

"Reckon they didn't find us nappin' thet time," said Barringford, after the meeting was over.

"Pontiac must be wild with rage," said Dave, and this was indeed the case.

A day or two of anxiety passed, and the soldiers and trappers at the fort were kept constantly on guard. The Indians, to deceive the English, came out on the green close to the fort and played a game of ball. In the meantime Pontiac went from tribe to tribe, calling upon the Wyandottes, the Ottawas, the Ojibwas, and the Pottawattamies to join in a general assault. War dances were held, and in their blind rage the Indians ran out of their villages and murdered half a dozen Englishmen and Frenchmen living at a distance from the fort. Then Pontiac marched again to the stronghold, with some of his chiefs, but found the gates shut against him.

"Why are not the gates open?" he demanded. "Pontiac comes to smoke the pipe of peace."

"I shall not open the gates for such a rabble," answered Major Gladwyn. "Go your way and leave us alone, or there may be trouble."

The failure to get into the fort angered Pontiac more than ever, and he broke forth into a tirade of the English, and then stalked off. At once his followers raised a hideous war-cry, and finding some English people at a distance from the stronghold murdered them on the spot.

Major Gladwyn now saw that an attack was inevitable, and the soldiers and hunters were told to be careful how they ventured outside of the palisade.

"You must not dream of leaving this place for the present," he said to Dave and Barringford. "To attempt to do so would be next to suicide."

"I shall stay," said Barringford. "An' ef there's any fightin' to be did, Major, count me in."

"And count me in, too," added Dave, and said this so earnestly that the commandant had to smile.

"All right, maybe we'll give you your fill of fighting," he replied, grimly.

The first real attack on the fort came at daybreak. The Indians came swarming in from all directions, and took up positions behind houses, barns, and outbuildings near the fort, and also behind a small hill to the rear of the stronghold. Each was heavily armed, and bullets rattled like hailstones against the palisades. The Indians' targets were the loopholes, and a few shots were made effective in spite of the garrison's efforts to keep out of range. The regulars and Colonial militia returned the fire smartly, and so did the hunters and trappers.

"Phew! but this is hot work!" ejaculated Dave, after the attack had lasted over two hours. "Just listen to the bullets sing! They must have a lot of ammunition to waste!"

"Jest see thet you don't try to stop one o' them bullets, lad," answered Barringford, gravely.

They had found two small loopholes near a corner of the fort, and from these points of vantage were firing on the enemy with good effect. But not far away, a large number of red men were secreted behind a set of outbuildings and could not be reached.

"We'll give them some hot shot," ordered Major Gladwyn, and had a cannon brought into proper range. After the cannon was loaded with powder it was filled with red-hot spikes and touched off. The spikes fell all around the buildings, setting them on fire, and then the Indians had to retire from that neighborhoood, the English firing on them as they ran.

CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE WILDERNESS ONCE MORE

For six hours the attack upon Fort Detroit continued with unabated fury. From every side arose blood-curdling war cries, and these were returned by the old-time hunters and trappers inside the stronghold. Time and again it looked as if the red men would do their best to storm the palisade, and the guard was urged to be on the alert against every new move the enemy made.

At last the Indians saw that further firing upon the fort would be useless, and one after another the various chiefs and their warriors withdrew. Inside the fort five men had been wounded, and the red enemy had suffered perhaps a slightly greater loss.

Major Gladwyn had not been caught napping so far as the attack was concerned, but he had been caught in another direction. He was short of provisions, and scarcely knew what to do in case the Indians should besiege the fort for any length of time.

"We must get more provisions in," he said to Major Campbell, his second in command. "Let us open negotiations with the Indians. That will give us time in which to fill up our storehouse."

Accordingly negotiating were opened and lasted several days. After conferring with La Butte and others, Pontiac said he wanted to talk to Major Campbell.

"Very well, I'll see him," said Major Campbell, and without hesitation departed on his dangerous mission, taking several others with him. He was received by Pontiac with scant ceremony and when he started to return to the fort, was told that he must remain a prisoner of the Indians.

This last action of Pontiac opened Major Gladwyn's eye to the fact that the Indians were in deadly earnest, and soon it was reported that the red men were surrounding the fort upon every side, and that their numbers were constantly increasing. Provisions were now running low and those within the stronghold knew not what to do.

"We had better leave the fort and sail for Niagara," said one officer. "All told, we have less than two hundred men, while the redskins must number at least a thousand if not two thousand."

"Yes, and we must remember that all our buildings are of wood," said another. "If they throw in fire arrows we are bound to have a big conflagration."

"With a tree they could batter down our gates with ease," said still another. "And what could two hundred of us do against two thousand? They would kill and scalp every one of us."

So the talk ran on. But others thought it would be most unwise to surrender the fort at this time, and one brought in news of a Canadian who had some hogs and cattle that he proposed to let Major Gladwyn have. The cisterns about the place were filled with water and the roofs of the various buildings were frequency wet down. The palisade was strengthened, and when the Indians were away trying to obtain food for themselves, small parties ventured outside the fort grounds, and burned or tore down the buildings near by, so that the enemy could not use them for shelter.

"This looks as if we were booked to remain at Fort Detroit for some time," remarked Dave, one day. "I don't think that Frenchman will come back here while this trouble is taking place."

"I hardly think so myself, Dave," answered Barringford. "Howsomever, all we can do is to wait and see."

"I've heard that Major Gladwyn is going to send one of the schooners to Niagara for provisions." The vessel set sail several days later, the Indians doing their best to capture her, but without avail.

Day after day passed and soon came another attack by the Indians. During this encounter the red men tried their best to burn down the buildings inside the palisade, but the garrison was on the alert and the fire was put out without much damage being done. Provisions were now so low that Dave and Barringford received next to nothing to eat.

"Can't stand this," said the old frontiersman. "Unless I miss my guess it's goin' to stay this way all summer, too."

"Do you mean that Pontiac will lay siege to Detroit?"

"It's a siege now, Dave. We can't go outside the stockade onless we run the risk o' being peppered."

"I'm getting worried about matters at home, and about father and my Cousin Henry," went on Dave. "For all we know, the post may be wiped out."

Two days later several French traders came into Detroit, bringing news from the forts to the west and south. As soon as they had had their talk with the commandant, Dave approached them. Neither could speak English, so the lad had to converse through the aid of an interpreter.

"The trading-posts on the Ohio are all in the hands of the Indians," was the dismaying news. "The English have been driven away. A few rascals of Frenchmen are aiding the red men. Some of the English traders have gone to Fort Pitt and the other are either in the wilderness in hiding, or else dead."

"And do you know anything definite of my father's post?"

"Like the rest, it is in the hands of the Indians. A French trader named Jean Bevoir is also there."

"Bevoir!" ejaculated Dave. "Oh, Sam, did you hear that? That rascal has turned up again!"

"Do you know if Mr. Morris is alive?" asked the old frontiersman, for he saw that Dave could not bring himself to put the question.

"He got away from the fort, along with a number of others," was the answer. "I think he struck out for Fort Pitt, but of that I am not sure."

This was all the Frenchman could tell, and Dave thanked him. With a downcast heart the youth walked away with Barringford.

"Sam, I wish I was with father!" he cried, presently. "I'd give all I'm worth to be with him this minute!"

"It gits me how thet Jean Bevoir should turn up," returned the old frontiersman.

"I think we ought to start for home, or for Fort Pitt, at once," went on Dave.

"Easier said nor done, lad. You remember what a time we had gittin' here. We don't want to fall into the hands o' them redskins. They are red-hot fer slaughter jest now."

"Yes, I know, but——"

"I can understand your anxiety, Dave. But jest at present, we'd better stay here."

The days went by, and for the time being the Indians outside of the fort did little or nothing. Unknown to Major Gladwyn they were on the lookout for the convoy which they knew was expected from Fort Schlosser, just above the Falls of Niagara. Later on this convoy fell into the red men's hands, adding greatly to the privations at Fort Detroit. The Indians also went down to Fort Sandusky, which was quickly burned to the ground. Then followed attacks on Presque Isle, Venango, and other points, so that by June only three important forts, Niagara, Detroit, and Pitt, held out against the enemy. At some of the smaller forts the slaughter was so terrible and complete that not a soul lived to tell of the tragedy.

Satisfied at last that Benoit Vascal would not return to Detroit for the present, Dave and Barringford made up their minds to return to Fort Cumberland at the first opportunity. Reports were now coming in thickly that the uprising was general, and one messenger brought the news (which afterwards proved to be false), that the Indians were attacking some of the towns close to the seacoast.

"We must get back," insisted Dave. "For all we know, we may be needed the worst way."

The pair talked it over for two days and then told Major Gladwyn of their plans. They found that a trapper named Flabig was also going to leave, and it was arranged that the three should go together. A dark night was chosen for the departure, and the three were provided with a stout canoe and such provisions as the commandant of the fort could spare.

"We're taking our lives in our hands, Dave," came from the old frontiersman, when they set out. "We may never reach another civilized settlement again."

After that but little was said. The hunter, Flabig, knew the Detroit River and Lake Erie well, and they trusted the navigation of their little craft to him. Fortunately, although it was dark, some of the stars were shining, by which they guided their course.

For once fortune favored them, and by the following morning they had left Fort Detroit far behind, and were on the broad expanse of Lake Erie. Not a vessel of any kind was in sight, for which they were thankful.

"We've given the Injuns the slip this time," said Barringford. "I must say, now it's over, I didn't calkerlate we'd git away."

They kept on down the lake all of that day and for the greater part of the night. Then, growing alarmed at the sight of several canoes in the dim distance, they turned into shore, and went into camp until the next night, when the journey was resumed.

Summer was now at hand, and at one place where they stopped they found a profusion of wild strawberries. They also saw not a little game, and, at the risk of being discovered, brought down as much as they desired with their rifles.

"This is indeed a wilderness," observed Dave, gazing about them. "I don't believe there's an Indian within twenty miles of us."

"Don't be too sure," answered Barringford. "They don't say, 'How dy'e do!' an' tip their caps when they spot ye."

One day followed another and still the three kept on their journey. The lake was now left behind, and they started on almost a straight trail to the southward.

"If we don't meet any Indians perhaps we can stop at Fort Pitt," said Dave.

The following day it stormed, and the rain came down so thickly they had to go into camp, under the shelter of some trees. It thundered and lightened, and they heard more than one big tree go down with a mighty crash. But none of the falls were near them, for which they were thankful.

For the past twenty-four hours they had been following a narrow trail which ran along through a beautiful valley. Flabig said he had been on that trail the year before, and pointed out several trees upon which he had cut his initials. But after the storm was over, and they had covered a few miles more, the hunter came to a sudden halt.

"Don't look like the same trail no more," he said, blankly. "We must have made a false turn."

There was nothing to do but to turn back, and this they did. They had hardly covered half a mile when Sam Barringford gave a shout of warning.

"Stop!"

"What's up, Sam?" asked Dave, quickly.

"Don't ye see the Injun tracks? They've been a follerin' us right along."

"Then they must have turned back, as we did."

"Right ye are, lad."

"Fifteen or twenty Injuns, too!" added Flabig, after looking at the footprints. "Boys, I don't like this nohow."

"We can't go back any further," said Dave. "We'd be running into a regular trap."

Hardly had he spoken when a rifle shot rang out and Flabig gave a groan.

"I'm done fer!" he gasped. "I thought they'd git me some day!" And he fell dead where he stood.

CHAPTER XXIV

LOST

"Run, Dave, run!"

Dazed and bewildered by the sudden death of the hunter, the youth did not know what to do until the voice of Sam Barringford rang out close by his side. The old frontiersman had his rifle leveled, but he did not pull the trigger, for the Indian who had appeared was already out of sight.

"Where shall we run to?" asked Dave.

For answer the old frontiersman pointed with his hand, and without delay both set off, down the illy-defined trail they had been pursuing but a short while before. Another rifle shot rang out, and the bullet graced Dave's shoulder, clipping away a bit of his jacket.

"Into the brushwood," said Barringford, and made a leap over some low bushes. Dave followed, and both went plunging straight into the heart of the wilderness, over rough stones and fallen trees, and then downward, into a gully where the overhanging bushes soon hid them from view.

The Indians were now in full pursuit. As Flabig had said, there were from fifteen to twenty of them, and they belonged to the Seneca tribe that had just left Venango in ashes and killed the majority of the garrison attached to that post. They were skillful warriors and bent upon killing or capturing Dave and Barringford at any cost.

But the old frontiersman did not intend to be taken, and once in the gully he did not stop, but continued to push forward until he reached a series of rough rocks. Up these he climbed, and finding an overhanging branch, drew himself up into the tree and called on Dave to follow. Then they climbed to the other side of the tree, dropped behind more bushes, and continued their flight.

Dave gave a sigh of relief.

"Reckon as thet will throw 'em off the trail, or, leas'wise, give 'em a bit o' huntin' to do afore they pick it up ag'in," observed the old frontiersman. "But we've got to leg it good an' strong, or we'll be their game, sure pop."

Nearly a mile more was covered before they slackened their pace. They had reached a stony brook, and along this watercourse they walked, to conceal their trail again. Then, coming to a cliff of overhanging rocks, they found a fine shelter, and here stopped to rest.

"Poor Flabig," murmured Dave. "He certainly didn't deserve that fate."

"He's better off than if he was captured an' tortured," returned Barringford. "Kinder winded, eh, Dave?"

"Just a little. It was a stiff run."

"It war a run fer life, lad, nuthin less. I seed at onct it wouldn't do to take a stand—they war too many fer us. I hope they don't find their way here."

While resting they kept their eyes and ears open for the appearance of the Indians, but not a red man showed himself. At the foot of the cliff was a spring of clear, cold water, and here they procured a refreshing drink.

"I don't suppose you know where we are, Sam?"

"Hain't got much o' an idee, Dave, an' thet's a fact. One thing is sartin, we ain't nigh to thet trail."

"The wilderness is pretty thick around here."

"Shall we go on?"

"If you think best."

It was decided to continue their course, and as well as they were able, they shaped it toward the southeastward. Presently they came to an open glade and here found the remains of a fire.

"Sumbody has had a camp here," said the old hunter. "But it war weeks ago."

An hour passed, and they appeared to be going slightly downhill. Overhead the tree branches were so thick that scarcely a ray of sunshine reached the ground. Then it became darker, so that they could not see where they were going. The tree roots were of immense size, sprawling in all directions. The silence was so profound that it was painful.

"Might as well stop right here," said Barringford at last.

"What do you mean?" questioned Dave, quickly.

"Ain't no use to go further, seeing as how we don't know whar we are gittin' to."

"Sam, we are lost!"

"So we are, Dave, teetotally lost at thet, too."

Dave gave a long look around, and in spite of his natural bravery a shiver went over him. He had been lost in the forest before, but never in such a complete wilderness as this. Because of the trees and brushwood they could not see fifty feet on any side of them. The silence remained unbroken, although they strained their ears to the utmost, to hear even the gurgle of a distant brook or the note of some bird.

It was a situation to alarm the stoutest heart. Dave had heard numerous stories of travelers, and even experienced hunters, becoming lost in the wilderness, and either losing their lives because of this, or becoming insane through their wanderings. He knew the tales to be true, and as he gazed around the reason became very plain to him.

"We might as well take it easy," said Barringford, trying in his rough way to comfort his companion. "Ain't nuthin to be skeert about, yet."

"Have you any idea where the trail is, Sam?"

"I've been allowin' to myself it's off thar," and the old frontiersman pointed out the direction he meant. "But I ain't puttin' up no money on it."

They tried to rest, but each was too much disturbed in mind to remain quiet, and soon they went on, deeper and deeper into the great wilderness. So they continued until night came on and all became black around them.

"I'm going to have a fire," said Dave, half desperately. "I'm not going to sit in this darkness, Indians or no Indians."

"An' I'm with ye," returned Barringford, and without delay they kindled a fair-sized camp-fire, over which they prepared a well-earned meal. Firewood was to be had in plenty and they heaped it on recklessly, although the forest, as a whole, was so damp that a general conflagration was impossible.

"I suppose we'll have to stay here all night," said Dave, when the meal, leisurely eaten, was finished.

"Don't see no way out on't lad. The rest will do us good."

"Don't you think we made a mistake by going down so deep into this hollow?"

"Perhaps, lad—but it wasn't no mistake to git away from them redskins."

All was made safe around the camp-fire and not long after this they went to sleep. Nothing came during the night to disturb them, and both slumbered on until the sun was showing above the tree-tops.

Dave was the first to stir, but scarcely had he gotten up than Barringford followed. The smoldering fire was coaxed up, and they procured such a breakfast as their scanty store permitted.

"What do you say to climbing a tall tree and looking around?" said Dave.

"I was goin' to suggest that same, Dave."

A giant of the forest was not far away, and having procured two good saplings, each having a crook at one end, they hauled themselves up into the tree. Standing on one limb, each would reach for that above with the crook, and then haul himself up on the sapling, as a sailor hauls himself up on a rope. To climb up along the big tree trunk was entirely out of the question.

Mounting to the very top of such a large tree was no easy task, and both felt tired when they had gained the position desired. A grand panorama was now spread before them and they surveyed it with interest.

"That's the trail!" cried Barringford, pointing it out. "But it's a good mile from here."

"And there is the river, just beyond!" replied Dave. "But, Sam, it looks like a rough walk to get to it."

"'Twill be a rough journey truly, lad, but that can't be helped. Let us be thankful that we have located ourselves."

"I am thankful. It was horrible to be lost in such a wilderness as this."

Having fixed the "lay of the land" well in their heads, they descended to the ground, put out the camp-fire, and started in the direction of the trail. They had proceeded less than a hundred yards when Barringford called a halt.

"What is it now, Sam?"

"Boggy ground, Dave. We've got to go around."

"Which way?" asked the youth, and then gave a sudden yell. "Look out! There's a snake!"

He was right, and an instant later, not one snake, but half a dozen came into sight, from under a fallen log. They were three to four feet in length, of a dark brown color, and with eyes that shone like beads. They hissed viciously and then started to crawl in several directions. One passed directly between Barringford's feet, causing the old frontiersman to leap out of reach in great haste.

"Don't stay here!" cried he. "Come!" And away he went on a run, with Dave beside him. They might have shot at the snakes, but did not wish to waste their scant store of ammunition.

Fortunately, the snakes did not follow them, for which they were thankful, and a little later they struck an open space, where walking became easy.

"I suppose there was a regular den of snakes back there," said Dave. "Ugh! I'm glad we didn't strike them last night."

"Perhaps they wasn't poisonous, Dave, but it's best not to run any risks."

It took them the best part of the day to regain the lost trail, and by that time they were so exhausted that further walking was out of the question. They went to fishing in the river and soon had a good mess, which they cooked for supper. Then they sought out a camping spot and retired for the night.

The next day was one of hard tramping, around some falls and rapids of the stream. But after that, they constructed a rude raft and floated along at their ease for the rest of the week. They also shot some small game, which gave them all they wished to eat in that line, and found numerous wild berries. Then they came to a spot where the river divided into two forks, and did not know which fork to take to continue the trip.

"Let us take that on the right," said Dave, and Barringford agreed. A day later they reached some waterfalls, and both the youth and the old hunter gazed around in amazement.

"I know this spot, Sam!"

"So do I, lad."

"We came out here to hunt, several years ago."

The old frontiersman nodded.

"We came up yonder trail, directly from Fort Cumberland."

"Yes."

"Then we are only about a good day's journey from the fort," went on the youth, his face brightening.

"You are right, Dave, an' we ain't lost no more nuther. Come on, we'll soon be thar now, an' then we'll know what's been a-happenin' sence we went away," added the old frontiersman.

CHAPTER XXV

THE ATTACK ON FORT PITT

It is now high time that we go back for a little and see how matters were faring with James Morris and Henry at Fort Pitt.

Following the attack on the trading-post belonging to Mr. Morris, came a period of inactivity on the part of the Indians. But this did not last for long, and soon reports came to Fort Pitt of outrages at half a dozen points. Then some Indians came close to the fort with pack-horses, and demanded some provisions, and being refused they went away and fell upon some traders bound for the stronghold and murdered them in cold blood.

"This is certainly barbarous," said James Morris. "We ought to go after those redskins." But this was not permitted by Captain Ecuyer, for he felt that a general attack on the fort might come at any time. Two soldiers went out, to do a little spy work, and both were shot down when less than a mile from the stronghold. Then came in the report that the Indians had abandoned one of the villages up the Allegheny and were marching against the English.

"This is certainly growing warm," said Mr. Morris. "I should like to know how matters are going at home."

A few days later a trader came in more dead than alive, with news from the Tuscaroras.

"Chief Shingas warmed me to flee," said he. "He says the war-hatchet had been dug up everywhere, and that Detroit, Sandusky, Niagara, Presque Isle, and many other places have fallen, and that towns and settlements have been burned to the ground." This news was not altogether true, as we know, but it created great excitement, and the commandant at Fort Pitt renewed his efforts to make the place as strong as possible.

In a story of this nature, it is impossible to give even a tenth part of the many exciting events which occurred during that fateful summer of 1763, when the awful conspiracy of Pontiac reached its height. Families without number were slaughtered, children stolen and whole settlements given over to the flames. The Indians did not remain in one locality, but roamed from place to place, until the alarm of the whites became so great that it was thought by some that the entire "Western Countries" would have to be abandoned once more. Petitions were sent in to the governors and to the king, pleading for aid, and standing that the limit had been reached, and the settlers must be helped or they would surely lose their all. So keen was the excitement in some places that no Indians dared to show themselves, even though they were friendly, for the whites would no longer trust them.

The garrison at Fort Pitt consisted of three hundred and thirty soldiers and frontiersmen. Some of the frontiersmen had their wives and families at the fort, and the total number of people within the place was calculated at about six hundred and fifty. To make the houses both shot-proof and fire-proof they were covered with dirt and sods, and the ramparts were also strengthened, and an old fire engine, of the hand-pump variety, was brought out and fixed up for use.

Thus the days went by until the latter part of June, when a party of Indians appeared near the fort, drove away some of the soldiers' horses, and killed several cows. Then the red men began to fire at the fort.

"They are attacking us!" cried Henry, and ran to the post assigned to him, followed by his uncle. But as they could see no Indians they did not bring their rifles into use.

Captain Ecuyer allowed the enemy to fire on the fort for fifteen minutes and then ordered his gunners to discharge their howitzers. The shells from the latter burst directly over the heads of the Indians, and becoming panic-stricken they fled, and the brief attack came to a close.

"We'll hear from them again to-morrow," said James Morris, and he was right. At nine o'clock in the morning several Indians came up for a "talk." One was known as Turtle's Heart, who was the spokesman.

"What does the red man want?" demanded Captain Ecuyer, from the rampart.

"My brothers, we that stand here are your friends," answered Turtle's Heart. "But we have bad news for you. Six of the red men's great nations have dug up the war-hatchet, and cut off every English garrison but yours. Those who have conquered are now on the way to attack you."

"Is that all you have to say?" asked the commandant, knowing full well that more must be coming.

"No, my brothers, we are your best friends, and we wish to save you. Flee to the Eastern forts, where you will be safe. You have yet time, but it will not be for long, for the six big nations are on the way to overwhelm you. Go, for the sake of your wives and your children. Turtle's Heart has spoken."

"Turtle's Heart has been kind," answered Captain Ecuyer. "For that I must thank him. But the red men are mistaken about the other forts being captured. They can hold out, even as we can hold out, for we have a large store of ammunition and many provisions."

"But the provisions will not last forever," said one of the Indians.

"They will last long enough," answered the commandant of the fort. "And now let me tell you another thing, since you have been so considerate. An army of six thousand English will shortly arrive here to aid us. An army of three thousand has already gone up to the Great lakes, to punish the Ottawas and the Ojibwas. Another army is marching to the South to punish the Catawbas and Cherokees. Take heed, for our sakes, and go away, before our army arrives here and does you great harm. But do not tell the other Indians, for they deserve the fate that is in store for them."

"When is the great army to arrive?" asked Turtle's Heart.

"It will be here very soon, now."

This ended the talk, and the Indians withdrew much crestfallen. The majority believed what had been told to them, and becoming alarmed left the vicinity of Fort Pitt, to await the arrival of more warriors from the north.

"I wish an army of six thousand men was really coming this way," said Henry, when he heard of the story told to the Indians.

"That was made up, just to scare those fellows," answered his uncle.

"I know it. But some sort of an army may be coming."

"Well, it can't get here any too quick, Henry. To me matters look exceedingly black," returned the trader.

Day after day passed and still no attack was made upon the fort. The vigilance of the garrison was not lessened, however, and every man present had to do guard duty. This was not so bad in good weather, but Henry found it far from comfortable to stand guard during the wet and dreary nights. Yet he was used to the life of a soldier and did not complain.

"It puts me in mind of the time I spent on Lake Ontario and along the St. Lawrence," he said.

"Your experience as a soldier is now standing you in good stead," said James Morris. "If an attack should come, the captain will expect every man here to do a full soldier's duty."

One day Henry was on guard duty near the lower end of the fort when he saw two white men coming across the river in a canoe. Just as they reached the middle of the stream, the leading man in the craft threw up his arms and pitched headlong into the water, an arrow having pierced his side. The other man at once fell down into the canoe, and several arrows flew over his head.

Henry lost no time in sounding the alarm, and soon a dozen soldiers and backwoodsmen went to the rescue of the man in the canoe. A rifle bullet pierced the craft and it began to sink. Then the man set up a shout for help, in French.

"He says he can't swim," said one of the backwoodsmen.

"Let us go out and throw him a rope," cried Henry, and hurried forth, accompanied by James Morris and several others. Hiding behind some logs, they threw out the end of the rope and the drowning man clutched it. Just then another rifle rang out, and the bullet clipped a bit of log close to Henry's head.

"Keep down there, Henry!" warned James Morris.

It was hard work to bring in the Frenchman, for the fellow did not dare to climb upon the logs for fear of being shot at again. He was pulled into shallow water and then told to run for some brushwood. He started to do so, and then pitched headlong into the water, shot in the side.

"He'll drown, if he isn't dead!" cried Henry, and started to dash out. But James Morris was ahead of him, and in a trice had the wet and wounded man in his arms. Then the trader made a dash back into the fort, and the others who had gone out followed.

The Frenchman was seriously hurt and had to be carried to the hospital of the fort, where a surgeon worked over him for several hours.

"It's a sad complication," said the surgeon. "The wound is bad enough, and he was about half drowned in addition. But I think he will come around all right in the end." Yet in the morning the patient showed small signs of improvement, and by the next day fever had set in and he was out of his mind and began to rave.

"He may recover, but it will take time," said James Morris, after a visit to the bedside of the sick man. "He has had a narrow escape."

"Did you ever see the man before?" asked Henry.

"Never. By some papers he carries they have found out that his name is Benoit Vascal. He seems to be rich."

"Benoit Vascal," mused Henry. "I never heard that name before. I wonder what brought him here?"

"I don't know, Henry. He doesn't look like a trader."

It was true, the newcomer was Benoit Vascal, the very man Barringford and Dave had set out to find. Vascal was hunting for two French traders, who were to aid him in acquiring title to certain lands near Montreal. His hunt had led him from Detroit to Presque Isle and then to Fort Pitt. In the past he had had but little trouble with the Indians, who looked upon the French as their friends, but now the red men, mistaking him for an Englishman, had come close to depriving him of his life.

The excitement attending the rescue of Benoit Vascal was hardly at an end, when a soldier announced the coming of some Indians. A large body was approaching from the north, and at their head was Turtle's Head, and Chief Shingas of the Tuscaroras.

The Indian chiefs asked for a conference, which was granted to them. They said that they had received a great belt of wampum from the Ottawas, and that the latter were about to pass through the country and destroy the English. This being so, they again urged Captain Ecuyer to evacuate the fort.

"I shall not leave," said the commandant, firmly. And then he said he would fight to a finish, should the red men attack him.

Greatly enraged, the chiefs withdrew, and without delay the warriors came close to the fort that very night. Aided by the darkness, they dug burrows for themselves in the dirt of the river bank, and when daylight came, hid in the holes, so that the English could not see them. From the holes they sent a steady fire into the fort until not a person inside dared to expose himself.

"Now, we are going to catch it," said James Morris, knowing well what to expect. The battle waged with great fury, not only that day, but also the next and that following. Many soldiers and frontiersmen were wounded and Captain Ecuyer himself was struck in the leg by an arrow. Many fire arrows were hurled into the inclosure, and the defenders had to work hard to keep down the conflagration.

"We are doomed!" said some. "We cannot possibly hold out." And as day after day went by, and no relief showed itself, it certainly looked as if Fort Pitt must fall, and its gallant garrison be massacred.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE MISSING CHILDREN

"Sam, there has been more fighting around here."

It was Dave who spoke, and as he did so, he pointed to the blackened ruins of a cabin which had been located three miles from Fort Cumberland. The ruins were still smoking.

"It's a general uprising, sure enough, Dave," returned the old frontiersman. "I only hope we find all o' the folks we left behind safe an' sound."

They had been pursuing a side trail, but now they reached the main road, and as they did so, they heard a clatter of horses' hoofs and a moment later a woman and two children, followed by a man, came into sight.

"Hello, Mr. Dumphreys!" cried Dave. "Where are you bound?"

"Oh, Morris, is it you?" was the reply, from the man. "Bound for Fort Cumberland. Have you seen anything of Polly, our young colored slave?"

"Polly? No."

"Then the Indians must have carried her off."

"Had a fight up to your house?" inquired Barringford.

"Yes. But we got away in the darkness last night and hid in the thickets until this morning. Polly said she would join us, but we couldn't see her anywhere. I can tell you, these are terrible times."

"What is the news from the fort, Mr. Dumphreys?" asked Dave.

"Two men were shot down day before yesterday—old Ike Slosson and Jerry Kempley,—and the Indians visited the sawmill and stole Shag's team of blacks. Then they went over to the Perry schoolhouse and shot at the teacher, but he gave 'em some buckshot, and that brought the soldiers over in jig time, and the redskins got out."

"Do you know anything of my folks?"

"Your uncle is not so well—his ankle got to swelling and he can't walk on it. Your aunt is a good bit worried, and so is Rodney. I saw 'em about a week ago. I don't know how they are now," added the settler.

As he rode along beside Dave and Barringford he related many of the events which had occurred in the vicinity of Cumberland and Will's Creek since they had gone away. It was the old story of attacks and pilferings, one very much like another.

"The Indians are getting bolder every day," said Thomas Dumphreys. "How it is going to end I don't know. They have sent for more troops, and somebody told me that Colonel Bouquet was coming out to lick the redskins, but I haven't seen anything of him yet."

It was not long after this that the party reached the outskirts of Fort Cumberland. They found a great crowd assembled and it was with difficulty that they located Mr. and Mrs. Morris and Rodney.

"Dave!" cried Joseph Morris. "I am glad to see you back in safety. And glad to see you back, too, Sam."

"And we're glad to get back," answered Dave. He shook hands with his uncle and aunt, and his cousin Rodney. "Where are Nell and the twins?" he went on.

"Oh, don't you know?" burst out Mrs. Morris.

"Know what?" queried Barringford, for he saw that something was wrong. "Don't tell me they—they are gone."

Joseph Morris nodded, while his wife turned away and buried her face in her apron.

"Yes, they are gone," answered Rodney, who was the only one who seemed able to speak. "We were out Wednesday, looking for berries and fishing—we had to get something, you know—provisions are so low—and as we couldn't leave Nell and the twins alone, we took them along. I went up the stream a bit, and mother rambled over the field. All at once I heard a terrible scream. I dropped my pole and ran back, and found mother in a faint, with that cut you see on her cheek. Nell and the twins were gone. I yelled for help, and pretty soon half a dozen soldiers came up, and then we started after the Indians. We killed one of the rascals, but the others got away and hid in the forest, and try our best we couldn't get on to their trail."

"And you haven't found them since?" faltered Dave.

"No. We've hunted everywhere, and offered fifty pounds reward. We were out two days and two nights, and I got hit in the shoulder by a bullet, although it didn't amount to much. The Indians took one woman and four children, and I reckon they traveled west as tight as they could go."

"Then the twins are gone!" said Barringford. "Poor Tom and Artie!" And he turned away to hide his emotion.

Dave went over to his aunt and the good woman gave a sob, and rested her head on his youthful shoulder.

"Oh, Dave! Dave!" she moaned. "Poor Nell! Poor, poor Nell!" She could say no more. She had cried many times before, but now her tears started afresh.

"Poor Nell!" murmured the youth. "But don't go on so, Aunt Lucy, we're bound to find her again some day. Don't you remember how we found her before, when they carried her away off to Niagara?" He stroked her hair. "Don't cry," and then he kissed her.

"This is certainly the wust blow yet," said the old frontiersman. "O' course you tried your best, Rodney?" he added, questioning.

"We surely did, Sam. I didn't sleep for two nights, and we traveled around until we couldn't go another step. You don't think I'd let them get away if I could possibly help it," added the former cripple, reproachfully.

"What Injuns were they, do you know thet?"

"Not exactly, but I think they were Senecas, or Tuscaroras, and the soldiers think so too. They have been very bold lately, and some think we'll be attacked here before long."

After that the Morrises told their story in detail and then listened to what Dave and Barringford had to say. It was easy to see that Mrs. Morris was completely broken in spirits, and that Mr. Morris and Rodney were also greatly depressed. Mr. Morris sat in an easy chair and said that walking around was very painful for him.

"But I shouldn't care about my ankle, if only I knew Nell and the twins were safe," said Dave's uncle. "I'd rather lose my hand than have any harm befall Nell."

"We've got to rescue all on 'em," said Barringford, decidedly. "We hev simply got to do it."

It was a gloomy home-coming, and Dave felt heavy-hearted enough when he went to sleep that night. There were no house accommodations, and all slept on the ground, with nothing but a rude shack, which Rodney and Joseph Morris had constructed, to cover them. Settlers who had lost their homes were all about them, and misery and want were on every hand.

"I never thought it could be so bad," said the youth, on the following morning. "Rodney, where is this going to end?"

"Don't ask me, Dave. Perhaps, after all, we'll have to give up our farm at the Creek and move further eastward."

"Yes, and what of my father's trading-post?"

"He'll have to give that up, too."

"It's a consarned shame the government can't send us some troops!" cried Sam Barringford, savagely. "Troops is our only salvation. I'd like to raise a company o' rangers myself, hang me ef I wouldn't!"

Barrington's ideas found ready indorsement, and a few days later thirty-six of the settlers formed themselves into a company, known as Pattersall's Rangers, because one Aubrey Pattersall was the captain. They drove the Indians from the vicinity of Fort Cumberland, and for the time being matters became a little more quiet in that vicinity.

Reports were now coming in thick and fast, and soon it became definitely known that every fort and settlement in the west and along the lakes had been attacked by the Indians, and only Niagara, Detroit, and Fort Pitt were still holding out. The attacks at Venango, Presque Isle, St. Joseph, Le Boeuf, and other points had been brutal in the extreme, and atrocities were committed which have few parallels in history. Where the whites were taken prisoners, they were tortured to death, and in some cases the Indian women and children took part in the barbarous proceedings.

From one old trapper Dave at last learned that his father and Henry, with some others, had reached Fort Pitt, and had attached themselves to the garrison at that stronghold. This trapper likewise told the commandant at Fort Cumberland that a large body of Indians had surrounded Fort Pitt and expected to capture the place, and this news was quickly forwarded to General Amherst, now in command of the English forces in America.

General Amherst was already doing all in his power to gather troops for a march against the red men. But soldiers were scarce, and all he could get were mere handfuls from here, there, and anywhere. Some of these he sent to reinforce Fort Niagara, and one expedition, under Captain Dalzell, was sent to Detroit. But Dalzell was surprised by Pontiac and defeated, while the gallant English officer himself was cruelly slain.

The commander of the English troops at Philadelphia at this time was Colonel Henry Bouquet, who, like Captain Ecuyer, of Fort Pitt, was a Swiss by birth, but had served for a long time under the banner of St. George. General Amherst now communicated with Colonel Bouquet ordering him to collect as large a force as possible, and move across the Allegheny Mountains, to the relief of Carlisle, Bedford, Fort Pitt, and other forts and posts along the old western army road.

Colonel Bouquet was a man of action, and without delay he gathered together a force of about five hundred men, principally Highlanders, who had come in from service in the West Indies. He also sent out orders, through his agents, to collect horses, carts, and supplies, and have them in readings upon his arrival at Carlisle and other points along the proposed line of march.

"Colonel Bouquet is coming from Philadelphia to fight the Indians!" was the announcement at Fort Cumberland one morning late in June. "He wants horses, wagons, and other things, and he is ready to take along any men who volunteer."

"I'm going!" cried Dave, as soon as this news reached him. "If he is going to march for Fort Pitt, that is just what I want."

"I shall go, too," came from Sam Barringford. "Every man as has the good o' his country at heart ought to go," he added.

"I'd like to go, first-rate," said Rodney, wistfully. "But I suppose I've got to stay here with mother and father."

"You can go if you wish, Rodney," said Joseph Morris. "We'll get along somehow. Perhaps, while you're soldiering, you'll learn something of Nell and the twins."

"If I only could!"

"I'm going to keep my eyes open, too," said Dave. "And I want to see father and Henry again. It seems an age since we parted."

"It's the twins and Nell thet's a-taking me out," said the old frontiersman. "I won't never rest ontil I know what's become o' 'em."

Colonel Bouquet was expected at Carlisle about the first of July, and to that point marched Barringford, Dave, Rodney and a dozen others who wanted to join the army as volunteers. Some were on horseback and some on foot, and every one carried a heavy pack and his rifle and hunting knife.

"I wish you luck," said Joseph Morris, on parting.

"Yes, and all of you be sure and come back safe and sound," added Mrs. Morris.

Fort Cumberland was soon left behind, and they took the road that led to Carlisle. All were sober and but little was said. They knew that many perils lay ahead of them.

CHAPTER XXVII

IN THE RANKS ONCE MORE

"This is truly horrible!"

Rodney uttered the words, after listening to the account of another attack by the Indians. The party had been at Carlisle three days, and a dozen men had come in with reports of the settlement in Shearman's valley, and on the Juniata. It was the old story of bloodshed and burned cabins and haystacks, and stolen cattle. A boy was there—a tall, half-crazed youth of thirteen,—who had seen his father, mother, and two sisters slaughtered before his eyes. No one could comfort the lad, although many tried.

"I have father's rifle," he said. "I am going to kill Indians as long as I live!" And tradition tells us that this boy kept his word. During the Revolution he joined Daniel Boone in Kentucky, and then went out on the Missouri. For every red man killed he cut a notch on his rifle stock, and when he was slain, at about the age of fifty, the stock of the firearm was found literally covered with notches.

Carlisle was overcrowded with men, women, and children, who had come in from all directions. Every house and barn was filled to overflowing, and hundreds slept in the open, as at Fort Cumberland. The majority had lost their all and would have starved to death had it not been for the kindness of those who still had a little to give. Colonel Bouquet had expected to march upon the Indians immediately, but there was a delay in getting horses and supplies, and, consequently the middle of July was reached before the advance was ordered.

The colonel was willing enough to take the volunteers with him, but warned all such that they would have to look after their own supplies. To this they agreed, and a company of twenty-seven men was formed. Nearly every one of the number had done army duty before, so very little drilling was required. Each could shoot well, and that was of first importance.

"I wish we had more of the rangers along," said Dave. "Those green fellows from the West Indies know nothing of Indian fighting. They may make the same mess of it that Braddock's men did."

"Most of the rangers want to stay behind to protect their families, and you can't blame them for that," answered Rodney. "I shouldn't want to leave a wife and children here all alone."

It was a great day for Carlisle when the little army marched out. Everybody wished the soldiers the best of luck, but many a head was shaken gravely. What could five hundred or six hundred men do against thousands of Indians, and especially in a forest fight, where the red warriors were perfectly at home?

"They'll never come back," croaked one old man. "Their bones will bleach with the bones of Braddock's men."

The town left behind, the army plunged directly into the wilderness of the Cumberland valley. The road was bad, and the sweating horses had all they could do to draw along the rough wagons and carts carrying the supplies. The rangers, by their own choice, were permitted to take the lead. A constant watch was kept for Indians, but for several days no red men put in an appearance.

"They know better than to fight so close to the settlements," said Barringford. "But wait till we get out a bit—then, like ez not, they'll do their best to ambush us."

The first stop of the army was at Shippenburgh, a lonely settlement about thirty miles from Fort Cumberland. Here they found nearly fourteen hundred men, women, and children, who had fled to the place for safety. These people reported that Fort Ligonier, in the mountains, was surrounded, as was also Fort Bedford, and that all communications with Fort Pitt had been broken off.

"Perhaps Fort Pitt has fallen," said Dave, sadly.

"Let us hope for the best, Dave," answered Rodney. "You know it's a pretty strong place."

A band of thirty soldiers, led by some rangers who knew the way, was immediately dispatched for Fort Ligonier, and the main body of the army marched directly for Fort Loudon, and then for Fort Bedford.

"What a solitary place," was Rodney's comment, as they came in sight of the latter stronghold, perched among the mountains. Only a handful of soldiers were there, and with them more starving families.

"We have been pestered by Indians for weeks," said Captain Ourry, who was in charge. "Not a soul has dared to leave the fort. All of the houses in this vicinity have been burned down and the cattle stolen."

"Have you any news from Fort Pitt?" demanded Colonel Bouquet.

"I have not, sir. The messengers cannot get through, for the Indians are watching every trail. You will undoubtedly find hundreds of them within only a few miles of here."

"We must get to Fort Pitt even so," was Colonel Bouquet's brief rejoinder.

Yet the commander realized that the dangerous part of his mission was now before him, and a rest of three days was given to the soldiers, during which time some additional supplies were gathered in. From Fort Bedford, nothing but the unbroken wilderness lay before the army, and the road, because of the heavy growth of brush and branches, was in spots almost impassable. What had become of the party that had pushed by side trails to Fort Ligonier was not known.

The weather proved unusually warm and a dry spell covered the road with thick dust. Slowly and painfully the army toiled along, over hills and through hollows, often having to cut away the brush and branches to let the wagons pass. A strict watch was kept for the enemy, and the supply were jealously guarded by the regulars, while the rangers "beat up the brush," so that nothing like an ambuscade might surprise them.

"This is rough walking, truly," observed Rodney, as he marched forward with the perspiration running down his face.

"How does your leg feel?" questioned Dave. "I hope this doesn't prove too much for you."

"Oh, I reckon I can pull through," said the former cripple, bravely.

On went the army as gallantly as before, but with added caution. The silence of the wilderness was profound, and not a single Indian showed himself. Yet they were watching the English soldiers with jealous eyes, as later events proved.

There was a series of hills to cross, and in one spot the road was so bad the army had to wait until it was repaired, so that the wagons might get through. They marched until nightfall, and then gathered in a small circle, with guards on all sides, that they might not be surprised.

"Colonel Bouquet has learned his lesson well," said Dave. "He doesn't intend to be caught as General Braddock was."

At last the army came in sight of Fort Ligonier, which was located a hundred and fifty miles from Carlisle. Only a few Indians were seen besieging the stronghold and they ran away as soon as the army came up.

"The others have arrived here in safety," was the cry which went up, and it proved true. A small fight had taken place, but nobody had been hurt.

"I am thankful you have come," said the commandant of Fort Ligonier to Colonel Bouquet. "We are in great danger, and the danger is increasing every day."

"Any news from Fort Pitt?"

"Not the slightest, sir. One messenger tried to get through last week but was shot down. The Indians have been hemming us in closely for a month."

Satisfied now beyond all doubt that Fort Pitt had either fallen or was in sore straits, Colonel Bouquet resolved to push forward more vigorously than ever.

"Every hour counts," he said to his under officers. "I shall leave my wagons here, and also the oxen, and take only some pack horses along."

The advance from Fort Ligonier was begun on the fourth of August. A few sharpshooters, including Sam Barringford, went ahead, and then followed the regular troops and the rangers, having in their midst about three hundred and fifty pack horses and thirty-odd cattle—the latter for fresh meat for the soldiers.

"We are coming to a dangerous part of the road now," remarked Dave, as they marched along. "Just ahead of us is a deep hollow, with a little stream at the bottom. If the Indians catch us there we'll be like rats in a trap."

Dave was right. The stream he mentioned was Turtle Creek, and as Colonel Bouquet had been warned by the officers at Fort Ligonier of the danger of the locality, he resolved to go ahead cautiously and, if necessary, cross the creek during the night, when the red men would not have such a good opportunity to fire on his army.

A short distance to the eastward of Turtle Creek was another small stream called Bushy Run, and here it was resolved to make a halt until darkness was at hand. Taking the route step, the soldiers trudged along steadily until noon, and then, after a midday repast, went on again.

"What a magnificent lot of timber there is around here," remarked Rodney, as he gazed at the stately trees on both sides of the road.

"You are right," replied Dave. "Not an ax has ever been used here, excepting to clear this road."

"Look, Dave, there is a bee tree yonder!"

"True enough. What a pity that we can't stop and get some of the honey. It would be worth several pounds at least."

"We could mark the tree—if we thought we should ever come this way again."

"There is no telling about that. If Fort Pitt has fallen and the trading-post is in the hands of the Indians and French, perhaps father won't want to stay out here—that is, supposing he is safe, which is doubtful."

"Oh, I hope he and Henry escape, no matter what happens to the fort."

"Perhaps Fort Pitt will suffer as Venango did, Rodney. Every man at Venango was killed." And Dave shook his head sadly.

At one o'clock the army was within half a mile of Bushy Run, when a shot was heard ahead, followed by several others in rapid succession.

"The sharpshooters have discovered the Indians!" was the cry, and then followed more shots, and several rangers came running back towards the main body of troops.

Colonel Bouquet at once halted his soldiers and then, as the sounds of warfare increased, he ordered a charge. Leaving the pack horses and cattle behind, the regulars and rangers swept along the road, with bayonets fixed and eyes on the alert for the first appearance of the Indians.

"There they are!" came the cry, and on the instant fully a hundred painted warriors leaped from behind the trees and sent a volley of arrows and bullets at the soldiers. The latter fired in return, and several red men went down, never to rise again. Then a second band of Indians appeared from another quarter, and the fighting became general.

The sharpshooters had fallen back, to keep from being surrounded and cut off, and it was not long before Sam Barringford ranged up beside Rodney and Dave. The young soldiers were loading and firing as rapidly as possible. Bullets were flying in all directions and men were dropping everywhere.

The young soldiers were loading and firing as rapidly as possible.

"We're catching it this trip!" muttered the old frontiersman, grimly. "We'll be lucky ef we git out with a whole skin!"

For half an hour the battle continued hotly. Then, in the midst of the tumult, came a volley of shots from the rear.

"The Indians have attacked the pack-train!" was the cry. "They are coming up behind us. We are hemmed in on all sides!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE BATTLE OF BUSHY RUN

The report that the Indians had attacked the pack-train was true, and as soon as he learned of this, Colonel Bouquet ordered the advance guard to fall back to the support of the train.

"We must save our horses and our supplies!" was the cry, and back went regulars and rangers, in double-quick order, the Indians on either side of the road sending in a hot and galling fire as they retreated.

The pack-train was thoroughly disorganized, for the firing had frightened the horses, and they were plunging in all directions. As Dave, Rodney, and Barringford retreated in a bunch, one horse came tearing along the road and bumping against the charger ridden by one of the captains of the regulars, pitched the officer headlong to the ground.

"Look out, there!" cried Dave, for another horse was coming on also at a reckless speed. The steed was on the point of stamping on the fallen captain, when Dave caught him by the curb and swung him aside. At the same moment Rodney dragged the fallen captain in the opposite direction.

"I—I—thank you!" gasped the fallen officer, and with Rodney's aid he scrambled to his feet. "Very well done, sir!" he called out to Dave, and then ran to rejoin his men.

The Indians on the sides of the road had disappeared, and for a moment the troops had a breathing spell. But the enemy were only reloading their weapons, and now, with fierce war-whoops, they came out once more, and bullets and arrows flew thickly, killing officers, men, and horses. In the midst of the tumult some of the cattle broke loose and went galloping down the back road, directly into a band of approaching red men.

Covered with perspiration and dirt, Dave, Rodney, and the old frontiersman continued to use their rifles whenever an opportunity presented itself. The English were at a disadvantage, being not only in the roadway, but also on something of a hill, while the Indians kept to the shelter of the brushwood and the tall timber. Already a score of men had fallen and six horses were dead or disabled.

For hour after hour the battle went on. Occasionally there came a lull, and the English would think the Indians were retreating. But then would come those mad war-whoops, and the painted red men would leap into the open as if by magic and pour in their deadly fire. They also lost heavily, especially through the fire of the sharpshooters and experienced hunters, who picked them off whenever the chance showed itself.

At five o'clock the little body of soldiers, hemmed in on all sides, was almost exhausted. Dave and Rodney were so dry they could scarcely talk, and not a drop of water was to be obtained. Some of the soldiers were resting on the ground, unable to stand because of the terrible strain endured.

"We can't keep this up much longer!" panted Rodney. He was deathly pale from exhaustion.

"We've got to keep up!" replied Barringford. The teeth of the old frontiersman were set and his eyes gleamed like those of some wild beast. He was thoroughly aroused and ready to fight as never before.

Soon came another attack, and, led by Barringford, the rangers rushed upon one band of Indians and drove them deep into the woods. In the meantime the regular troops fought with renewed vigor, and, as a consequence, the red men retreated. Then darkness fell, and gradually the battle came, for the time being, to an end.

"Perhaps this night will be our last." Such was the thought of more than one soldier. The troops did not dare to move, for fear of falling into some trap. Gathering his men around him, Colonel Bouquet made a short speech.

"We must be on our guard to-night," he said. "I expect every man to do his duty. Should one man fail, it may cost all of us our lives."

In the pack-train were a number of bags of flour, and of these an inclosure was made, into which were carried the wounded. All told the English had lost sixty in killed and wounded. How much the Indians had suffered never became known. Rodney had been hit in the side by an arrow, and Dave and Barringford had received numerous scratches.

"Rodney, is the wound bad?" asked Dave.

"Not very, Dave. But I wish I had some water."

"I'll get some if I can."

To get water was not easy, and Dave and Barringford spent half an hour before they found a tiny pool. They scooped up what they could in a cup and gave it to Rodney, going thirsty themselves.

Completely exhausted, the soldiers took turns in resting, while the others remained on guard. Occasionally a distant shot was heard, but that was all. The Indians were holding a council of war, to decide upon the plan of action for the morrow.

At the first streak of dawn, all the soldiers were called together and placed in a wide circle around the improvised camp. Some were behind hillocks of dirt, while others had cut brushwood with which to screen themselves.

The movement came none too soon, for just as the troops took their positions, the Indians again raised the war-cry and came rushing forward, bent upon breaking into the camp and scattering the soldiers. They had been reinforced during the night by some red men from around Venango, and soon the battle broke forth with a fury that is indescribable. Men and horses fell on all sides, and for a while the English were on the verge of becoming panic-stricken.

"Sam, this is terrible!" panted Dave. "I never had to fight so in my life! I wonder how much longer it is going to last?"

"It can't last much longer," said Rodney. The blood was running down his cheeks from a cut in the temple.

"If we could only get the Indians into the open," said the old frontiersman. "The Highlanders can shoot well enough, but they can't fight redskins behind the trees."

By ten o'clock in the morning the situation was desperate, and Colonel Bouquet realized that something must be done, or he would be defeated and annihilated. More Indians were coming up, and the little army was caught like a rat in a trap.

"It is one chance in a hundred, but we must try it," he murmured to himself, and riding forth, gave orders for several of his companies to retreat. At the same time other companies were scattered along on either side of the roadway, taking positions behind the nearest trees. The bugles sounded the retreat, but it was understood this was only a ruse.

"Good!" yelled Barringford. "That's the trick to play. Now we are goin' to show 'em a thing or two, by George!"

"If only it works," came anxiously from Dave.

"I don't understand it," said Rodney. "Are those companies going to retreat?"

"Jest far enough to deceive the redskins, Rodney."

With wild yells the two companies of Highlanders retreated on the road, and the others scattered as previously mentioned. Seeing the companies going back, the Indians raised a blood-curdling din.

"The English are retreating! The white dogs cannot withstand our fire! Forward, and slay them all!" came from the throats of the red men, and without stopping to think twice they rushed forward, poured into the road, and made after the soldiers who were on the run.

The dust was kicked up on all sides, and in the general confusion of this and gun smoke, added to the wild stampede of many horses, some of the regulars slipped away, made a double-quick march through some timber, and came up on the outside of the Indians. The red men were now caught from without and within, and realized only too late how they had been tricked.

"Fire!" was the command given, and a deadly volley was poured into the Indians. Then the regulars and sharpshooters began to pick off the chiefs. The Indians tried to break away, and in a twinkling fierce hand-to-hand encounters were in progress on all sides. The red men used their tomahawks and the rangers their hunting knives.

Side by side the Morrises and Barringford fought as gallantly as ever. A big Indian chief leaped upon Rodney and hurled him backward, but ere the red warrior could do further harm, there came a lightning-like stroke from Barringford's hunting knife and the chief fell, struck to the heart. Then another warrior threw his tomahawk at the old frontiersman, but Dave put up his rifle and the hatchet merely hit the barrel of the weapon.

Finding they could not hope to hold their own, the Indians began to retreat on both sides of the road. They broke through the troops as best they could and ran in a dozen different directions. The soldiers were ordered to go after them, and some were chased for the best part of half a mile. Finding themselves pursued so far, they hid among the trees and rocks, where they remained until nightfall made it safe for them to retreat still further.

In the pursuit of the Indians went Barringford and Dave, Rodney being too exhausted and suffering too much from his wounds to fight more. The course lay along a hill, and the rangers in the squad numbered eight.

"This is our chance to teach 'em the lesson they need," cried Barringford. "Come on!" and he went ahead, with Dave beside him.

The rangers had discovered and fired on six red men, when they came to a ragged patch of timber, with rocks on the south side. Here there was a spring, and all stopped for a much-needed drink. They were just getting the water, when there came a shower of arrows, one taking Dave in the side.

"Look out, they are coming back at us!" was the alarm, and in a trite some of the rangers were on the retreat. Then Barringford found himself surrounded, and was forced to seek shelter among the tall trees back of the spring.

Dazed by the turn of affairs, and with an intense pain in his side, Dave started to run. He felt like fainting and could scarcely see. He plowed along into some brushwood, and then scrambled over some rocks. Back of the latter was a hollow, and here he rolled over and over, until he reached a good-sized hole and tumbled in. He felt some dead leaves falling down on top of him,—and then he knew no more.

In the meantime, Barringford was having a struggle for life with three warriors who had attacked him, and he had no chance to see what had become of his younger companion. He discharged his rifle at one Indian with good effect and then swung the rifle around by the barrel.

"Keep yer distance, ye varmints!" he roared. "Keep yer distance, ye sons o' the Evil One!" And then, as one red man leaped at him with upraised tomahawk, around came his firearm, and the Indian was sent to the ground with a shattered skull. Seeing the fate of his two companions, the third Indian took to his heels and disappeared among the trees.

The fighting continued for the best part of half an hour, and then even the distant firing came to an end. Several times Barringford looked about him, but saw nothing of Dave.

"Must have gone back to camp," he murmured, hopefully, and returned with what was left of the rangers. He looked everywhere for Dave, and then rejoined Rodney.

"Have ye seen Dave?" he questioned.

"No. Why he went with you," answered Rodney.

"Then he's missing, an' I don't know whar to look fer him," returned the old frontiersman, and heaved a deep sigh.

"Oh, Sam, was he shot?"

"I don't think he was, Rodney, but I ain't sartin. We got in a terribul mix-up, an' each man had to fight fer himself fer awhile."

"We must find him, dead or alive," answered Rodney.

CHAPTER XXIX

DAVE AMONG THE INDIANS

Dave came to his senses with a nerve-racking shiver. There was a stinging pain in his side and when he took a deep breath he felt like crying out. All was dark around him, and on his face lay a handful of dead leaves.

For a while he could not remember where he was or what had happened. In a dazed fashion, he called for his father, and for Henry and Rodney. Then he moved his hand, and found the arrow that had struck him still sticking in his jacket.

"Oh!" he groaned, and the full recollection of the fierce fight with the Indians came back to him. He knew he was wounded and wondered if it could be serious.

"Perhaps I'm going to die," he thought, and then uttered a silent prayer that his life might be spared, and that he might return to his family and friends in safety.

The hole into which Dave had stumbled was only a few feet deep and the bottom was covered with dead leaves, making a fairly comfortable couch, even though damp. Overhead all was dark, and he knew that it was night.

His first rational thought was to get back to the camp of the soldiers—providing they still had a camp. But the moment he tried to stand on his feet the pain in his side came back. His under garments were saturated with blood, but fortunately the wound had now stopped bleeding.

"I—I can't do it!" he groaned. "I've got to stay here."

He wondered what had become of Barringford and the other rangers, and at the risk of being discovered by the Indians, set up a faint call for help. But no answer came back. The silence was complete, for the sounds of battle had driven even the birds and larger game away.

An hour or more went by—Dave had no means of measuring time—and slowly it began to grow lighter. With a painful effort the youth stood up in the hole and gazed about him.

It was a fatal move, for at that moment three Indians, each slightly wounded, came limping into view. As one saw Dave he uttered a shout to his companions, and all drew their tomahawks.

"Don't!" cried Dave, as one of the red men was about to hurl his hatchet. "Don't!" And he threw up both hands, to show that he was unarmed.

The tomahawks were lowered and in curiosity the Indians gathered around the hole. One wanted to scalp Dave and brandished his knife for that purpose, but the others stopped him.

"Let us take him to Chief Moon Eye," said one. "He may have something of importance to tell."

This was agreed to, and by signs the Indians made Dave understand he must come out of the hole. As he hesitated, one of the red men bent over and catching him by the hair, literally dragged him up. All gazed at him fiercely and made motions for him to walk along, with his hands clasped over his head. Not one of them could speak English, nor could Dave understand the dialect they used. He saw that they were very dirty and bloodthirsty to the last degree.

The course was through the forest to the northward, and long before the walk was ended Dave was ready to fall from exhaustion. The Indians, to make him increase his pace, prodded him with the points of their hunting knives, until the blood was running down his back in half a dozen places. Dave might have retaliated, but knew full well that it would be sure death to do so.

At last the party reached a little clearing in the midst of the wilderness. Here were congregated two score of red men, all in their war paint and all showing more or less signs of the conflict of the day before. In their midst was an unusually tall Indian chief, having peculiar lightish-colored eyes. This was Moon Eye, called by some trappers of that time, Moon Hawk, for it was said that he frequently roamed in the full moonlight to steal from the settlers.

"A captive!" was the cry, as the Indians came in with their prisoner, and Dave was immediately surrounded by the entire crowd. They eyed him angrily, and many wanted to dispatch him on the spot, but were held back by others.

"Does the white prisoner belong to the soldiers?" questioned Moon Eye, confronting Dave with arms folded.

"I belong to the rangers," answered Dave. He saw no reason for trying to conceal his identity, since it must be understood that he had been in the battle.

"The white young man is wounded?"

"Yes, an arrow hit me in the side."

"Ugh! It should have pierced the prisoner's heart!" grumbled the chief. "Can the prisoner read the papers which the English write with their quills?" he went on, suddenly.

"Yes, I can read."

"It is well. He shall read for Moon Eye, when our camp is gained."

This was all that the chief would say, and immediately afterwards Dave was securely bound, his hands being tied behind his back. Then he was placed in charge of four Indians who had been slightly wounded, and the party started westward about noon, having first partaken of such food as the Indians had with them.

It was a rough journey that the youth did not forget for many a day afterward. The trail was through the dense timber, and several small streams had to be crossed. At one stream the Indians stopped to bathe their hurts. Dave begged for permission to do likewise, in the sign language, but they only grinned at him, and one tripped him up, so that he fell into the brook bodily. Then he received a kick, to make him rise, and was ordered forward once more.

That night the party slept in the open air. Fortunately it was warm, so Dave did not catch cold because of the wetting he had received. They rested until dawn, then went on again until noon.

Having gained a fair-sized river, a large canoe was brought forth from under some bushes, and Dave was made to enter. The red men followed, and for two hours they kept on down the stream. Then the barking of dogs reached their ears, and presently they came in sight of an Indian village, and several squaws and children hurried forth to meet them.

As soon as the squaws heard of the results of the battle of Bushy Run they were loud in their laments, and one, who had lost her husband, cut off her hair and tortured herself with a whip.

With scant ceremony, Dave was taken to the center of the Indian village and there tied to a tree. Two Indian boys were set to guard him, and they amused themselves by flipping pebbles into his face. The Indians went off to rest, while their squaws set about washing their wounds and binding them up in salve of their own making.

It was not until two days later that Moon Eye came to the village, and during that time Dave was treated in anything but a friendly fashion. His wounds were totally neglected, and one became exceedingly sore and painful. He was given but little to eat and to drink, and more than one squaw took pleasure in tantalizing him by showing him food and then passing on with it.

Moon Eye brought in news of another encounter with the English, in which the Indians had again been beaten off. He was very bitter, not knowing what to do next, and eyed Dave ominously when he strode up to the captive.

"Knows the English young man anything of the soldiers' plans?" he asked, after a long silence.

"The soldiers are bound for Fort Pitt," answered Dave.

Moon Eye asked no more questions. He stalked off, and for an hour the Indians talked earnestly among themselves. Then the squaws began the labor of taking down the wigwams of the village. All were stowed away on drags, and by nightfall everybody was on the march, the course being westward. As was the Indian custom, the squaws carried everything, the warriors stalking along with nothing but their guns and bows and arrows.

The march was kept up until late in the evening, and was resumed at sunrise. Coming to another stream, more canoes were brought from their place of concealment, and they journeyed up the stream for several miles. At a side stream they branched off, coming finally to a small lake known by the rather musical name of Cush-momo.

On the upper border of the lake was located the Indian village of Sha-lumack, a great spot for fishermen, for the lake was filled with specimens of the finny tribe. The village boasted of fifty wigwams and a council-house, built of bark and saplings. This was Moon Eye's headquarters, where in former years many French trappers had come to do their bartering with the Indians.

Loud cries of joy went up from the village when the warriors came in, but these were quickly changed to wails of woe when the truth was learned. Dave was led to a small and dirty wigwam and thrust inside, and there he remained until the next morning. He was now given his bodily liberty, and had the first opportunity to wash himself and attend to his wounds. An Indian maiden gave him some well cooked food, for which he was very grateful.

"Do you speak English?" he asked, but the maiden only smiled, and hurried away.

Towards the middle of the afternoon Moon Eye came to the youth with a large bundle of documents, written on parchment, in a very fine hand.

"Can the English youth read these for Moon Eye?" he asked, as he passed the papers over.

"Yes, but it will take a little time," was Dave's reply. "There is a great deal written here."

"Moon Eye will leave the papers until morning, and then the white young man shall read them all. Be careful that the papers are not destroyed or lost," he added, sternly.

"If I read the papers, will Moon Eye give me my liberty?"

The chief frowned, and then his face took on a crafty look.

"It may be so. We will first hear what the papers say."

A moment later Dave was left alone once more. He heaved a long sigh, for he felt that the Indian chief would not grant him his liberty no matter what he did to please the red men.

A brief glance at the documents told Dave that they related to certain pieces of land, located on the shores of the St. Lawrence River, partly in Canada and partly in New York. There were a great number of legal terms which he could not comprehend.

"This is worse than Greek," he mused, when suddenly his eye caught a name that surprised him greatly. "Benoit Vascal! Can it be possible these papers belong to that fellow?"

After that Dave read the documents more closely. He saw that Vascal was mentioned in all of them, and also a Maurice Hamilton and an Ezekiel Chalmers. Evidently the land was considered valuable, for in several places the sum of three thousand pounds—about fifteen thousand dollars—was mentioned.

"I reckon this Benoit Vascal would give something for these papers," he reasoned. "Or, maybe, they belong to this Maurice Hamilton or Ezekiel Chalmers."

It was just growing dark, when the young captive heard a commotion at the lake front, and looking from his wigwam saw two canoes approaching. The craft contained several Indians and their squaws, and three white children. The children were dressed in little more than rags.

"White children, as I live!" he muttered, and waited for the canoe to come closer. Then, as the children were made to go ashore his heart gave a wild leap of excitement. "Nell, and the twins, as sure as I live! Nell, and the twins! Thank fortune they are alive!"

CHAPTER XXX

ESCAPE AND FLIGHT

"Oh, Dave! Dave! How glad I am to see you!"

And leaping from among the Indians who surrounded her, little Nell ran to her big cousin and threw herself into his arms. He strained her to his breast, and kissed her several times.

"Isn't it wonderful that we should meet here," he said. "Are you well, Nell?"

"Yes, but the bad Indians have treated me dreadfully, Dave. And it has been so hard on Tom and Artie, too!"

"Where did you come from?"

"Some Indian village a long, long distance away. We have been traveling day and night. They said the English were after us. We had to walk until my feet were sore. Then we got into a canoe."

"They haven't offered to kill you since they captured you, have they?"

"Yes, once. But then they saw the beads that White Buffalo gave me, and instead of killing me they treated me quite kindly. An Indian girl told me they were magic beads, and if I wore them no Indian would kill me, or hurt me."

"Good for White Buffalo, Nell. He is certainly the kind of a friend to have. I suppose he knew the power of the beads among these redskins when he made you a present of them."

"There were three strings of the beads, and I put one on Tom's neck and one on Artie's," added the little miss. "After that the Indians didn't offer to do any of us harm. But what are you doing here?"

"I'm a prisoner."

"Oh, Dave!" Nell's face grew white. "Are they—they—going—to—to——"

"I hope not, Nell. But they are very angry, for we had a fight, and the Indians were badly whipped. That is why they are leaving their villages in the east and coming out here. They are afraid the English soldiers are after them in force."

No more could be said, for the Indians, standing around in curiosity, now caught hold of Dave and forced him back into the wigwam. Nell, and the twins, who had been smiling in silence at the youth, wanted to follow, but the three were hurried off to another wigwam, some distance away.

It would be hard to analyze Dave's feelings when once more alone. He was overjoyed to know that Nell and the twins were alive and well, but it made his heart sink like a lump of lead in his bosom to remember that they were in the clutches of Moon Eye and his followers.

"Perhaps none of us will ever escape," he thought, with a shiver. "They'll torture me to death, and then adopt Nell and the twins, and do their best to turn them into savages!"

That night Dave slept but little. Only one thought was in his mind. How could he escape from the Indians and take Nell and the twins with him?

He realized the difficulty and the danger of such an undertaking. It would be hard enough to get away alone, how then was he to manage it with three young people in addition? He felt that while the Indians might not harm his sister and the little boys, they would not hesitate to shoot him on sight.

"I've got to watch my chances," he reasoned. "Perhaps I can do it some dark night, or when there is a heavy storm going on."

He expected an interview with Moon Eye in the morning, but the chief did not come, for the reason that he had been called away to a council of war. This council lasted two days, and during that time Dave was kept in close confinement, so that he saw nothing further of his cousin or Tom and Artie.

On the evening of the second day Dave looked out of the wigwam and saw that a storm was at hand. The sky was overcast and a stiff breeze was blowing through the forest.

"This may give me a chance to get away," he thought. "Wish I knew where Nell and the twins were."

Two young Indians were guarding the wigwam. Neither was over fifteen years of age. One had a hunting knife and the other an old tomahawk.

Dave was on the point of addressing the young braves when he paused to listen to a sound that came from across the lake. He had heard the sound before, but had paid no attention.

"I don't believe it is possible," he mused. "But it may be. I'll answer and see."

He began to whistle softly to himself and smiled at the young Indians. Then, as if to attract their attention, he gave a loud whistle. Immediately, from beyond the lake, came an answering whistle, in a different note. Then Dave began to whistle his old favorite, "Lucy Locket Lost Her Pocket,"—which was nothing more than the tune we now know as "Yankee Doodle." Again came an answering note—that of a storm bird—but no bird uttered it.

"White Buffalo!" thought the youth, and his heart glowed within him. "I wonder how long he has been on the watch? Perhaps ever since Nell and the twins arrived."

Not to alarm the Indians, Dave continued to whistle to himself, and imitate several birds. The young braves became interested, and one began to whistle in a similar fashion. Then Dave showed him how to whistle on one and on two fingers.

Having made friends of the young Indians, Dave asked them by signs what had become of Nell and the twins. They shrugged their shoulders and pointed to a wigwam at the other end of the village, in front of which an old and dirty squaw was sitting, weaving a basket. The wigwam was not far from the lake, and Dave noted with satisfaction that close at hand rested a canoe with two paddles.

As soon as it began to rain the young captive pretended to be very sleepy, and stretching himself several times, he at length lay down in the wigwam and began to snore. The young Indians, seeing this, called an old Indian to relieve them, and then walked off to their own resting place.

An hour passed slowly for Dave. It was now raining furiously and he knew that the streets of the Indian village must be deserted. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he saw the aged Indian sitting by the door of the wigwam more than half asleep.

"Now is my time," he thought, and turning over softly, he crept to the side of the shelter, where the wind had loosened one of the skins. In another instant he had rolled out, into the mud and the rain. Making certain that nobody was watching him, he started for the wigwam at the other end of the village.

Little Nell and the twins were sleeping soundly when the girl felt a hand pressed over her mouth. "It's Dave, Nell, don't make any noise," was whispered into her ear, and, inclined to cry out at first, she checked herself.

With the twins it was more difficult, but they soon understood, and while one clung to Dave, the other clutched Nell. Close at hand was the old squaw, but she was sleeping soundly, feeling assured that the youthful prisoners would not dare to venture away in such a storm as was raging.

Hardly daring to breathe, Dave led the way out of the wigwam and down to the lake front. The canoe had considerable water in it, and he had to turn the craft over before he allowed the others to enter. He stowed them safely in the bow and stern, then stepped in himself, took up one of the paddles and shoved off.

"Oh, Dave, can we get away?" whispered Nell.

"Hush! I'll do my best," he answered, softly.

Soon the shore of the lake was left behind. The rain pelted down furiously, wetting them to the skin. Occasionally there came a flash of lightning, followed by a rumble of thunder, which was far from pleasant.

"Tom don't like this," said one of the twins. "Tom wants to go home."

"Perhaps we'll get home some day, if you'll keep quiet and be a good boy," answered Dave.

"Artie wants some syrup bread," said the other twin. "Bad Indians wouldn't give Artie no sugar bread 'tall!"

"You mustn't talk," whispered Nell. "The bad Indians might come after us," and then the twins relapsed into silence once more.

Never had Dave worked at a paddle with greater vigor than now, and on went the canoe at a good rate of speed. It was too dark to see much, but the youth watched for the flashes of lightning and guided his course by them. Once the craft struck a floating log and came near going over. At this Nell and the twins uttered a slight scream.

"Don't worry, we're safe," called out Dave, and the log slid past the canoe.

Five minutes had passed and still no alarm came from the Indian village. Dave was making for the opposite shore of the lake, and now, during a lull in the wind, he uttered a short and loud whistle.

"Why did you do that, Dave?" questioned his cousin.

"It's a signal, Nell. Wait, I don't think I'll tell you any more just yet," he added, as he did not wish to disappoint her, should White Buffalo fail to appear.

No answer came to his whistle, and for a brief instant his heart sank within him. Then he whistled louder than before, and repeated the call several times. At last came back a note that he knew well. It told him that his faithful Indian friend was on the watch for him.

"Did you hear that, Nell?"

"Yes. What was it?"

"It was a signal from White Buffalo. He is waiting to assist us."

"Oh!" cried the little miss, and her voice was full of joy. "Good, dear White Buffalo!"

Dave was now straining his eyes to pierce the darkness. Suddenly a vivid flash of lightning lit up the whole lake. Another flash followed, and then came two rifle shots in rapid succession, and a bullet sang so close to the youth's ear that he dropped his paddle.

"Our escape has been discovered!" he muttered, and picked up the paddle again. "Get down, Nell, and keep the twins down, too."

"Oh, Dave, they may shoot you."

"I'll have to risk it. We are pretty close to shore now," he answered.

Ahead a light was flaring up. It moved in a circle and then up and down and then vanished. It was a signal from White Buffalo. Dave steered the canoe straight for the spot.

"My white brother Dave!" came a cry from the shore, and White Buffalo ran into view and aided in beaching the canoe. "And my little Nell!"

"I'm mighty glad to see you, White Buffalo," said Dave. Nell said nothing but leaped directly into the aged Indian's arms. Then the twins scrambled from the canoe.

"Come this way," said the old Indian chief, and led the way directly into the forest. The canoe was cast adrift, with a branch resting in it, to represent a person in the darkness.

But little was said for the time being. Once in the forest White Buffalo and the whites were joined by eleven Indians, and all took to a trail leading to the southward.

"We must walk hard," said White Buffalo. "They will soon be on the trail. Let me carry you," he added to Nell, and placed her on his shoulder. Dave took up Tom, while one of White Buffalo's followers carried Artie.

Less than quarter of a mile was covered, when White Buffalo stopped short to listen. Then he shook his head doubtfully.

"It is as White Buffalo thought," he said. "They are coming after us fast! We shall have to fight!"

CHAPTER XXXI

THE LAST FIGHT—CONCLUSION

The battle of Bushy Run was so disastrous to the Indians that many of them fled to parts unknown immediately after the results of the conflict were ascertained. They lost several hundred in killed and wounded, and among the number were a half a dozen well-known chiefs.

But though he had been victorious, Colonel Bouquet had suffered a heavy loss, consequently he continued on his march to Fort Pitt with as great caution as before. Eight officers and one hundred and fifteen men had fallen, and it was a sad body of troops that wended its way through the wilderness.

Barringford and Rodney were very downhearted over the disappearance of Dave, and hoped hour by hour that he would reappear.

At last, on the tenth of August, the troops came in sight of Fort Pitt and were glad to see that the stronghold had not fallen, although greatly harassed by the red men for many weeks. Provisions and ammunition were running low, and Captain Ecuyer hailed the coming of Colonel Bouquet with satisfaction. It was learned that the Indians had left the vicinity of the fort to march against Bouquet's troops only two days previous to the battle of Bushy Run.

The meeting between James Morris, Henry, Rodney, and Barringford was a warm one, but the news that Dave was missing saddened the trader greatly, while the information that Nell had been abducted, along with the twins, brought tears to Henry's eyes.

"Rodney, we must find Nell—and find Dave and the twins too," he said, huskily.

"I am willing enough, Henry," answered his brother. "But where are we going to look for them?"

"Dave must be somewhere in the vicinity of that battleground."

"True enough, but that locality is a perfect wilderness."

Rodney and Barrington were astonished to learn that Benoit Vascal was at the fort. The Frenchman had almost recovered from his illness, but he pleaded that he was very weak, doing this for fear Captain Ecuyer would otherwise make him do soldier's duty.

"I'm goin' to talk to thet Frencher," said Barringford, and lost no time in confronting the man.

"Vat you vant of me?" asked Vascal, suspiciously.

"I reckon as how your name is Benoit Vascal," began the old frontiersman.

"Yees."

"I've been a-huntin' you for some time. You stole a couple o' children onct—pair o' twin boys."

At this announcement the Frenchman started.

"Zat—zat ees not so," he stammered. "I know noddings of ze children."

"It won't do no good to lie," interrupted the old frontiersman, sternly. "I've heard the story, an' it's true. I want to know the full names o' them twins."

"I not steal zem children," cried Benoit Vascal. "Paul Camont, he steal zem."

"Who is Paul Camont?"

"Ah, who ees he? He ees not—no more. He vas eat up by ze wolves!"

"Was he the man who was killed on the road?"

"Zat ees heem. He run off wiz ze children—it ees big snow—he miss ze way——"

"Yes, I know."

"Ha! So! Who are you, I vant know?"

"I'm the man ez found them twins when this 'ere Camont war chewed up. Now then, out with it, what's the name o' them youngsters, speak up, or sumthin' a-goin' to happen to ye putty quick!"

As Barringford spoke he caught the Frenchman by the arm. The clutch made Benoit Vascal shiver.

"Stop, I beg! I vill tell! Ze children, dare name ees Hamilton."

"Hamilton?"

"Yees. Fadder, hees name is Maurice Hamilton. He ees an Englishman. I not know vere he ees now."

Having confessed so much, Benoit Vascal told the remainder of his story to suit himself. He insisted upon it that Paul Camont and not he had taken the twins. He said both he and Camont had had trouble with Maurice Hamilton over some American lands. He did not think that Hamilton was in America. He had been over, but had returned to London nearly a year ago.

"Well, thet settles one thing," said Barringford, when he rejoined his friends. "Them twins is named Hamilton, an' their father's fust name is Maurice. Ef he's in London, all we can do is to write to him."

"Do you believe this Vascal?" asked Rodney.

"I do in part. But I kind o' reckon he had as much to do with stealin' the twins ez thet Paul Camont."

After that Barringford and James Morris talked the matter over with Colonel Bouquet and Captain Ecuyer, and as a result it was decided to detain the Frenchman at Fort Pitt, at least for a few weeks.

All was now bustle and excitement at the fort, and it was not long before it was decided to send out a body of rangers, to see if any Indians were still in that vicinity. With the rangers went Mr. Morris, Barringford, Rodney, and Henry, all anxious to see if they could learn anything concerning Dave.

Two days were spent roaming the vicinity of the fort, and only two Indians were discovered, both badly wounded. Then the rangers separated into two parties, one going northward and the other westward.

"That other party will come close to our trading-post," said Mr. Morris, to Henry. "I hope they make the Indians and the French run away and leave our goods behind them."

The night that followed brought on the storm already described in the previous chapter. As the rangers had no shelter they soon got wet through, and had to build a camp-fire by which to dry themselves.

"I don't know if it's quite safe to build a fire," said James Morris. "But if the men want to dry themselves we'll have to risk it."

A guard had been put out, while the others slept, and about two o'clock in the morning came an alarm that brought everybody in the camp to his feet.

"What's the trouble?" came from several.

"Saw an Injun, just over thar!" cried the guard.

He had scarcely spoken when from a distance came a rifle shot, followed by another. Then an Indian burst into view, carrying a little white girl on his shoulder.

"White Buffalo and Nell, as I live!" came from James Morris's lips. He ran forward. "Nell, don't you know me?"

"Uncle Jim!" cried the girl. "And oh, there are Henry and Rodney, and Uncle Sam! Oh, I must be dreaming!"

"Here is Dave!" cried the trader, and he ran forward to meet his son. "And one of the twins!"

"And here is the other twin!" said Barringford.

There was no time, just then, to say for additional rifle shots could be heard. The Indians from the village were following up White Buffalo's warriors, and the latter were doing their best to hold them back, and thus cover the flight of their chief and Dave, with the children.

"Give it to 'em!" cried Barringford, as soon as he understood the situation. "Pepper 'em hot!" And as the nearest of Moon Eye's warriors came into sight the rangers fired a volley which laid three Indians low. The rest halted, and darted behind the trees.

"We must do our best to get back to the fort," cried James Morris.

"Wait till we count up this crowd that has attacked us," urged Rodney.

A moment later some additional Indians came into view, and then the whites and their red allies took up the retreat towards Fort Pitt. They kept up a constant shooting, and this noise at length reached the fort and caused Colonel Bouquet to hurry out a company.

"The regulars are coming!" cried Dave. He was almost exhausted from running and fighting.

"Thank God for it," murmured James Morris. "They cannot get here too soon."

As the soldiers came forward they shouted loudly, and hearing this, Moon Eye gave his warriors orders to be cautious. Then the regulars bounded to the front, and at the first volley from the gallant Highlanders the enemy fled back to the lake and then to their village. On the following morning, fearing another attack by the English, the village was moved many miles to the westward.

"The battle is over," said Henry. "And I am not sorry."

"Is everybody safe?" asked Rodney.

"Reckon as how they are," answered Barringford, with a look around.

"Then that is a good deal to be thankful for," said Dave, soberly.

Here let me add a few words and then draw to a close this tale of "The Fort in the Wilderness."

As they journeyed to Fort Pitt, Dave told his father and the others of his adventures since being made captive by the Indians, and heard the story of the attack on the trading-post and how it had been captured by the Indians and Jean Bevoir.

"Now that the Indians have been defeated we ought to try to get the post back, father," said the youth.

Dave was much interested in the story about the twins and was willing to believe their name was Hamilton, because of the documents he had read. In the excitement of escaping from the Indians he had lost the papers and he had no idea what had become of them.

"They were certainly valuable," he said. "But whether they belonged to Benoit Vascal or Maurice Hamilton, or somebody else, I do not know."

When they arrived at Fort Pitt they found that Benoit Vascal was missing. Watching his chance, the Frenchman had bribed a pack-driver to let him have some provisions and a horse, and had set out for parts unknown.

"That's too bad," said Dave. "We might have learned something more from him about the twins. But we know their name, and that is something."

"And we can send a letter to London, to Mr. Maurice Hamilton," added Rodney.

A day later the rest of the rangers came in. They said they had not gotten as far as the trading-post, having journeyed to the southward.

"Father, let us organize a company to go out to the post," said Dave. "I think we can get quite a number of rangers to join us."

The matter was talked over, and in the end a company was organized with James Morris at its head, to march westward and try to retake the place. At the same time Sam Barringford, aided by White Buffalo, started out to see if they could not find Benoit Vascal. In another volume, to be entitled "Trail and Trading-Post; or, The Young Hunters of the Ohio," we shall meet all our friends again and learn what was done towards recapturing the post on the Ohio, and in bringing Jean Bevoir to justice, and also something more concerning the mystery of the twins.

During the days spent in resting at Fort Pitt came cheering news from Fort Cumberland. Matters around that place had quieted down greatly and some of the settlers had started in to farm once more. Joseph Morris was feeling better. It had been definitely settled that White Buffalo had had nothing to do with the killing of the Diglys.

"I'm glad for your sake of this," said Dave, to the aged Indian chief.

"White Buffalo glad, too," was the quiet answer. "Want to be good friends with all the English."

"It was good of you to give Nell those beads," went on Dave. "They certainly saved her life."

"White Buffalo think so, maybe, when he give beads," said the Indian. "No want to see his little queen die."

"You're the best Indian in the world!" cried little Nell, and gave him a hug. "I wish they were all as good as you."

"If that were so, there would be no further fighting," laughed James Morris.

"Do you think this Indian war is over?" asked Rodney.

"No," said Henry. "Pontiac will do what he can to stir it up again." This proved to be the case, as later events showed.

"I'm glad we are together once more," said Dave, as they were resting on the following Sunday. "Won't the folks at home be joyful over the news?"

And they were joyful; and here, kind reader, let us bid each other good-bye.

THE END

THE COLONIAL SERIES

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER

Author of "Pan-American Series," "Old Glory Series,"

"American Boys' Biographical Series," etc.

Six volumes, Cloth, Illustrated, Price per volume, $1.25

WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST

Or A Soldier Boy's Battles in the Wilderness

MARCHING ON NIAGARA

Or The Soldier Boys of the Old Frontier

AT THE FALL OF MONTREAL

Or A Soldier Boy's Final Victory

ON THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC

Or The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio

THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS

Or The Soldier Boys of the Indian Trails

TRAIL AND TRADING POST

Or The Young Hunters of the Ohio

"Mr. Stratemeyer has put his best work into the 'Colonial Series.'"—Christian Register, Boston.

"A series that doesn't fall so very far short of being history itself."—Boston Courier.

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"Edward Stratemeyer has in many volumes shown himself master of the art of producing historic studies in the pleasing story form."—Minneapolis Journal.

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Table of Contents

THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS

PREFACE

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS

CHAPTER I

OUT IN THE FOREST

CHAPTER II

FACING A BIG BEAR

CHAPTER III

IN CAMP WITH OLD FRIENDS

CHAPTER IV

A TRAMP THROUGH THE SNOW

CHAPTER V

A LETTER OF INTEREST

CHAPTER VI

THE TRADING-POST ON THE OHIO

CHAPTER VII

HENRY'S STRANGE DISCOVERY

CHAPTER VIII

SURROUNDED BY THE INDIANS

CHAPTER IX

THE ATTACK ON THE TRADING-POST

CHAPTER X

JEAN BEVOIR APPEARS

CHAPTER XI

THE FLIGHT FROM THE POST

CHAPTER XII

WHITE BUFFALO'S PERIL

CHAPTER XIII

SUGAR MAKING, AND HUNTING

CHAPTER XIV

THE BEGINNING OF THE UPRISING

CHAPTER XV

AT FORT CUMBERLAND

CHAPTER XVI

UP THE OHIO

CHAPTER XVII

THE ARRIVAL AT FORT PITT

CHAPTER XVIII

SOMETHING CONCERNING THE TWINS

CHAPTER XIX

IN WHICH BARRINGFORD IS MADE A PRISONER

CHAPTER XX

DEEP IN THE WILDERNESS

CHAPTER XXI

AT FORT DETROIT

CHAPTER XXII

THE ATTACK ON FORT DETROIT

CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE WILDERNESS ONCE MORE

CHAPTER XXIV

LOST

CHAPTER XXV

THE ATTACK ON FORT PITT

CHAPTER XXVI

THE MISSING CHILDREN

CHAPTER XXVII

IN THE RANKS ONCE MORE

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE BATTLE OF BUSHY RUN

CHAPTER XXIX

DAVE AMONG THE INDIANS

CHAPTER XXX

ESCAPE AND FLIGHT

CHAPTER XXXI

THE LAST FIGHT—CONCLUSION

THE COLONIAL SERIES

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE