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Title: On the Trail of Pontiac

Author: Edward Stratemeyer

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[This file was first posted on December 13, 2002]

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[Illustration: The dance of the magicians lasted fully a quarter of
an hour.]

Colonial Series

ON THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC
OR
THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE OHIO

BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER

Author of "With Washington in the West," "Lost on the Orinoco," "Two Young
Lumbermen," "American Boys' Life of William McKinley," "Old Glory Series,"
"Ship and Shore Series," etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE




PREFACE


"On the Trail of Pontiac" is a complete story in itself, but forms the
fourth volume of a line known by the general title of "Colonial Series."

The first volume, entitled "With Washington in the West," related the
adventures of Dave Morris, a young pioneer of Will's Creek, now Cumberland,
Va. Dave became acquainted with George Washington at the time the latter
was a surveyor, and served under the youthful officer during the fateful
Braddock expedition against Fort Duquesne.

The Braddock defeat left the frontier at the mercy of the French and the
Indians, and in the second volume of the series, called "Marching on
Niagara," are given the particulars of General Forbes' campaign against
Fort Duquesne and the advance of Generals Prideaux and Johnson against Fort
Niagara, in which not only Dave Morris, but likewise his cousin Henry, do
their duty well as young soldiers.

The signal victory at Niagara gave to the English control of all that vast
territory lying between the great Lakes and what was called the Louisiana
Territory. But war with France was not yet at an end, and in the third
volume of the series, entitled "At the Fall of Montreal," I have related
the particulars of the last campaign against the French, including General
Wolfe's memorable scaling of the Heights of Quebec, the battle on the
Plains of Abraham, and lastly the fall of Montreal itself, which brought
this long-drawn war to a conclusion, and was the means of placing Canada
where it remains to-day, in the hands of England.

With the conclusion of the War with France, the settlers in America
imagined that they would be able to go back unmolested to their homesteads
on the frontier. But such was not to be. The Indians who had assisted
France during the war were enraged to see the English occupying what they
considered their own personal hunting grounds, and, aroused by the cunning
and eloquence of the great chief Pontiac, and other leaders, they concocted
more than one plot to fall upon the settlements and the forts of the
frontier and massacre all who opposed them. The beginning of this fearful
uprising of the red men is given in the pages which follow.

As in my previous books, I have tried to be as accurate historically as
possible. The best American, English, and French authorities have been
consulted. I trust that all who read the present volume may find it both
entertaining and instructive.

EDWARD STRATEMEYER.

July 1, 1904




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

I. A GLIMPSE AT THE PAST

II. THE CABIN IN THE CLEARING

III. BARRINGFORD'S STRANGE DISCOVERY

IV. SEARCHING FOR CLEWS

V. A LIVELY ELK HUNT

VI. SURRENDER OF FORT DETROIT

VII. PREPARING FOR THE EXPEDITION WESTWARD

VIII. ON THE OLD BRADDOCK ROAD

IX. HENRY'S STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE

X. A WAIT IN CAMP

XI. HAPPENINGS OF A STORMY NIGHT

XII. THE RUINS OF THE OLD TRADING-POST

XIII. BUILDING THE NEW TRADING-POST

XIV. JEAN BEVOIR HAS HIS SAY

XV. DAVE'S UNWELCOME VISITOR

XVI. DAVE MEETS PONTIAC

XVII. THE ATTACK ON THE PACK-TRAIN

XVIII. AFTER THE ENCOUNTER

XIX. THE TRAIL THROUGH THE FOREST

XX. GUARDING THE TRADING-POST

XXI. SAM BARRINGFORD BRINGS NEWS

XXII. THE ROCK BY THE RIVER

XXIII. DAVE AND THE FAWN

XXIV. SOMETHING ABOUT SLAVES AND INDIAN CAPTIVES

XXV. THE RESULTS OF A BUFFALO HUNT

XXVI. STRANGE INDIAN MAGIC

XXVII. THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC

XXVIII. AN UNDERGROUND STOREHOUSE

XXIX. PONTIAC'S TRAIL ONCE MORE

XXX. IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY

XXXI. HELD AS A SPY

XXXII. A FIGHT AND A VICTORY--CONCLUSION


ILLUSTRATIONS

The dance of the magicians lasted fully a quarter of an hour
(Frontispiece)

The report was followed by a mad yelp of pain

Henry ... rolled over and over down a long hill

"Let go!" cried Dave. "Let go, I say!"

"Where are your furs?" asked James Morris

He let the animal have a bullet directly in the head

"Tis one of the English" said the taller of the Indians

"The white young man is sorry to be a prisoner," he said slowly




CHAPTER I

A GLIMPSE AT THE PAST


"Two wild turkeys and seven rabbits. Not such a bad haul after all, Henry."

"That is true, Dave. But somehow I wanted to get a deer if I could."

"Oh, I reckon almost any hunter would like to bring down a deer," went on
Dave Morris. "But they are not so plentiful as they were before the war."

"That is true." Henry Morris placed the last rabbit he had brought down in
his game-bag. "I can remember the time when the deer would come up to
within a hundred yards of the house. But you have got to take a long tramp
to find one now."

"And yet game ought to be plentiful," went on his younger cousin. "There
wasn't much hunting in this vicinity during the war. Nearly everybody who
could go to the front went."

"There were plenty who couldn't be hired to go, you know that as well as I
do. Some were afraid they wouldn't get their pay and others were afraid the
French or the Indians would knock 'em over." Henry Morris took a deep
breath. "Beats me how they could stay home--with the enemy doing their best
to wipe us out."

"I can't understand it either. But now the war is over, do you think we'll
have any more trouble with the Indians?" continued Dave Morris, as he and
his cousin started forward through the deep snow that lay in the woods
which had been their hunting ground for the best part of the day.

"It's really hard to tell, Dave. Father thinks we'll have no more trouble,
but Sam Barringford says we won't have real peace until the redskins have
had one whipping they won't forget as long as they live."

"Well, Sam knows the Indians pretty thoroughly."


"No one knows them better. And why shouldn't he know 'em? He's been among
them since he was a small boy, and he must be fifty now if he's a day."

"I can tell you one thing, Henry," continued Dave warmly. "I was mighty
glad to see Sam recover from that wound he received at Quebec. At first I
thought he would either die or be crazy for the rest of his life."

"It's his iron constitution that pulled him through. Many another soldier
would have caved in clean and clear. But hurry up, if you want to get home
before dark," and so speaking, Henry Morris set off through the woods at a
faster pace than ever, with his cousin close at his heels. Each carried his
game-bag on his back and a flint-lock musket over his shoulder.

The time was early in the year 1761, but a few months after the fall of
Montreal had brought the war between France and England in America to a
close. Canada was now in the possession of the British, and the settlers in
our colonies along the great Atlantic seacoast, and on the frontier
westward, were looking for a long spell of peace in which they might regain
that which had been lost, or establish themselves in new localities which
promised well.

As already mentioned, Dave and Henry Morris were cousins, Henry being the
older by several years. They lived in the little settlement of Will's
Creek, Virginia, close to where the town of Cumberland stands to-day. The
Morris household consisted of Dave's father, Mr. James Morris, who was a
widower, and Mr. Joseph Morris, his wife Lucy, and their children, Rodney,
several years older than Henry, who came next, and Nell, a girl of about
six, who was the household pet. In years gone by Rodney had been a good
deal of a cripple, but a surgical operation had done wonders for him and
now he was almost as strong as any of the others.

James Morris was a natural born trapper and fur trader, and when his wife
died he left his son Dave in the care of his brother Joseph and wandered to
the west, where he established a trading-post on the Kinotah, a small
stream flowing into the Ohio River. This was at the time that George
Washington, the future President of our country, was a young surveyor, and
in the first volume of this series, entitled "With Washington in the West,"
I related how Dave fell in with Washington and became his assistant, and
how, later on, Dave became a soldier to march under Washington during the
disastrous Braddock campaign against Fort Duquesne.

General Braddock's failure to bring the French to submission cost James
Morris dearly. His trading-post was attacked and he barely escaped with his
life. Dave likewise became a prisoner of the enemy, and it was only through
the efforts of a friendly Indian named White Buffalo, and an old frontier
acquaintance named Sam Barringford, that the pair escaped to a place of
safety.

War between France and England had then become a certainty. France was
aided greatly by the Indians, and it was felt by the colonists that a
strong blow must be struck and without delay. Expeditions against the
French were organized, and in the second volume of the series, called
"Marching on Niagara," are given the particulars of another campaign
against Fort Duquesne (located where the city of Pittsburg, Penn., now
stands) and then of the long and hard campaign against Fort Niagara. Dave
and Henry were both in the contest, for they had joined the ranks of the
Royal Americans, as the Colonial troops were called.

With the fall of Fort Niagara the English came once again into possession
of all the territory lying between the Great Lakes and the lower
Mississippi. But Canada was not yet taken, and there followed more
campaigns, which have been described in the third volume of the series,
called "At the Fall of Montreal." In these campaigns both Dave and Henry
fought well, and with them was Sam Barringford, who had promised the
parents that he would keep an eye on the youths. Henry had been taken
prisoner and Barringford had been shot, but in the end all had been
re-united, and as soon as the old frontiersman was well enough to do so,
the three had left the army and gone back to the homestead at Will's Creek.

It had been a great family re-union and neighbors from miles around had
come in to hear what the young soldiers and their sturdy old friend might
have to tell. Because of the ending of the terrible war, there was general
rejoicing everywhere.

"I never wish to see the like of it again," Mrs. Morris had said, not once,
but many times. "Think of those who have been slain, and who are wounded!"

"You are right, Lucy," her husband had returned. "There is nothing worse
than war, unless it be a pestilence. I, too, want nothing but peace
hereafter."

"And I agree most heartily," had come from James Morris. "One cannot till
the soil nor hunt unless we are at peace with both the French and the
Indians."

"Be thankful that Jean Bevoir has been removed from your path," had come
from his brother.

"And from our path, too, Joseph," Mrs. Morris had put in quickly.

Jean Bevoir had been a rascally French trader who owned a trading-post but
a few miles from that established by James Morris on the Kinotah. Bevoir
had claimed the Morris post for his own, and had aided the Indians in an
attack which had all but ruined the buildings. Later on the Frenchman had
helped in the abduction of little Nell, but the girl had been rescued by
Dave and her brother Henry. Then Jean Bevoir drifted to Montreal, and while
trying to loot some houses there during the siege, was shot down in a
skirmish between the looters on one side, and the French and the English
soldiers on the other. The Morrises firmly believed that Jean Bevoir was
dead, but such was not a fact. A wound thought to be fatal had taken a turn
for the better, and the fellow was now lying in a French farmhouse on the
St. Lawrence, where two or three of his old companions in crime were doing
their best to nurse him back to health and strength. Jean Bevoir had not
forgotten the Morrises, nor what they had done to drag him down, as he
expressed it, and, although the war was at an end, he was determined to
make Dave, Henry, and the others pay dearly for the ruin they had brought
to his plans in the past.

"I shall show them that, though France is beaten, Jean Bevoir still lives,"
he told himself boastingly. "The trading-post on the Kinotah with its
beautiful lands, shall still be mine--the Morrises shall never possess it!"
Sometimes he spoke to his companions of these things, but they merely
smiled at him, thinking that what he had in mind to do would prove
impossible of accomplishment.




CHAPTER II

THE CABIN IN THE CLEARING


It was already four o'clock and the short winter day was drawing to a
close. On every side of the two young hunters arose the almost trackless
woods, with here and there a small opening, where the wind had swept the
rocks clear of snow. Not a sound broke the stillness.

"Were we ever in this neighborhood before?" questioned Dave, after a
silence of several minutes.

"Yes, I was up here three or four years ago," answered his cousin, who, as
my old readers know, was a natural-born hunter and woodsman. "Got a deer
right over yonder." And he pointed with his hand. "The one I hit plumb in
the left eye."

"Oh, yes, I remember that," came from Dave. "It was a prime shot. Wish I
could do as well sometime."

"You needn't complain, Dave. You've done better than lots of men around
here. Some of 'em can't shoot anything at all. They are farmers and nothing
else."

"Well, we'll all have to turn farmers sooner or later--after the best of
the game is killed off."

"Has your father said anything about going out to his trading-post on the
Kinotah again?"

"Nothing more than what you heard him say on New Year's day--that he would
go as soon as the weather got warm enough, and it was considered safe."

"I wish I could go out with you. I really believe I could make some money,
bringing in pelts,--more money than I can make by staying here."

"Perhaps you could, Henry, and, oh, I wish you could go!" went on Dave
impulsively. "Wouldn't we have the best times, though!"

"The trouble is father wants me on the farm. There is so much to do, you
see. While the war was on everything went to pieces."

"But Rodney can help now. He told me only yesterday that he felt strong
enough to do almost anything."

"Yes, I've thought of that. If he can take hold, perhaps I can get father
to consent. Did you say Sam Barringford was going?"

"To be sure. And so is White Buffalo. I suppose father will take not less
than a dozen hunters and trappers with him and six or eight Indians, too.
He says he doesn't want to depend altogether on strangers when he gets out
there, and he hardly knows what has become of the most of those who were
with him before."

"More than half of the crowd are dead, shot down either in the trouble with
the redskins or in the war."

"I've been wondering if there is anything left of the trading-post. Father
has half a notion that the Indians burnt it to the ground, and burnt the
forest around it, too. If they have done that, he won't want to build again
on the burn-over, but at some new spot where the forest hasn't been touched
and timber is easy to get."

"Do you suppose they burnt the post Jean Bevoir had?"

"I reckon not. The Indians were very friendly with that rascal."

The youths had now come to the edge of the woods. Here was a well-defined
trail, running from Will's Creek to a hamlet knows as Shadd's Run, named
after an old Englishman who had settled there six years previous. Shadd and
his family had been massacred by the Indians at the time of Braddock's
defeat, and all that was left of his commodious log cabin was a heap of
half-burnt logs.

Turning into the trail, the young hunters continued on their way to the
Morris homestead. This itself was a new building, for the first cabin had
also gone up in flames during the terrible uprising. On either side of the
road were patches of woods, with here and there a cleared field. Soon they
came in sight of a log cabin.

"Hullo, Neighbor Thompson!" sang out Henry, and in a moment a man appeared
at the door of the house, musket in hand.

"So you've got back," said the man, and lowered his weapon. "What luck?"

"Two wild turkeys and seven rabbits," answered Henry. He reached into his
game-bag. "Here are the two rabbits I promised you for the powder." And he
handed over the game.

"Thank you, Henry, they'll make a fine pot-pie. Didn't see any deer?"

"No."

"Thought not. Will you come in and warm up?"

"I'm not cold."

"Nor am I," put in Dave.

Paul Thompson had been followed to the doorway by his wife Sarah, and the
pair asked the two young hunters how matters were faring at home.

"We feel lonely here," said Mrs. Thompson. "In Philadelphia we had so much
company."

"You must come over to our house more," answered Henry. "Mother, I know,
will be glad to see you."

The Thompsons had come to that neighborhood the summer before, taking up a
claim of land left by a near relative who had died. Both were young, and
the husband had thought to improve his condition by turning farmer rather
than by remaining a clerk in one of the Philadelphia shops. But the
loneliness of the life was something neither had counted on, and both were
glad enough to talk to a neighbor at every available opportunity.

"I am coming over in a week or two, to stay three days, if your folks will
keep me," said Mrs. Thompson. "Paul is going over to Dennett's Mills on
business."

"You'll be welcome," said Henry; and after a little more talk the young
hunters went on their way.

"I'm anxious to see what sort of a farmer Thompson will make," said Dave as
he strode along. "I don't believe he knows a thing about tilling the soil.
He's as green as we should be behind the counter of a shop."

"He'll have to learn, the same as anybody else."

At last the youths came in sight of home. It was now dark, and through the
living-room window they saw the gleam of a tallow candle which rested on
the table.

A shout from Dave brought his father to the doorway. "Back again, eh?"
exclaimed James Morris. "And tired as two dogs after the chase, I'll
warrant."

"We are tired," answered the son. "But I reckon we could walk a few miles
more if we had to."

"I see you didn't get a deer this time," came from Rodney Morris, as he,
too, appeared at the doorway.

"Mercy on us, you can't expect them to get a deer every trip!" ejaculated
Mrs. Morris, who was bustling around the big open fire-place preparing
supper. "It's a wonder they start up anything at all around here, with all
the hunting that's going on."

"We got two wild turkeys and seven rabbits," said Henry. "We left two
rabbits at the Thompsons'. And, by the way, Mrs. Thompson is coming over in
a week or two to stay three days. Paul is going to Dennett's on business."

"I'll be glad to have her here," was the mother's reply. "Poor dear, I know
just how lonely she feels. Of course you said it would be all right."

"Yes, I said she'd be welcome."

"I'm so glad!" came from little Nell, as she brushed back the curls that
were flying around her face. "Mrs. Thompson is so nice! She can tell the
cutest stories!"

"A story-teller always makes a friend of Nell!" laughed her father. "Even
White Buffalo can charm her with what he has to say when it comes to
stories."

"White Buffalo is a nice Indian," answered the little miss promptly. "The
next time he comes here he said he would make me a big, big wooden doll,
with joints that would move, and glass beads for eyes."

"You won't fail to keep him busy, if he lets you," came from Dave, as he
kicked the snow from his feet and came into the cabin. He threw his game on
a bench and hung up his bag, musket, outer coat, and his hat. "Something
smells good in here," he declared.

"You've walked yourselves into an appetite," said Rodney. He picked up the
wild turkeys. "Good big fellows, aren't they? You've earned your supper."

The game was placed in a cold pantry, to be cleaned and dressed on the
morrow, and then the inmates of the cabin gathered around the table to
enjoy what Mrs. Morris had to offer.

It was a scene common in those days. The living-room floor was bare and so
was the long table, but both were scrubbed to a whiteness and cleanliness
that could not be excelled. On either side of the table were rude, but
substantial benches, and at the ends were chairs which had been in use for
several generations. In a corner of the room stood Mrs. Morris's
spinning-wheel and behind this was a shelf containing the family Bible,
half a dozen books, and a pile of newspapers which had been carefully
preserved from time to time, including copies of the "Pennsylvania
Gazette," edited by Benjamin Franklin, and also of the latter's
publications known as "Poor Richard's Almanack," full of quaint sayings and
maxims. Over the shelf were some deer's antlers and on these rested two
muskets, with the powder horns and bullet pouches hanging beneath. Behind
the door stood another musket, loaded and ready for use, should an enemy or
a wild beast put in an unexpected appearance.

With no tablecloth, one could scarcely look for napkins, but a towel hung
handy, upon which one might wipe his fingers after handling a bone. The
dishes were far from plentiful and mostly of a sort to stand rough usage.
Coffee and milk were drunk from bowls with narrow bottoms and wide tops,
and sometimes these bowls served also for corn mush and similar dishes.
Forks had been introduced and also regular eating knives, but old hunters
and trappers like James Morris and Sam Barringford preferred to use their
hunting knives with which to cut their food, and Barringford considered a
fork rather superfluous and "dandified."

When all were assembled, Joseph Morris said grace, and then Mrs. Morris
brought in what she had to offer--some fried bacon, a pot of baked beans,
apple sauce made from several strings of dried apples brought from the loft
of the cabin, and fresh bread, just from the hot stones of the fireplace.
All fell to without delay, and while eating Dave and Henry told the
particulars of the hunt just ended. It was not an elaborate meal, but it
was much better than many of their neighbors could afford, and the Morrises
were well content.

"I think you were wise to go out to-day," said James Morris, after the
young hunters had told their story. "There is another storm in the air and
it won't be long in settling down."

"It is going to be a long, hard winter, father," answered Dave.

"What makes you say that?"

"Henry said so. He found a squirrel's nest just loaded with nuts."

"Certainly a pretty good sign, for the squirrels know just about how long
they have got to keep themselves in food before spring comes."

"I hope it stays clear for a day longer," put in Joseph Morris. "I am
looking for Sam Barringford. He went to Bedford for me, and if it should
snow, traveling for him will be bad."

"Sam won't mind a little snowstorm," came from Henry. "He has been out in
the heaviest kind of a storm more than once."

After the evening meal, the whole family gathered around the open
fire-place and an extra log was piled on the blaze. As nobody seemed to
want to read, the tallow candle was extinguished and saved for another
occasion, for candles were by no means as plentiful as some of my youthful
readers may imagine. They were all of home manufacture and the making of
them was no easy task.




CHAPTER III

BARRINGFORD'S STRANGE DISCOVERY


The new cabin of the Morrises, built after the burning of the old, was
somewhat similar in shape to that which had been reduced to ashes. There
was the same small bedroom at the north end, which, as before, had been
turned over to Dave and Henry. But this room boasted of two windows instead
of one, each fitted with a heavy wooden shutter, to be closed in winter or
during an attack by the Indians.

The old four-post bedstead, of walnut and hickory, with its cords of
rawhide, was gone, and in its stead the Morrises had built a wide bunk
against the inner wall of the apartment, with a mattress of straw and a
pillow of the same material, for feathers were just then impossible to
obtain. Under the window was a wide bench made of a half log, commonly
called a puncheon bench, and the flooring was likewise of puncheons, that
is, split logs with the flat side smoothed down. Into the walls were driven
pegs of wood, upon which the youths could hang their garments.

The room was cold, almost icy, and it did not take Dave and Henry long to
get into bed after they had made up their minds to retire. Having said
their prayers, they huddled close together for warmth, covering themselves
with blankets and a fur robe James Morris had brought from his
trading-post.

The wind had been gradually rising and by midnight it was blowing half a
gale, whistling shrilly around the cabin and through the heavy boughs of
the neighboring trees. The doors and shutters rattled and awakened Mrs.
Morris, but the boys and men slept well, for the sounds were familiar ones.

In the early morning came a change. The wind went down and there was a
heavy fall of snow which kept up steadily for many hours. By the time Dave
and Henry arose the snow was several inches deep on the doorstep, where it
had previously been swept clean.

"Traveling for Sam Barringford will certainly be bad," remarked Rodney, who
was already at work, blowing up the fire for his mother. "If this keeps on,
it will be a couple of feet deep by nightfall."

As there was but little to do that morning, Dave and Henry took their time
in dressing. After breakfast they set about cleaning the wild turkeys and
the rabbits. The feathers of the turkeys were saved and also the rabbits'
skins, for all would come in useful, sooner or later, around the cabin
home.

"The wind is rising once more," remarked Joseph Morris in the middle of the
afternoon, after a trip to the cattle shed, to see that the stock were
safe. "It is blowing the snow in all directions."

The boys had been out, trying to clean a path to the spring, but found
their labors unavailing. So they filled a cask which stood in the pantry
with water, that they might not fall short of this necessary commodity
should they become completely snowed in.

Nightfall was at hand, and the wind was whistling more fiercely than ever,
when Henry chanced to go to the door, to see if the snow was covering the
cattle shed.

As he looked out he heard a faint cry. He listened intently and soon the
cry was repeated.

"Somebody is calling for help!" he exclaimed to the others.

"Where?" asked Joseph Morris quickly, and reached for his hat and
greatcoat.

"I think the call came from yonder," answered the son, pointing in the
direction.

"Was it Sam Barringford's voice?"

"I couldn't make out."

"Perhaps some traveler has lost his way," put in Rodney.

"We can go out and see," said Joseph Morris. He went to the doorway. "This
way!" he shouted. "This way!"

"Help!" came back faintly. "Help!"

"We're coming!"

Joseph Morris was soon out of the house, and James Morris followed him.
Without delay Mrs. Morris lit the lantern and hung it outside of the
doorway, that they might see their way back, and also placed a candle in
the window. The fire was stirred up, so that the one in trouble might be
warmed up and given something hot to drink.

With the snow swirling in all directions around them, it was no easy matter
for Joseph Morris and his brother to move forward to the spot from whence
the cry for help had proceeded. In spots the snow lay three and four feet
deep, and to pass through some of the drifts was out of the question.

"Sam, is it you?" called out James Morris presently.

"Yes!" was the feeble answer.

"Where are you?"

"Here, by the old split hickory. Jest about lost my wind, too."

"We'll soon be with you," answered James Morris.

There was a row of brushwood to the south of the split hickory tree, and in
the shelter of this the Morrises moved forward as rapidly as possible. The
keen wind cut like a knife, and they knew that it was this which had
exhausted the old frontiersman they were trying to succor.

Almost blinded, and nearly out of wind themselves, they at last reached the
split tree, to find Sam Barringford crouched behind a mass of the
snow-laden branches. He had a large pack on his back and also a bundle in
his arms.

Sam Barringford was a backwoodsman of a type that has long since vanished
from our midst. He was between fifty and sixty years of age, tall, thin,
and as straight as an arrow. He wore his hair and his beard long, and his
heavy eyebrows sheltered a pair of small black eyes that were as
penetrating as those of any wild beast. He was a skilled marksman, and at
following a trail had an instinct almost equal to that of the red men with
whom he had so often come in contact. He was dressed in a long hunting
shirt and furs, and wore a coonskin cap, with the tail of the animal
hanging over his shoulder.

"Winded, eh?" remarked Joseph Morris laconically.

"Why didn't you throw down your packs and leave 'em?"

"Couldn't leave this 'ere pack nohow," returned Barringford, nodding at the
bundle in his arms.

"Why not? Nobody is going to steal it tonight, I reckon."

"Taint that, Joe; the bundle's alive."

"What!"

"Babies--two on 'em, too."

"I vow!" put in James Morris. "Babies! Give them to me and I'll carry 'em
to the house. Joe, you give Sam a lift, if he needs it."

James Morris took the precious bundle, while his brother relieved the old
frontiersman of the pack on his back and took the latter's arm. The return
to the cabin was made without delay, James Morris getting there some
minutes before Joseph managed to arrive with Barringford clinging to his
arm.

"Sam has brought a couple of babies, Lucy!" said James Morris, as he rushed
up to the fireside and proceeded to open the bundle in his arms.

"I do declare!" gasped Mrs. Morris. "Babies! Where did he get them?"

"I don't know, but--Oh!"

The bundle had burst open, and there to the astonished gaze of all gathered
around were presented to view two little fat and chubby boy babies, each
about a year of age.

"Oh, the dear little things!" cried Mrs. Morris, snatching up one of them
and hugging it to her breast. "Are you alive?"

For answer the baby boy set up a faint cry and this was immediately
answered by a similar cry from the other baby. Then arose a grand chorus
which left no doubt of the facts that the babies were alive and that each
possessed a good pair of lungs and full knowledge of how to use them.

"Warm them up, James, while I get them some pap," said Mrs. Morris.

"Oh, the nice little babies!" put in little Nell, crowding close to touch
the soft and somewhat cold cheeks. "And such pretty eyes, too, and such
soft hair! Mamma, I think they are just too beautiful for anything!"

While Mrs. Morris was preparing some pap and some warm milk Joseph Morris
arrived with Sam Barringford, and proceeded to make the old frontiersman
comfortable. The water was already boiling in the big iron pot, and
Barringford was given a glass of hot liquor which soon made him feel like
himself once more. Later still he was served with a hearty meal, which he
ate as if famished.

"Great babies, ain't they?" he said. "Beats all creation how I found 'em,
too."

"So you found them?" put in Rodney. "Where?"

"On the road about three miles from this place--close to where the
Chelingworth cabin used to stand."

"Did you find them in the snow?" queried Dave, with deep interest.

"I did an' I didn't. Ye see, they was wrapped in the bundle an' the bundle
was tied up to a tree limb."

"And left there all alone?" cried Mrs. Morris, who was busy feeding the
little ones.

"It was a case of necessity, ma'am. The man who had had the children had
done his best by 'em, an' he couldn't do no more," returned Sam Barringford
gravely.

"Tell us the particulars, Sam," said James Morris.

"I will. I was coming along the trail, fightin' my way as best I could in
the teeth of the wind, an' feelin' bitter cold a-doin' of it, when I came
to a spot where there had been a fight between a man, a horse, and some
wild beasts--wolves, most likely. I couldn't git the straight of it at
fust, but at last I figured out that the horse had gone into a hole, broke
his leg, and pitched the man out on his head on the rocks. The man had had
the babies in a bundle, and to keep 'em from gettin' too cold had put 'em
in the tree instead of on the ground, or else he did it to save the babies
from the wild beasts.

"The wild beasts had done their bloody work well, and man an' horse had
been torn limb from limb. The man's skull was crushed, and it and part of
the horse lay in a nasty hole, an' that's what makes me think both had the
accident. The man had emptied his two pistols and used his knife, but it
wasn't no use. The fight was ag'in him from the start."

"Horrible!" murmured Mrs. Morris, while little Nell and some of the others
shuddered.

"I didn't notice the bundle in the tree at fust, but while I was takin' in
the awful sights afore me I heard a strange sound. 'Sam Barringford, thet's
a wildcat,' sez I to myself and swung my gun around putty quick. But it
wasn't no wildcat at all, but them babies beginning to set up a howl. Maybe
I wasn't taken back. It war the greatest amazement ever overtook me,
barrin' none!" added the old frontiersman emphatically.

"Was there anybody else around?" asked James Morris.

"Not a soul. I looked everywhere, an' tried to git a shot at some of the
wild beasts, but they had gone clean an' clear. Then I made up my mind the
best to do war to get them babies to some shelter, or they'd freeze to
deth. I didn't know ef other folks around here war to hum, so I made for
this place. When I got to the split hickory I war so tuckered out I set up
the yell you heard."

"Did the man have anything with him besides the babies?" asked Rodney.

"No bundle. But he had his pistols, the knife, a gold watch, some gold and
silver, and some other things which I didn't pick up because of the snow
an' the wind. Here are the things I did bring along," and Sam Barringford
brought them forth from a bag he had carried and laid them in a pile on the
table.




CHAPTER IV

SEARCHING FOR CLEWS


The others gathered around and surveyed the articles Barringford had
brought along with keen interest. The money amounted to two pounds and six
shillings, some in Spanish coin, but mostly in English. The pistols were
English weapons, but the knife was such as could be bought at any frontier
town in the colonies. The watch was a large, open-faced affair, and on the
dial was marked, Richard Gardell, Maker, London, 1742.

"Hard to tell if he was an Englishman or a colonist," mused James Morris.
"What of his clothing, Sam?"

"Almost torn to ribbons by the wild beasts."

"We'll have to go back to the spot as soon as the storm clears away," said
Joseph Morris.

"You didn't find anything with the man's name on it?" came from Dave.

"Nary a thing, lad. But my search wasn't any too good, remember," answered
Barringford.

"As soon as I saw the babies I started for here with 'em."

"Each has a locket around its neck," came from Mrs. Morris suddenly.
"Perhaps they will give some clew."

"I trust they do," answered her husband. "That man may have been their
father or otherwise only a servant sent to take them to some place. But, be
that as it may, we must discover where the little ones belong."

"Oh, let us keep them!" burst in little Nell "I want some little brothers
to play with!"

"Hush, dear!" came from the mother. "Mayhap the mother of these little ones
is this moment mourning for them and wondering where they can be."

The lockets were small, oval affairs, rather hard to open until a thin
knife blade was inserted between the two parts of each. One contained a
miniature of an old lady in court dress and the other a portrait of an
elderly gentleman, with powdered wig and gold-rimmed spectacles. The face
of each was full of kindness and nobleness.

"Two fine old folks, I'll warrant," came from Joseph Morris.

"More than likely the grandparents of the little ones," returned his
brother.

"The lockets seem new," said Rodney. "Perhaps they were christening
presents, or given to the babies on their first birthday."

"The babies look very much alike and seem of an age," said Mrs. Morris, who
had by this time fed them all they cared to eat. "I doubt not but that they
are twins."

"Just what I was thinking," said Henry. "You had better remember which
locket belongs to each, or you may get 'em mixed up."

"Mercy on us! I never thought of that!" exclaimed his mother. "Let me
see,--yes, the first locket came from this one," and she hastened to
replace it.

"There is a slight difference in their looks," said Dave, after a close
survey of the two tiny faces. "One has a rounder chin than the other and a
flatter nose."

"Dave is right," answered his aunt. "But the difference is not very great."

"Will you keep the babies for the present?" questioned Sam Barringford. "I
don't know what to do with 'em, I'm sartin."

"To be sure we will," said Mrs. Morris. "Poor dears! if it was their father
who was killed, it may go hard with them."

The matter was talked over during the meal and for two hours afterward, but
none could reach any conclusion regarding the identity of the little
strangers. All agreed that the best thing to do would be to look for more
clews as soon as the weather permitted.

There was a large Indian basket in the cabin, in which Dave and Henry
usually brought in kindling for the fire. This was emptied and cleaned and
in it was made a comfortable bed for the babies to sleep on. Having
satisfied their hunger and become thoroughly warm both slept soundly, nor
did they awaken until early morning.

By sunrise the storm was practically over, although a few hard particles of
snow still whirled down in the high wind. Joseph Morris said they had
better wait an hour or two longer for the wind to go down, and this was
done.

"Can I go along?" asked Dave eagerly. "I'm sure I won't mind the walk at
all."

"I'd like to go, too," added Henry; and when the party started it consisted
of the two youths, their fathers, and Sam Barringford.

The men took turns at leading the way and breaking open the trail, no mean
task when in some spots the snow lay to a depth of four and five feet. They
kept as much as possible in the shelter of the trees and bushes, where the
drifts were not so high. The sun, shining clearly, made the scene on all
sides a dazzling one. Not a sound broke the stillness, birds and beasts
being equally silent.

It took over an hour to reach the ruins of the Chelingworth cabin--one of
the first erected in that territory and burnt four times before it was
finally abandoned. As they passed the ruins Sam Barringford came to a halt.

"Listen!" he said briefly.

All did so, and at a distance heard a sudden yelping, which gradually
increased.

"Wolves!" cried Henry.

"You are right," answered the old frontiersman. "Reckon they have come back
to finish their work."

"Let us drive them off," put in Dave, with a shudder. "If there is anything
left of the man, we ought to give him a decent burial."

"Yes, lad, I agree; but there ain't much left but bones."

All pushed forward and soon reached the spot where Sam Barringford had made
his strange discovery. Five wolves were close by, sniffing eagerly through
the snow, and more were in the rear.

"I've my shot-gun," said Dave. "Shall I give 'em a dose?"

"Yes," answered Barringford, and taking aim at two of the foremost wolves,
the youth pulled the trigger of his weapon. The report was followed by a
mad yelp of pain, and both wolves went down, one dead and the other badly
wounded. The other wolves then ran off with all possible speed.

[Illustration: The report was followed by a mad yelp of pain]

"A fair shot, Dave!" cried the old frontiersman, and striding forward he
dispatched the wounded wolf with his hunting knife. "Doin' almost as well
as Henry now, ain't ye?"

"Not quite as well as that," was Dave's modest answer.

The new fall of snow had covered all traces of the tragedy recently enacted
at the spot, but the Morrises had brought along a pair of shovels and a
broom, and soon the party was at work, clearing away the snow as Sam
Barringford directed.

The remains of man and horse were at last uncovered, and then began an
earnest search for some clew which might lead to the identity of the
unfortunate person.

"Here is a gold ring," said Henry presently, and held it up.

Joseph Morris took the ring and examined it with care. There was an
inscription inside, but it was so worn he could not decipher it.

They also brought to light several pieces of clothing, torn to tatters as
Barringford had said. The horse's saddle was likewise there and the reins
and curb, but absolutely nothing which gave either name or address.

"This looks as if we were stumped," said Henry, pausing in his labor of
digging away the snow.

"Right ye are," came from Barringford. "Too bad! I'd like to know who them
twins belong to."

"Reckon they'll belong to you, Sam," said James Morris, with a faint smile.

"Me! Well, I vum! An old man like me, all alone in the world, with twins!
What'll I do with 'em? Answered me thet, will ye?" And he scratched his
head in perplexity.

"We can keep them for the present," answered Joseph Morris. "Indeed, I
don't think my wife will care to give them up in a hurry. She said this
morning the youngsters had taken a tight hold of her heart."

"Ef I had a hum of my own--" began Barringford. "But no, 'tain't right--I
ought to find out whar they belong."

"Perhaps you can find out all about them at Bedford, or Fort Loudan, or
Annapolis, or Philadelphia," put in James Morris. "Certain it is they
belong somewhere."

They had now come to the end of their search and, as there seemed nothing
more to do, prepared to return home. The ground was too hard to permit of
the burial of the remains of the stranger, and they were placed between
some rocks, with other rocks over them, to keep off the wild beasts. Then
Joseph Morris marked the nearest tree with a large cross and a question
mark--a common sign of those days, showing that somebody unknown had met
death in that vicinity.

When the Morris cabin was again reached they found the babies wide awake
and cooing contentedly. Mrs. Morris had dressed them up as best she could,
and she was holding one while Rodney held the other. Little Nell was
dancing around the floor in wild delight.

"Oh, I just love those babies so much!" cried the little miss. "I want
mamma to keep them, if nobody comes to take them away."

"Don't want to send them to the poorhouse, then?" questioned her father
quizzically.

"To the poorhouse?" she repeated scornfully. "No, indeed!"

"What a fate for such darlings!" murmured Mrs. Morris. "No, Joseph, hard as
times may be, I cannot consent to send these little ones away to live on
charity, even if the authorities were willing to take them--which I doubt."

"Never fear, Lucy, I do not intend to be hard on the twins. And you must
remember, Sam here has a claim on them."

"Oh, Uncle Sam," began little Nell--she often called him uncle--"won't you
please let me keep the babies?"

The question was so gravely put the old frontiersman had to laugh outright.
"A great question truly," he made answer. "And I don't know if they are
mine yet."

"But if nobody calls for them--"

Barringford scratched his head.

"In thet case, I reckon as how I'll have to adopt 'em. Don't see nuthin'
else to do."

"One thing is certain, they shall stay here for the present," said Mrs.
Morris, and that important question settled, she turned over the baby she
held to Dave, while she bustled about to prepare a late dinner.




CHAPTER V

A LIVELY ELK HUNT


The storm just passed proved to be the last one for some time to come, and
in a week the trails leading from Will's Creek to the eastward became more
or less broken. The trail to Fort Bedford was likewise opened, and Sam
Barringford made a journey hither and was gone eight days.

The others awaited his return with great interest, but one look at his face
when he arrived convinced all that he had failed in his mission.

"Can't find out anything about them twins," he said, getting down to what
was in their minds without delay. "The man was seen around Fort Bedford for
two days, but he didn't tell his business, and nobody that I talked to had
seen the babies nor had they seen him a-talkin' to any wimmen folks."

"Where did he stop overnight?"

"Thet's something I couldn't find out, nuther."

"He must have been an odd sort," observed James Morris.

"Perhaps the twins didn't belong to him at all," suggested Henry. "If they
did, why was he ashamed to show 'em?"

Sam Barringford shrugged his shoulders and drew a long breath. "Don't ask
me, Henry; it's a clar mystery, thet's wot it is."

Settling himself before the roaring fire, Barringford told his story in
detail. He repeated all that the inhabitants at Bedford had told him, but
this threw no light on the mystery. Nobody had seen the stranger come into
the place and nobody had seen him depart.

"Wonder where he did come from," mused Dave. "He certainly must have come
from somewhere."

After that the winter days passed slowly. Sam Barringford remained at the
Morris home, occasionally going out alone or with some of the others in
quest of game. He was always glad to have Dave and Henry with him, and they
were likewise delighted to go, for, as my old readers will remember, Sam
Barringford was a famous hunter and rarely came back empty-handed.

One day Henry, who had been out after wild turkeys, came back in a state of
mild excitement. He had seen hoofprints which were strange to him, and he
wanted Barringford's opinion on them.

"They looked something like a deer's," he said, "but were larger."

"Must have been an elk," answered the old frontiersman. "But I allow as how
thar ain't many of them critters around this deestrict."

Henry had come back in the evening, so that the tracks he had discovered
were not inspected by Sam Barringford until the following morning. The pair
went out accompanied by Dave, and all were armed, and supplied with
provisions enough to last two days, if necessary.

The way led up a small hill back of the house and then through a patch of
scrub timber--the best having been cut away when the new cabin was built.
Beyond the scrub timber was a small cliff of rocks and further still a
dense forest, leading to the stream upon which the Morris boys had had such
thrilling adventures in the past.

"Here are the tracks," said Henry, when the edge of the forest was gained.
"And see, here is another trail made last night, I'll be bound!"

Barringford took his time at examining the hoof-prints in the snow, and at
a spot where the sun came down warmly and made the ground slightly soft.

"Reckon I was right," he said. "Ef it ain't an elk, it ain't nuthin I ever
seed afore."

"If it is an elk, let us try to bring him down by all means!" cried Henry.
"I'd like a pair of elk horns very much."

"The trouble is, he may be miles an' miles away from here by this time,"
answered Barringford.

"Never mind, let us try it anyway," put in Dave.

All were on snow-shoes--Dave and Henry possessing pairs made for them by
White Buffalo years before, and Barringford a pair he had traded in at one
of the posts, giving some fox skins in exchange.

"I'm willing, lads," said the old frontiersman. "Even if we don't git the
elk, we may stir up something else wuth knocking over."

He led the way directly into the forest, following the tracks of the game
with ease. Dave came behind him, while Henry brought up the rear.

All was almost absolutely silent. Occasionally a winter bird circled
through the air, or a frightened squirrel ran from a tree branch to his
hollow, and twice they caught a fair view of a bunch of rabbits, nibbling
at some tender shoots of brushwood. The young hunters could have shot the
rabbits with ease, but now they were after larger game, and they knew
better than to fire shots which would most likely drive the elk for miles,
were the beast within hearing distance.

"How far do you calculate the elk is from here?" asked Dave, after a good
mile had been covered.

"That's no easy question to answer, Dave," returned Sam Barringford. "He
may have gone two miles and he may have gone ten. We'll have to trust to
luck to catch up to him. I don't calkerlate he went far in this deep snow."

Another mile was covered, and they came to a spot where the snow was kicked
up in several directions. A rough-barked tree was near by, and on this it
was plain to see that the elk had rubbed himself vigorously.

"Thet proves he ain't gone far," said Barringford, almost in a whisper. "He
stopped to scratch himself an' then dropped into a walk. Go slow now and
keep quiet, an' we may come up to him before you know it."

The old frontiersman's advice was followed, and they turned along the
newly-made trail, which now led up to the top of another hill. Here was a
good-sized clearing, and Barringford motioned for the others to keep back
until he could reconnoiter. They stepped behind some brushwood and each
looked to the priming of his musket and to the flint.

Presently Barringford held up his hand and motioned for them to advance,
but with caution.

"Reckon I've spotted him, but I ain't sartin," he whispered. "See thet
hollow yonder? I think he's back of them bushes an' rocks. We had better
spread out a bit."

The others understood, and while Dave went to the right, Henry moved to the
left, leaving Barringford to advance as before. The hollow mentioned was
nearly quarter of a mile away, yet so sharp were the old frontiersman's
eyes that he had noted a peculiar moving of the upper branches of the
brushwood before him, as if some large animal was tramping around, browsing
on such tender shoots as the snow had not covered.

"If the elk don't go off like a streak, Henry shall have the first shot,"
Barringford had said, and it was arranged that, all things being favorable,
Dave should shoot next, if a second bullet was required. Barringford would
hold himself in readiness for the unexpected.

There was a cleared spot to cover, and at a signal from the old
frontiersman they advanced across this, being all of a hundred yards from
each other, and in something of a semicircle.

They made no noise, and the elk, for such it really was, did not notice
them until they were within easy gunshot of where he was feeding. Then up
went his head, to scent the air, and with a snort of sudden fear he started
away, straight ahead of them.

Bang! it was Henry's weapon that spoke up, the instant he had the game out
of range of the bushes. The bullet lodged in the elk's flank and he
immediately began to limp. But he did not drop, and now it was Dave's turn
to fire. Bang! went the second weapon, and the bullet lodged but a few
inches below that sent in by Henry. On went the wounded creature, limping
painfully, but still making good time, especially where the snow on the
rocks was partly swept away.

"Come on after him!" yelled Henry, reloading with all speed. "I don't think
he can get away!"

He had scarcely spoken when Barringford took aim and let drive. Strange as
it may seem, the third bullet struck immediately between the other two. The
frontiersman had aimed at the other flank, but the elk had jumped to one
side, to avoid a hole, just as the hammer of the musket struck the flint.

Henry was running on as fast as his snow-shoes would permit, and having
reloaded, Dave and Barringford followed. They were going downhill once
more, but now the elk made a turn and darted into a belt of timber lining
the river. Reaching the stream, he paused for a moment, looked despairingly
at his wounded and bleeding flank, and then started across the ice.

When Henry reached the bank of the stream the elk was pulling himself up
the steep bank on the other side. He now offered a fair shot once more and
the youth was not slow to take advantage of it. Up came the gun, his gaze
moved along the sights, and down came the trigger. But, alas! the flint was
an old one and it failed to light the priming. Up came the hammer with an
exclamation of impatience, but it was too late--the elk was once more out
of sight.

"Why didn't you give him another shot?" demanded Dave, as he rushed up.

"The confounded flint wouldn't strike fire," growled Henry. "That's one of
a lot I bought in New York when we were coming home, and they are no good."

"I'll see if I can't give him another," answered his cousin, and tumbled
rather than climbed down to the river bank. Barringford came after him, and
both crossed the stream and mounted the bank opposite. Here the snow was
deep and both went into it headfirst, getting a liberal dose down their
sleeves and collars.

"Oh, Columbus! but there's no fun in this!" cried Dave, as he brushed
himself off. "Ugh! but that snow down my backbone isn't a bit pleasant!"

"Don't waste time hyer!" cried Barringford almost roughly. It made him
angry to think that his first shot had not laid the elk low. "If you want
to stay behind, why--"

"Not at all!" interrupted Dave. "I'm with you!" And away he went beside the
old frontiersman. Henry had now adjusted a new flint to his musket-lock,
and was following across the river as speedily as possible.

The forest was thick before them and they could hear the elk crashing along
in a blind fashion, which indicated that he was speedily becoming
exhausted. Once they heard him stop, but before they could reach the spot
he was off again, at a still slower pace.

"We've got him now," said Barringford grimly. "Might as well slack up and
wait for Henry."

He knew that Henry would be much disappointed if he was not in at the
death. They slowed up and soon the young hunter came in sight.

"Did the elk get away?" he demanded.

"No, he is just ahead," answered Dave. "Don't you hear him?"

"Sure enough. So you waited for me? I'm glad you did."

Away they went in a bunch, until the elk could be heard less than five rods
away. Then came a silence.

"He has turned and is going to fight," cried Barringford, and a moment
later they came in sight of the elk, backed up against a clump of walnuts,
standing at bay, with dilated nostrils and a gaze of mingled alarm and rage
in his large, round eyes.

"He is your game, Henry," said Barringford, and Henry took aim promptly at
one of those eyes. The elk made a rush, but he was too late. Bang! went
Henry's gun. The game gave a wild leap,--and fell dead in his tracks.




CHAPTER VI

SURRENDER OF FORT DETROIT


"A good shot!" cried Dave, as all of the party moved forward to inspect the
dead elk.

"Couldn't have been better nohow," came from Sam Barringford. He looked the
game over carefully. "About as large as I've seen in these parts," he
added.

"He has got just the kind of horns I've been wanting to get," said Henry,
with pardonable pride. "But I reckon either of you could have hit him in
the eye, too," he added candidly.

"It is going to be no easy job getting him home," said Dave. "Shall we put
him on a drag?"

"Yes, lad, an' I've a rope we can slip over those horns, an' all can take
hold," said Barringford. "We can go as far as possible by the river; for
that will be easier."

Barringford carried a sharp hatchet in his belt and with this he cut down a
suitable tree branch and fashioned it into such a drag as was desired. Then
the elk was lifted upon it and bound fast, and the rope was fastened to the
horns.

Getting through the forest to the river was no mean task, but once on the
ice progress was rapid, and long before nightfall they were within easy
walking distance of home.

"Game here is not near as plentiful as it was three or four years ago,"
remarked Dave as they pushed on. "Don't you remember how we used to go out,
Henry, and bring down all sorts of small animals?"

"Some day there won't be anything left," put in Barringford. "Time was when
buffalo were plentiful, but now you've got to go a long distance to spot
'em. How this elk got here is a mystery to me. I thought they stayed up
near the lakes."

"The heavy winter made him go a long distance for food, I reckon," answered
Henry; and this was probably the correct explanation.

Little Nell was at the window, arranging a row of pegs Rodney had made for
her in the form of a company of soldiers. The largest peg went for the
captain, and this she called Washington, while another, which would not
stand, but insisted upon falling over, she called General Braddock, for she
had heard the older folks talk over Braddock's fearful defeat at Fort
Duquesne and of what Washington had done to save what was left of the
English troops from annihilation.

"Here they come!" shouted the little miss. "And, oh, such a big deer as
they have!"

"An elk, as sure as fate!" ejaculated Rodney, looking over her shoulder.
"Henry will have the horns he wanted now."

"And we need the meat," said James Morris, as he flung open the door and
hurried outside. "Elk is pretty strong, I know, but it is better than no
fresh meat at all. And I am tired of rabbit."

The party of hunters soon came up, and all of the others, including Mrs.
Morris, surveyed the game with interest, while they listened to how the elk
had been tracked and brought low.

"Certainly worth going many miles for," said James Morris. "The pelt is a
fine one."

The elk was hung up out of the reach of any wild beasts that might be
prowling around, and the next day Henry and Sam Barringford skinned the
animal and cut up the meat as Mrs. Morris desired it. The tongue was
smoked, a small part of the forequarter pickled, and the remainder kept
fresh by being hung up where it was cold. That day they dined on elk steaks
and all pronounced the fresh meat very acceptable.

Late in the afternoon Paul Thompson came to the cabin on horseback,
bringing his wife with him.

"We were coming sooner," said the husband, "but my wife got a sore throat
and I thought I had better wait until she was well again."

"I hope it is all right now," replied Mrs. Morris, as she escorted her
visitors into the cabin.

"Quite well, but she mustn't expose herself too much. When I go to
Dennett's I am going to get her a mixture from the doctor."

The Thompsons were astonished to see the babies and wanted at once to hear
all about them.

"It certainly is a queer mix-up," said the man, later on. "I'll see if I
can learn anything about them when I am away. Somebody ought to be able to
place them,--although, to be sure, a great number of children have become
hopelessly lost during the late war."

"We know that," answered Mrs. Morris with a shudder. "Wasn't little Nell
stolen from us by the Indians and then held by that bad French trader, Jean
Bevoir?"

"Didn't you say Bevoir was dead?" asked Paul Thompson.

"He is," answered James Morris, "and I must confess I am rather glad of it.
He caused me a great deal of trouble, in one way and another."

"I have news that Fort Detroit has surrendered to us," went on Paul
Thompson. "The surrender took place on November the twenty-ninth,"

"Is that so," cried Dave, with deep interest. "Was there any fighting?"

"I don't believe there was, but the French commander was very bitter over
the surrender, and so was Pontiac, the chief of the Ottawas."

"Pontiac?" repeated Henry. "I don't know that I ever heard of him."

"I have," put in Dave. "Somebody told me he was with the Indians that
attacked General Braddock, at the opening of the war."

"Yes, he was thar," came from Barringford. "An' I heard tell at thet
hospital I was in up to Canada thet he was with Montcalm when the French
fit General Wolfe. Montcalm give him a suit of French officer's clothes and
the Injun was tickled to death over 'em."

The news that Fort Detroit had surrendered to the English was true.
Immediately after the fall of Montreal, as already described in detail in
this series, General Amherst ordered Major Robert Rogers, of Rogers'
Rangers fame, to ascend the St. Lawrence and the Great Lakes, and take
possession of Detroit, Michillimackinac--now called Mackinaw--and other
French strongholds which had not yet been turned over to the British.

The start was made on the twelfth of September, 1760, and the force under
Rogers consisted of two hundred men, a mere handful as troops as reckoned
to-day, but one which was considered amply large enough to accomplish its
purpose. The journey was made in a dozen or more whaleboats, and Fort
Niagara was reached on the first of October,--about the time Dave, Henry,
and Barringford received their release from the army and prepared to start
for the Morris home hundreds of miles away.

Moving up the Niagara River as far as the rapids, Rogers' force carried
their boats with their loads around the Falls, and then embarked for the
journey up Lake Erie, stopping at the fort at Presqu' Isle, and at several
other points.

Winter was now on in all its fury, and a heavy rain made Rogers go into
camp in the forest bordering the water. Hardly had this been done when a
number of Indians put in an appearance and demanded to know where the
English soldiers were going.

"This is French and Indian territory," said they. "You can advance no
further."

Rogers tried to explain that the war was now over and that all the land
belonged to England. But the Indians would not listen, and said he must
wait until they had consulted the great chief Pontiac.

When Pontiac finally came, dressed as became a great warrior, he listened
gravely to what Rogers had to say. He was much chagrined to learn that the
French had capitulated and said that he must have the night in which to
think it over. When he went away Rogers and his soldiers feared treachery,
but it did not come.

The next day Pontiac came once more. He now said he was willing to let the
English advance, provided they would do what was right by his followers and
treat him as his rank deserved. Rogers said he would do the best he could;
and both smoked the pipe of peace.

When the mouth of the Detroit River was gained word came in that a large
body of Indians was hiding in the forest bordering the stream, waiting to
slaughter the whites. At once the rangers were on the alert, but the
threatened attack did not come, for Pontiac told the Indians that it would
be useless to fight the English at present, that they might rather become
friends with them and await the settlement of the war between England and
France.

Captain Beletre was in command at Fort Detroit. When the news was first
brought to him that the French at Montreal had surrendered he refused to
believe it.

"I will fight!" he cried, and did his best to arouse the Indians to aid him
in defeating the object of Rogers' mission. But when the Colonial commander
sent him a copy of the terms of the capitulation Beletre was forced to
submit, and did so with the best grace possible. Soon the _fleur de lis_ of
France was lowered and the cross of St. George of England floated proudly
from the flagstaff.

This surrender without bloodshed caused great wonder among the red men, and
their wonder increased when they saw the French made prisoners with no
attempt on the part of the rangers to massacre them. They thought that the
English must indeed be powerful, and were glad that they had taken
Pontiac's advice and remained, for the time being, friendly.

Detroit taken,--it was at that time but a straggling village with a rude
palisade,--a detachment was sent to the south, to occupy Fort Miami and
Fort Ouatanon, places of lesser importance. Then Rogers himself set out up
Lake Huron to take Michillimackinac. But winter was now on in all its
severity, and his boats were driven back by the snow and floating ice, so
that he had to abandon this portion of his task. But it may be mentioned
here that during the following spring, now so close at hand, a body of
Royal Americans journeyed to Michillimackinac and took possession. Thus was
the surrender of the French in America made complete so far as it embraced
the territory which had been in dispute for so many years. The English
imagined that times of peace and plenty were to follow. But they had not
reckoned with Pontiac or with the thousands of Indians who stood ready to
dig up the war hatchet at the call of this daring and learned chief.




CHAPTER VII

PREPARING FOR THE EXPEDITION WESTWARD


The winter had been a severe one, but early in March came a rapid change
and in a few days the spring thaw began in earnest, flooding the banks of
the creeks and rivers and causing not a little damage to such buildings as
were located close to the water's edge. The forest in that vicinity was
still heavy, so that the freshet was not as severe as it is in these days,
when there remains but little timber to break the rush of snow and ice and
water down the sides of hills and mountains.

With the coming of spring James Morris began to make his arrangements for
visiting his trading-post on the Kinotah. In the meantime those at the
cabin did their best to learn something concerning the two babies Sam
Barringford had picked up. But the efforts in this direction were without
success.

Nothing could be learned of the traveler who had the little children,
although diligent inquiries were pursued at Fort Bedford, and many other
points. Letters were sent to Annapolis and to Philadelphia concerning
Barringford's discovery but brought no satisfaction. Once a party wrote
that the children might belong to his dead brother, but this proved to be
untrue.

"It's a complete mystery, that's what it is," declared Henry.

"And it looks to me as if it will never be solved," added Dave.

The children still remained at the Morris house and Mrs. Morris gave both
the best of care. The kind woman felt positive that they were twins, and
all who saw the children agreed that she was right. One was slightly darker
than the other in eyes and hair, and one chin was rounder than the other,
but otherwise it was next to impossible to tell them apart.

"Reckon I'll have to shoulder 'em as my own," remarked Sam Barringford one
day. "I'd do it in a minit if it wasn't thet I haven't nary a home to take
'em to."

"You may leave them here," said Mrs. Morris promptly. "I have talked it
over with Joseph and with James and it will be quite suitable."

"If you'll take 'em in charge I'll pay you for it, Mistress Morris," said
the old frontiersman. "It will be a weight off my shoulders to have ye do
it. I know as how the little chaps will get the best o' care."

And so it was arranged that the twins should remain with Mrs. Morris.
Barringford named them Tom and Artie, after two uncles of his own, and
these names clung to them as they grew older. Little did Barringford or the
Morrises dream of what the finding of these twins was to lead to in years
to come.

"Of one thing I am certain," said James Morris one day. "They are of good
breeding. No common blood flows in their veins."

"I take it you are right," answered his brother. "And it may be that some
day Sam will be well rewarded for saving them from death."

After a great deal of deliberation it had been decided that James Morris
should start for the west about the first of May. Dave and Henry were to go
with him, and likewise Sam Barringford and three other frontiersmen named
Lukins, Sanderson, and Jadwin. The party was likewise to contain four
Indians of the Delaware tribe under White Buffalo. The whites were all to
go mounted and were to take six pack-horses in addition. At first James
Morris thought to take a couple of wagons, at least as far as Fort Pitt,
but this plan was at the last moment abandoned, for wagons were scarce and
high in price, and there was no telling if they could be sold when the last
fort on the frontier was gained, and further progress with anything on
wheels became out of the question.

The coming of White Buffalo with his handful of trusted braves was an event
for Dave and Henry. This chief had been their friend for many years and
they felt that they could rely upon him, no matter how great the emergency.
In the past the tribe to which White Buffalo belonged had been split, some
fighting with the English and others with the French, but now some of the
leaders, including Skunk Tail, were dead, and, the war being at an end, all
were reunited under the leadership of White Buffalo and a young chief named
Rain Cloud. But White Buffalo could not forgive some of the men of his
tribe for taking up arms against the English and he was glad enough in
consequence to get away with his few chosen ones.

"How? How?" said the Indian, meaning "How do you do?" as he took first
Dave's hand and then Henry's and gave each a tight grip. "White Buffalo is
glad to see his young friends looking so well. The war has not harmed
them."

"No, White Buffalo, we are as well as ever," answered Dave. "And how have
you been since last we saw you?"

"White Buffalo is not so young as he once was," answered the chief. "His
step is not so light and his eye cannot see so far. Before many winters he
will be gathered to his fathers."

"Nonsense!" put in Henry. "You can shoot as straight as any of us, and I
know it, and walk just as far, too. Who told you that you couldn't?"

"The young braves at White Buffalo's village. They do not care for a chief
who is old."

"They make a big mistake, and I'd tell them so if I had the chance," went
on Henry earnestly. "You are all right, White Buffalo, and we'll be very
glad to have you along, even if your tribe doesn't want you any longer."

At this the eyes of the old Delaware glistened. "Henry is my true friend,"
he murmured. "And David is my friend, too. White Buffalo shall never forget
them."

"Are the men with you young men?" questioned Dave.

"No, they are almost as old as White Buffalo himself."

"That will suit father. He doesn't care for the young braves. They always
want to do what pleases them and not what is ordered."

"They are like untrained dogs, who follow one trail and then another and
hunt out nothing," was the old chief's comment.

True to his word, he had brought a new doll for little Nell, made by
himself with no other tool than his hunting knife. It was of wood, with
eyes of beads, and with joints fastened with deer thongs. It was
wonderfully painted, and on the top of the head was a bit of fur for hair.

"White Buffalo bring the papoose he told of," he said, producing it from
under his blanket. "Lady papoose, her name Minnehaha."

"Oh, what a beautiful, beautiful doll!" screamed little Nell, as she
embraced it. "And her arms and legs move, too! And such a nice name,
Minnehaha."


"What does Minnehaha mean?" asked Mrs. Morris, as she too surveyed the
precious gift.

"Minnehaha means Laughing Water," answered the Indian chief. "Grand lady,
like Queen."

"She is certainly a grand doll," put in Rodney. "Nell, you must take the
best of care of it."

"I shall," answered the little miss; and she did.

James Morris had gone to Annapolis, accompanied by his brother, and at this
important seaport purchased such things as were needed for the expedition,
including some extra weapons, powder, ball and shot, a box of flints, some
clothing, and many other things of more or less usefulness. To these were
added, when Will's Creek was again reached, two casks of salt pork, two
bags of beans, a sack of flour, a canister of coffee, others of sugar,
salt, pepper, and various other articles meant for the table. No fresh meat
was taken, the party depending upon their firearms to supply game and their
lines and hooks to furnish fish. A small supply of feed was also taken for
the horses, but this was to be used only when natural fodder could not be
found.

And all this was for an expedition from Cumberland to the Ohio River, a
distance of not much over a hundred miles, and which to-day can be made in
the trains inside of three hours with ease! But the trail the party was to
take was all of two hundred miles in length, and fifteen to twenty miles
per day was considered good traveling. This shows well the progress made in
our country in the past one hundred and forty odd years.

There were not sufficient accommodations at the Morris' cabin for all the
whites of the party, and the frontiersmen who were to go with Barringford
remained at the fort at Cumberland until the start, while the Indians made
themselves at home in the woods. Once White Buffalo was invited to take
dinner at the cabin, and did so with his usual reserve, eating the meal in
almost total silence, and immediately following with a "smoke of peace"
between himself and James and Joseph Morris.

"That Indian is one out of a hundred," remarked Joseph Morris to his
brother afterward. "I don't believe in trusting them much, but I would
trust White Buffalo."

"That is exactly how I feel about it," was the answer, "and why I was so
anxious to have him along. He has proved himself our friend through thick
and thin. It is too bad that there are not more of such."

"Perhaps there would be, James, had the Indians been treated fairly from
the start. But you know as well as I how the traders have cheated them when
driving bargains, and how some have given them too much rum and then
literally robbed them."

"Yes, yes, I know, and it is the one black spot on our colonization. There
should be a law against it. But even that does not warrant the red men in
being so savage as they have at times proved themselves."

"True again; but both the English and the French have been almost equally
brutal at times. Look at some of the old frontiersmen--those Barringford
has often spoken about. They liked a slaughter as well as the Indians, and
did not hesitate to scalp the enemy in the same way."

"Yes; but they learned that from the redskins in the first place."

"That is true, too; but they should not have taken up the custom, but
instead they should have tried to teach the Indians to do better,"
concluded Joseph Morris; and there the unsatisfactory argument rested.




CHAPTER VIII

ON THE OLD BRADDOCK ROAD


As old readers of this series will remember, there were but two roads or
trails leading from the eastward to Fort Pitt, at the junction of the
Allegheny and Monongahela rivers, where is to-day located the great
manufacturing city of Pittsburg.

The southern road was that cut through at the time General Braddock made
his unsuccessful attack on Fort Duquesne, as the stronghold was then named
by the French. This ran through Great Meadows and then northward to Fort
Pitt. It started at Fort Cumberland, and passed within short walking
distance of where the Morris homestead was located.

The northern road was that cut through by General Forbes during the second
campaign against Fort Duquesne, when the French had been driven from that
territory by the English troops and Royal Americans. This started from Fort
Bedford, about thirty miles north of Fort Cumberland, and ran over the
Allegheny Mountains, and across Stony Creek, Bushy Run, and oilier streams.
It was a considerably shorter route than the other, but the trail was, in
certain spots, more difficult.

At first James Morris, had thought to use the upper and shorter route, but
he was fairly well acquainted with the other, and at last decided to stick
to that which he knew rather than experiment with the unknown.

"I know we can get through on General Braddock's road," he said. "It may
take a few days longer, but time is of no immense value to us."

"You are quite sure the Indians on that road are at peace with us?" asked
his brother's wife timidly, "I do not wish Henry to get into more fighting.
He saw quite enough of that during the war."

"White Buffalo assures me that, for the present, the war hatchet has been
buried everywhere, Lucy. To be sure, there is no telling when it will be
dug up again. But I reckon we can take care of ourselves should trouble
come."

The starting of the expedition proved quite an event at Will's Creek, and
many neighbors living within a radius of two and three miles came to see
them off. Among the number was Paul Thompson, who said he would do what he
could for those left behind during the absence of James Morris, Dave, and
Henry.

It was a perfect day, with a warm breeze blowing up from the Potomac River.
Not a cloud ruffled the sky, and the spring birds filled the air with their
melody.

"Puts me in mind of the time I went out to the trading-post with you," said
Dave to Sam Barringford, as the two rode along side by side, "Don't you
remember what a time we had getting through, and how I fell into the river
and was afraid of being captured by the Indians?"

"Yes, lad, I remember it well," answered the old frontiersman. "But the
trail ain't half as bad as it was then--Braddock's pioneers smoothed down
the rough places putty well,--not but what some of the brushwood has grown
up ag'in."

"Shall we stop again at the Indian village of Nancoke?"

"The village ain't thar no more, Dave; fire in the forest swept it away
last year, so I heard tell some time ago. But I reckon we'll stop at some
redskin village afore we git to the Kinotah."

The end of the first day's traveling found the party miles beyond the last
plantation on the road. They stopped in the midst of a little clearing
where there had once been a house, but this the Indians had burnt years
before and the tall brushwood covered the half-burnt logs and choked up the
neighboring spring.

"The trail is poor," observed James Morris. "Much poorer than I expected.
We shall have our own troubles getting through."

"It is not as good as when Barringford and I marched under General
Braddock," answered Dave. "Then the pioneer corps cut down every tree and
bush that was in our way."

"And lost so much time our army was defeated," put in the old frontiersman
grimly. "Braddock meant well, but he didn't know how to fight Indians."

Early in the morning the movement forward was resumed. There was a small
stream to cross, and a long hill, and then they entered into the depths of
a primeval forest, where the tops of the trees were a hundred feet and more
overhead, and the great twisted roots lay sprawling in all directions,
covered partly with moss and decayed leaves. The trail was still visible,
but the branches of the trees on either side met overhead, cutting off the
sunlight and making it uncomfortably dark excepting at midday.

James Morris and Sam Barringford led the way, with the frontiersmen,
Lukins, Sanderson, and Jadwin, bringing up on either side. Back of these
came the pack-horses with their loads, looked after by Dave and Henry, and
further to the rear were the Indians under White Buffalo. All told the
party made quite an imposing appearance, and if put to it could have
offered considerable opposition to any enemy that might have appeared.

The route through the forest soon grew worse. The heavy frost of the past
winter had upheaved many rocks and they lay scattered in all directions on
the side of a hill up which they were climbing. Sometimes a horse would
slip on them and go down, and once a pack animal rolled completely over,
smashing flat what was on his back.

"There goes our beans!" cried Henry. "Oh, what luck!"

Dave gave a look, and then, regardless of the seriousness of the situation,
burst into a laugh. The beans were rolling in all directions, under the
rocks and the horses' feet. It took some time to rescue the fallen animal
and gather up the best part of the beans.

"Never mind," said Barringford philosophically. "Those beans will grow, and
when you come back this way ag'in ye can pick 'em, Henry."

"Thank you, but I shan't come back just for a quart or two of beans," was
the youth's answer. If the silence was sometimes oppressive during the day
it was doubly so at night. Occasionally some birds would break the
stillness, or they would hear the croaking of frogs in the marshes, or the
bark of a distant fox, but that was all. If any big game was at hand it
took good care to keep its distance.

The party soon reached the river where Dave had had his stirring adventure
on horseback, as already described in "With Washington in the West," and
the youth pointed out to his cousin the spot where he had gone into the
rapids.

"I'll never forget that event," said he, with something like a shudder. "It
was what Barringford would call a close call."

Fortunately there was now a good fording place at hand, so the entire party
crossed without difficulty. On the other shore the trail made a new turn,
and now began the ascent of a long hill, up which the pack-horses moved
with the pace of snails. Those in the saddle had often to dismount and lead
their steeds, and at the end of each mile all stopped for a needed rest.

"Don't know as this 'ere trail is as good as tudder," remarked Sam
Barringford. "But they tell me it knocks three miles out o' the bend, an'
that's something'."

James Morris and the old frontiersman had imagined the weather would remain
fair, but on the morning of the fourth day out a cold rain set in that
chilled all to the bone. The Indians under White Buffalo wished to go into
camp at once, but James Morris decided to keep on and did so until the
middle of the afternoon, when, as the storm increased, the party halted
beneath a large clump of trees and lost no time in getting out their
shelters and putting them up. The Indians had a wigwam of skins and the
whites two canvas coverings. These were placed close together, and a
roaring camp fire was started near by, where all hands tried to dry
themselves and get warm. A steaming hot meal was also served, which did
much to make everybody feel comfortable.

"I do hate a cold rain on a march," grumbled Henry, as he crouched in the
shelter beside Dave. "Makes me feel like a wet hen that can't get inside of
the coop."

"If only one doesn't catch cold," replied Dave. "Don't you remember the
cold I caught when we were up at Lake Ontario?"

"To be sure; and I had a cold myself." Henry paused for a moment. "Where
has Barringford gone?"

"He said he was going to try to stir up some game. I don't know what he
expects to get in this rain."

"He ought to know what he is doing. He is the best white hunter that I ever
ran across."

An hour passed, and by that time it was dark. The Indians sat in their
wigwam smoking and talking in low guttural tones. The white hunters were
also telling yarns of the war and of the various Indian uprisings before
that time. They were thrilling tales and the youths listened to them with
deep interest. Both Dave and Henry had been through a great deal
themselves, so they knew that the stories, though wild and wonderful, were
probably based on facts. To-day, when we live in such security and comfort,
we can hardly realize the dangers and privations those pioneers endured to
make our glorious country so full of rich blessings to us.

Growing tired of sitting down, Henry had just arisen to stretch his limbs,
when a sudden rushing sound through the forest reached his ears.

"What is that?" he questioned, and instinctively reached for his rifle.

"Some animal, I reckon," answered Dave.

A rifle shot rang out, and the sound came closer. Then, as Henry ran out of
the shelter, he uttered a yell of alarm.

"A buffalo! Lookout!"

He was right, a magnificent specimen of the buffalo tribe was crashing
along under the wet trees and among the bushes. He was alone and rushing
along at his best speed. In a twinkling he struck the clump of trees, and,
hitting the shelter of the whites, smashed it flat!




CHAPTER IX

HENRY'S STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE


In days gone by the American buffalo, or bison, roamed nearly the entire
length and breadth of North America. The Indians hunted the animal
industriously, but their efforts with bow and spear were not sufficient to
exterminate the species.

But with the coming of the white man to America matters took a different
turn. The buffalo could not run away so easily from a rifle shot, and armed
with the best weapons they could obtain, Indians and white hunters rounded
up the buffaloes at every possible opportunity, in order to obtain the
pelts. This soon caused the animals to thin out and flee to the westward,
beyond the Mississippi, where they at last sought refuge in the Rocky
Mountains. So fiercely have they been hunted during the past seventy-five
years that to-day but a few herds remain and ere long these promise to be
totally exterminated.

Henry had never seen a buffalo so far to the eastward and he was therefore
much astonished at the sudden appearance of the shaggy-headed beast. He
gave a yell of alarm, which was followed by another yell from Dave, as the
frail shelter bent beneath the weight of the buffalo.

"A bison!" shouted James Morris, and White Buffalo took up the cry of
alarm. Then down went the canvas flat, and the buffalo made a plunge for
the forest beyond. Henry heard a groan from Dave, as the youth was covered
up. Not waiting longer, he raised his gun, took hasty aim at the animal and
fired.

"Did ye git him?" The query came from Sam Barringford, as, bare-headed, he
rushed into the little clearing back of the trees. "I give him one in the
side but it didn't seem to stop him none."

"I don't know if I hit him or not," answered Henry. "He burst upon us so
swiftly I hardly knew what to do."

While this talk was going on James Morris was crawling from under the wreck
of the tent. Barringford reloaded and ran on after the buffalo and Henry
did likewise. They could hear the great beast plunging headlong through the
brush.

"He has got it putty bad," remarked Barringford. "If he hadn't he wouldn't
ram into things so hard. Reckon he hardly knows what he is doin'."

"I hope we get him," answered Henry, his eyes filled with eager desire. "We
would have fresh meat for a long time, and plenty of jerked beef, too."

More than half a mile was covered and still the buffalo kept on, much to
the surprise of the young hunter and the pioneer.

"Not so badly hit as I reckoned on," panted Barringford.

"Perhaps I didn't hit him at all," was Henry's answer.

Soon they gained the top of a rise of ground. Here the rocks were smooth
and slippery, and in a twinkling Henry went down and rolled over and over
down a long hill.

"Hi! hi! stop yourself!" roared Barringford in quick alarm. "Stop, or ye'll
go over the cliff!"

His alarm was justified, for the hill ended in a cliff all of thirty feet
in height, below which were some jagged rocks and a small mountain torrent
flowing into the upper Monongahela.

Henry heard the cry but did not understand the words. Yet he did not like
the idea of rolling he knew not to where, and dropping his gun he caught at
the wet rocks and bushes which came to hand. But his downward progress was
not stayed, and in a few seconds he reached the edge of the cliff and
rolled out of sight!

[Illustration: Henry ... rolled over and over down a long hill]

The incident happened so quickly that Barringford was almost stunned. He
started to go down the hill after Henry but for fear of meeting a like
fate, dropped on his breast in the wet and worked his way along from rock
to bush with great caution. Twice he called Henry's name, but no answer
came back.

"If he went over on them rocks it's likely he was smashed up," he groaned.
"Why didn't I have sense enough to hold him back? I knew this dangerous
spot was here."

Step by step he drew closer to the edge of the cliff. The snows of the past
winter had washed away and loosened much of the ground, and once he felt as
if everything was giving way and he was to share the fate of his companion.

At last he was within three feet of the edge of the cliff. He could look
down into the gully beyond but not down on the side where he felt Henry
must be resting.

"Henry!" he called loudly. "Henry!"

He waited for fully a minute, but no answer came back. His face grew more
disturbed than ever.

"He is hurt, that's sartin," he muttered. "Like as not he broke his neck."

Barringford always carried a bit of rope with him and he now had the same
piece used in dragging the elk to the Morris homestead. Taking this, he
tied it to a stout bush, and by this means lowered himself to the very edge
of the cliff.

Night was now approaching, and at the bottom of the gully all was so dark
he could see only with the greatest of difficulty. The torrent ran among
rough rocks and brushwood, with here and there a patch of long grass bent
flat from the winter's snows.

"Henry! Where are you?"

Again there was no answer, and now Barringford was thoroughly alarmed. He
remembered how Mrs. Morris had asked him to keep watch over her son.

"Got to git down to him somehow," he told himself. "I hope he's only
stunned."

After a general survey of the situation, the old frontiersman decided that
the cliff terminated at a point several hundred yards to the southward.
Accordingly, he climbed up the hill with care and commenced to make a
detour in that direction.

It was hard work to make any movement forward, for the rocks were unusually
rough and between them were hollows filled with mud, dead leaves and water.
Three times he fell and when he arose he was plastered with mud from head
to feet. But he did not turn back, and every minute wasted only added to
his alarm, for Sam Barringford, rough though he was in outward appearance,
had a heart that at times could be as tender as that of a child.

"If the lad's dead I don't know how I'm a-goin' to break the news to his
folks," he groaned, with a long sigh. "Joseph and his wife allers looked to
me to keep an eye on him. They expect me to be keerful. 'Twasn't right at
all fer me to take Henry so close to sech a dangerous spot. I ought to be
licked fer it, an' licked hard, too."

It was a good half hour before he could get down to where the torrent
flowed over the rocks. He was now a quarter of a mile from where Henry had
taken the unexpected tumble, and working his way down the stream was no
easy task.

It had set in to rain harder than ever, and the black clouds soon shut out
what little was left of daylight. Wet to the skin, and shivering from the
cold, he moved on as well as he was able. Again he called Henry's name, but
only a dull echo came back, partly drowned by the rushing of the water.

When Barringford thought he had covered the proper distance he came to a
halt. On his back he carried Henry's rifle as well as his own, having
picked it up when leaving the top of the hill, but the owner of the firearm
was nowhere visible.

"I'll have to make a light, no two ways on thet," he mused, and moved close
up under the rocks to get some dry kindlings. But everything was thoroughly
wet around him and though he set fire to the tinder in his box he could
obtain nothing in the shape of a torch.

Again he stumbled on, soon getting into the water up to his waist. In fresh
alarm he found his way out of the torrent and next encountered some thick,
wiry bushes where further progress seemed out of the question.

"Beats all, how things are goin' crosswise," he muttered, as he paused to
get his breath. "An' all along o' thet confounded buffalo, too. Reckon he's
miles an' miles away by this time," and in this surmise the old
frontiersman was correct.

An hour's search convinced him that Henry was no longer in that vicinity.
But what had become of the youth was a mystery.

"He wouldn't walk away without lettin' me know," reasoned Barringford.
"Must be he fell into the water and got drowned and somethin' is holdin'
him under. One thing is sartin, if thet's so tain't no use to try to find
him afore mornin'. Might as well go back to camp an' break the news."

But he was unwilling to go back, and again and again he called Henry's
name, listening with all the acuteness of which his trained sense of
hearing was capable. Only the rushing of the torrent and the dripping of
the rain answered him.

"No use," he muttered. "He is gone an' thet is all there is to it. I've got
to face the music and tell the others, though it's worse nor pullin' teeth
to do it."

Getting out of the gully in the almost total darkness was now truly
difficult, and had not Barringford been skilled in woodcraft he would
certainly have been lost. But he had taken note of the way he had come and
remembered every bush, tree, and rock, and now he returned by the same
route. It was a tough climb back to the forest where the trail of the
buffalo had been last seen and here he had to rest once more, before
starting for the camp.




CHAPTER X

A WAIT IN CAMP


Let us go back to the time when the buffalo, in his mad eagerness to get
away from the hunters, plunged headlong into the shelter of the whites and
hurled it flat.

Under the canvas lay Dave, with the breath knocked completely out of him.
He felt something heavy come down on his back and then for the moment knew
no more.

When he opened his eyes he found that his father had hauled him from under
the wreckage and was gazing earnestly into his face.

"Are you hurt, son?" demanded James Morris quickly.

"I--I--reckon not" was the slow answer. "But something hit me in the--the
back. Whe--where is the buffalo?"

"Gone, and Barringford and Henry after him."

"Hope they lay him low."

"So do I. But are you quite sure you are not injured? I thought the animal
stepped on you."

"Maybe he did, father. But I'm all right, thank goodness." And Dave
stretched himself to prove his words.

The Indians had gathered around and were talking excitedly. Some wanted to
join in the hunt, but the frontiersmen under Barringford held them back.

"You let Sam an' Henry go it alone," said Sanderson. "They know wot they
are a-doin'."

"That is true," answered White Buffalo. "My white brothers can shoot
well--I have seen it."

Soon the knocked-down tent was raised again, and the fire stirred up. Then,
as the storm, increased, all crouched in the shelters they had erected and
awaited the return of Henry and the old frontiersman.

"I'd like to eat a buffalo steak now first-rate," said Dave, smacking his
lips. "It would touch the spot and chase away the blues."

"Buffalo steak is rather strong, like elk's meat," answered his father.
"But we need strong food, on such a rough journey as this."

"It's a pity there isn't a better trail, father."

"Some day there will be a regular road, Dave--when there are more
settlements to the westward. I look for the time when we shall have cities
out here, the same as along the seaboard."

"Won't never see that" said the frontiersman named Lukins.

"Why not?" risked James Morris.

"The Injuns won't allow it, that's why, Mr. Morris. They don't mind a
tradin'-post or two, whar they kin sell hides an' git rum an' sech things.
But they don't want no towns or cities. You won't never see a city on the
Ohio, nor in them Western countries at all."

"I believe the cities are bound to come," said Dave. "As more folks come
over from England, and Germany, and France, they'll be bound to spread out.
The Indians won't stop 'em."

"They will if they rise an' dig up the war hatchet," put in Jadwin, the
other frontiersman.

"If they dig up the hatchet too often they will be wiped out," said James
Morris. "They may fight all they please--in the end both the English and
the French will conquer them."

"How large do you think our country will get in time, father?" questioned
Dave.

"That is a hard question to answer, Dave. I think you may live to see
strong settlements on the Ohio, and your children may see towns on the
Mississippi. About the great Western countries I know nothing, nor does any
other white man. I suppose they are overrun by Indians and all sorts of
wild beasts, or perhaps there is nothing there but beasts and trackless
forests."

"It's too bad the Indians won't live as the white people live," went on
Dave thoughtfully. "We might get along famously together."

"It is not the Indian's nature to till the soil, my son. He loves to roam
about and to hunt and fish and then take it easy. More than this, when the
spirit stirs him, he must fight; and if he cannot fight the white man he
will fight his fellow Indians. You have often heard White Buffalo tell how
one tribe will fight another tribe for several seasons, and how the tribes
sometimes split up and fight among themselves."

"Of course; didn't the Delawares to whom he belongs split up, one side
going to the French and the others fighting under White Buffalo for our
cause? But when a war is over they might settle down."

As the time passed the others concluded that Henry and Barringford had
found the buffalo hunt longer than they had anticipated.

"Perhaps the animal has led them such a chase they won't come back until
morning," suggested James Morris. "It is no fine thing to travel in the wet
and darkness."

"Right you are," said Sanderson. "Sam may hunt in the wet if he wants to,
but none of it for me."

An early supper was had, and something was kept hot for those who were
missing, for it was felt they would come in chilled to the bone and with
tremendous appetites.

Dave was beginning to grow sleepy when he heard a movement outside, and a
moment later Sam Barringford came into view, with downcast face and with
the water dripping from his coonskin cap and hunting shirt.

"Sam!" cried James Morris, leaping up. "So you've got back at last. Did you
get the buffalo? Where is Henry?"

"No, we didn't get the buffalo," answered the old frontiersman. His voice
grew husky. "Henry--he is--missing--he dropped over a cliff--" He could not
go on.

"Over a cliff!" gasped Dave. "You don't mean he is--is--" He too failed to
finish what was in his mind.

"I can't tell you what happened after he slipped from my sight," went on
Barringford.

"Oh, Sam, do you mean to say he is killed?"

"I hope not, lad. But it looks juberous, no two ways on't."

"Tell me how it happened," said James Morris, and now all in the camp
gathered around to hear what the old frontiersman had to say.

The ice once broken, Barringford's tongue grew more talkative, and he
related all the particulars so far as he knew them.

"When I worked my way down into the waterway I felt sartin I would find
Henry in some sort o' shape," he concluded. "But I couldn't find nuthin',
not even his cap. His gun he dropped on the hill, an' here it is," and he
handed it to Dave.

It was a fearful shock, and the tears stood in Dave's eyes and ran down his
cheeks, while the youth's father was scarcely less affected. The
frontiersmen had little to say, and the Indians, with the exception of
White Buffalo, took the matter stoically, for the perils of the hunt were
no new things to them.

White Buffalo took in every word that was spoken. When matters of
importance were to be considered he had little to say.

"Shall White Buffalo go forward and make a search?" he asked simply, after
Sam Barringford had stopped speaking.

"What can you do, after Sam here has failed?" questioned James Morris. "I
know you are keen on the trail, White Buffalo, but you know that Sam is
too."

"Four eyes are better than two," returned the Indian, using an old saying
of his tribe.

"Let him go by all means if he wishes," put in Barringford. "The man to
find Henry an' bring him back to camp is my best friend."

"White Buffalo, will you take me along?" asked Dave eagerly.

"Dave, son, don't you think you had better remain with me?" asked his
father.

"No, father; we must find Henry. Please let me go!"

"Dave can go if he wishes," answered White Buffalo. "The journey will not
be pleasant, but if Henry is found we shall be glad. Is not White Buffalo
right?"

"Take torches with you, or a lantern," said Barringford.

Torches were quickly procured and placed in a bit of skin, that they might
not get wet. Then another torch was lit, and the old frontiersman gave the
Indian chief minute directions about the trail to the water course under
the cliff.

"White Buffalo knows something of that land," said the chief. "He will not
go astray."

"I should hope not," said Dave. "We want to find Henry, not lose
ourselves."

"Take a bag full of eating along," put in James Morris. "You may want
something before morning. And also a bandage and some stimulants for Henry,
in case he is badly hurt and needs them." He could not let himself believe
that his nephew was dead.

"All right, father; I'll take whatever you say," answered Dave, and soon he
and White Buffalo had all the articles mentioned. Each went armed with his
rifle and hunting knife, and the Indian carried his hatchet as well.

"Do not remain away later than to-morrow noon," said James Morris, when
they were ready to leave. "If you are not back by that time I shall fear
that something has happened to you also."

"Don't fear for me so long as I am with White Buffalo," replied Dave; and
this speech pleased the Indian chief very much.

"Don't you try to go down to the stream by way of the hill," cautioned Sam
Barringford. "If you do you may break your necks."

The old frontiersman had sprained his foot, but he did not deem it best to
mention that fact. Nevertheless, if he had been better able to walk he
would probably have accompanied Dave and White Buffalo in spite of the
first search made by him.

"It's a shame, thet's wot it is," he declared, after the youth and the
Indian had departed. "It distresses me oncommonly to think such a thing
could happen to Henry."

"I hope with all my heart he is alive," responded James Morris.

"But if he is dead--?"

"Then I shall return to Will's Creek without delay, and start for the west
some time later--after I have given my brother and his family all the
comfort I can," said the trader soberly.




CHAPTER XI

HAPPENINGS OF A STORMY NIGHT


It is now high time that we return to Henry and see how he fared after his
sudden and unexpected disappearance over the edge of the cliff.

The young pioneer was well aware of his peril and as he rolled out of Sam
Barringford's sight he clutched wildly at every bush and projecting rock
that came near his hand.

Once a sapling, growing in a cleft of the cliff, struck his shoulder.
Around this he managed partly to twist his arm, and this saved him from
serious injury.

He struck some rocks, however, with considerable force and for a moment was
stunned.

"What a tumble!" he muttered, when he had regained his breath. "It is a
wonder that I didn't kill myself,"

With an ache in the side occasioned by the rough experience, Henry arose
and started to look for some spot along the cliff where he might climb to
the top.

Where he stood it was almost totally dark, and he had not taken over a
score of steps when he floundered into a hollow filled with water and mud.
He leaped across this, to find himself in a split of the cliff, where the
bushes were unusually high and thick. Here the rain hung heavily from every
twig and soon soaked him worse than ever.

He thought he heard Barringford calling and started to answer. Then he
pushed forward once more, hoping each moment to gain higher ground.

But the pocket,--for such it really was,--grew deeper, and suddenly he
found himself at the edge of a deep hole. He tried to step back, but the
dirt under his feet gave way and he plunged downward he knew not whither.
He felt his head strike some projection, and felt some dirt come down on
top of him, and then, for the time being, he knew no more.

The young hunter came to his senses slowly. His first realization was that
his head pained him greatly, and that some weight was trying to force the
air from his lungs. He tried to move his hands, to learn that each was
covered with the dirt which had come down on top of him.

With a great effort he cleared his hands and then his body and tried to
rise to his feet. But he could not stand, and trembling like a leaf he sank
down on a rock near at hand. All was pitch dark around him and the rain
beat steadily on his head.

"I'm in a pickle truly!" he muttered dismally. "Wonder where Sam can be?"

He tried to cry out, but his voice was woefully weak and uncertain, and he
soon gave up the effort. Then he tried again to walk, but had to desist in
despair.

He could not imagine how long he had been under the fallen dirt, but knew
it must be some time, perhaps an hour or two. Where Barringford was there
was no telling.

"I'm worse off than I was before, that is sure," he thought. "Maybe I won't
be able to get out of this mess before morning."

Feeling stronger after a while he arose and groped his way forward. He had
not taken a dozen steps before he came to some rocks. They arose
slantingly, and under them he found a dry spot, well sheltered from the
rain.

"This is a little better than the other place was," he mused. "But I'd like
to know just what sort of a hole this is, and what the prospect is of
getting out."

Like Barringford, the young pioneer carried a flint and tinder-box with
him, and under the rocks it was a comparatively easy matter for Henry to
strike a light. He found some dry leaves and twigs, blown hither by the
wind, and presently had a respectable fire started, over which he crouched
in an effort to drive away the chill which was stealing over him.

"This is a buffalo hunt with a vengeance," he muttered. "I was a fool to
start off after the animal in such a storm, and in the darkness. After
this, I'll do my hunting altogether in the daytime."

In a search for more firewood Henry presently came to an opening in the
rocks behind him. It was totally dry here and, taking up the best of the
firebrands, he moved to the new location. Soon he had a roaring fire, the
smoke going upward, to some hole overhead which he could not locate.

"This must be something of a cave," he mused. "Wonder where it can lead
to."

He felt that it would be useless to attempt trying to get out of the hollow
he was in before daylight and so proceeded to make an investigation of the
opening.

It proved of no great size, however, and nothing met his gaze but rocks,
dirt, decayed tree roots, and a heap of bones in a far corner, showing that
it had once been the den of a wild beast.

"I am glad the beast isn't here now," thought Henry. "I'd be badly off
without a gun."

Slowly the time wore away and Henry had now to make another search for
firewood, if he expected to keep the blaze going, and what to do he
scarcely knew.

"If I look for wood I'll get wet again," he reasoned. "And if I don't go
and get some the fire will leave me in the cold."

He was on the point of scraping the fire together, to make it last as long
as possible, when an unexpected whistle broke upon his ears. He sprang to
the front of the shelter and listened intently. The whistle was one he knew
well, and the whistler was rendering an old English air, called "Lucy
Locket Lost Her Pocket," an air which we to-day call "Yankee Doodle."

"Dave!" shouted the young hunter, and set up a wild yell. "Dave! Where are
you?"

"Is that you, Henry?" came from the edge of the hollow.

"Yes. Look out, or you'll get a tumble as I did."

"White Buffalo knows the trail," came in the voice of the Indian chief.

"Hullo! is that you, White Buffalo? Very well, but be careful."

Torches in hand, Dave and White Buffalo moved forward slowly. But the
Indian knew exactly what he was doing, and soon he and the youth with him
were at the bottom of the hollow in safety. Then Dave ran forward to greet
his cousin.

"Are you badly hurt?" he questioned.

"No. I'm all right, Dave, although I got two nasty tumbles."

"Sam was afraid you had been killed. He searched all around, but couldn't
find you."

"I was foolish not to wait until Sam came down to the water course. I
started to get out alone and got into this pickle. Why didn't you shout
when you came up?"

"We saw the fire but White Buffalo thought there might be some unfriendly
Indians or trappers around. So then I thought of my old whistle. I knew you
would recognize it."

Henry had to tell his story, and then Dave asked him if he was well enough
to return to the camp without delay.

"They are all anxious about you, especially father and Sam," he added.

"To be sure, I'll go back to camp. It's no fun staying here. I'm quite
hungry, too."

"Then you must have something before we leave."

The meal was soon disposed of, and led by White Buffalo the party left the
hollow and proceeded through the forest. It was a long, hard journey, but
neither of the youths minded it, both being thankful that the adventure had
terminated so happily.

When Henry reached camp once more he was hailed with great joy by James
Morris and Sam Barringford. The uncle embraced his nephew, and the old
frontiersman gripped Henry's hand until the bones fairly cracked.

"I have been more than worried ever since Sam came back with his sad tale,"
said James Morris. "In the future, Henry, you must be very careful when you
go hunting; otherwise I shall not want to leave you out of my sight."

"I'd give my right hand ruther than see ye kilt," said Barringford huskily.
"Next time we go out I reckon as how we'll keep close together."

"It's strange you didn't get on my trail," returned Henry. "You are usually
a good one at such things."

"The downpour washed out the tracks," said James Morris.

"I'm not so good at such things as White Buffalo is," answered Sam
Barringford bluntly. "He is born to it, and, White Buffalo, it does you
credit."

"White Buffalo was once called the Trail King," said the Delaware proudly.
"He found the trail when all others failed. It was in the war with the
Ottawas."

The rain had now ceased, and once more the camp-fires were started up and
the wet things were placed to dry.

"Since so much of the night has been lost we may as well take it easy
to-morrow," said James Morris, and this was done. This gave Barringford a
chance to nurse his sprained foot, for which he was thankful.




CHAPTER XII

THE RUINS OF THE OLD TRADING-POST


Once more the arduous journey westward was resumed. The hills left behind,
they traveled a peaceful valley where riding on horseback was a real
pleasure. Small game was now sighted in plenty, and Dave and Henry brought
down their full share of what was bagged. The Indians joined in the hunting
with keen pleasure, and White Buffalo brought down a silver-tailed fox, the
pelt of which became the envy of all the red men under him.

Having crossed a broad but shallow water course, they reached an Indian
village called Badoktah, which had but recently been established by a tribe
of the Shawanoes. The coming of the Shawanoes eastward into the territory
of the Delawares was not liked by the latter, and White Buffalo and his men
met those in the village with scant courtesy.

"The land of the Shawanoes is beyond the rolling Muskingum," said White
Buffalo to Dave. "They have come hither because they know my tribes are
weak. But some day we shall drive them back to the lands that are their
own."

"Do they claim the land up at Lake Erie?" asked the youth.

"No, that is the land of the Wyandots and the Iroquois."

"And how far to the west do they own the land?"

"For three days' journey on foot. Then comes the land of the mighty Miamis,
and to the northward the lands of the Pottawattamies, the Ottawas, and the
Ojibways."

"And who occupy the lands still further westward?"

"On the mighty Father of Waters," answered the Indian chief, meaning the
Mississippi, "are the Illinois, and to the northward the Kickapoos and the
Sacs and Winnebagoes. Of the tribes beyond the mighty river, White Buffalo
knows but little. By some they are said to be exceeding cruel, and others
have told that they are dumb and paint their bodies with mud."

The village of Badoktah consisted of about thirty wigwams, made of rude
skins and long poles. As was usual at all such villages, each wigwam was
decorated with rough Indian pictures and writings, giving the name of the
occupant, his family, and telling of his deeds in war. The wigwams were
without exception exceedingly dirty, and the Shawanoes themselves were
little better--offering a strong contrast to White Buffalo and his
followers. Indian dogs were everywhere, many of them miserable curs, all
barking viciously, and showing their teeth.

The warriors were getting ready to go out on a hunt, but they waited until
their unexpected visitors had departed. One or two of them had met James
Morris at the trading-post on the Kinotah, and they remembered that he had
treated them well. As a consequence the Indians did what they could to make
the newcomers welcome, although they showed plainly that they would have
been better pleased had the Delawares not been present.

"You must come and trade with me when I have re-established myself," said
James Morris to the warriors of the village. "I will treat you honestly."

They remained in the village but two hours, and then pushed forward
straight for Fort Pitt.

At the time of which I write, Fort Pitt was a structure standing on the
point of land where the Monongahela and the Alleghany rivers unite to form
the broad Ohio. As already told, it had been named Fort Duquesne by the
French, but after the surrender to General Forbes, it was re-named after
William Pitt, a great leader in England. In 1759, much of the old fort was
torn down by General Stanwix, who erected in its place a much larger and
stronger structure, built of logs, bricks, and dirt, and well protected
with a number of cannon.

When the party reached the fort, James Morris was welcomed warmly by the
English officer in command. No white men had passed that way since early
winter, and all in the fort were anxious to hear the latest news, and to
receive the newspapers which the trader had thoughtfully brought along.

"You are very adventurous," said the commandant of the fort. "I do not know
how the Shawanoes will treat you."

"Have you had any trouble?" demanded James Morris.

"Not of any consequence. Some drunken Indians came here a few weeks ago and
did some shooting. But nobody was hurt, and I speedily sent the drunkards
about their business."

All the whites of the party were glad to rest at the fort for several days,
and White Buffalo and his men remained with them. During that time Dave and
Henry met several soldiers who had been with the youths during one campaign
or another.

"Glad to see you came out of the war hale and hearty," said one of the
soldiers. "You are both lucky."

"We were lucky," answered Henry.

"The fall of Montreal has brought the war to a quick close," went on the
soldier. "But that is not saying that the Indians won't give us plenty of
trouble in the future."

"They had better not. They will get the worst of it," said Dave.

"It is some of the great chiefs who are stirring them up, Morris. If the
regular run of redskins were left alone they would be peaceable enough. But
the chiefs go among them and say we are stealing their hunting grounds away
from them, and all that, and that gets them excited."

"Yes, I know. And, to a certain extent, what they say is true, too."

"The trouble is, the redskins won't make a fair deal. They'll sell land one
year and then want it back the next," added another soldier.

"Have you seen any French traders in this vicinity?" asked Henry.

"Not since we gave orders for them to quit their trading. I reckon they
feel mighty sore. Our captain told me that a few were thinking of becoming
British subjects. They realize that the French hold in America is now
broken for good."

The stop at Fort Pitt at an end, the party continued on its way to the
Kinotah, a beautiful stream, the name of which has long since been changed.
The trail was now exceedingly rough, and so narrow in spots that the
pack-horses could scarcely get through. The branches of the trees hung low,
so that often all had to move along on foot. The one consolation was that
the weather remained fine, so that camping-out at night proved a real
pleasure and a rest.

"There are not half the Indians in this neighborhood that there were three
and four years ago," remarked James Morris to Barringford. "The war has
thinned them out more than I expected."

"I look for big times with game," returned the old frontiersman. "It will
be almost like striking a new hunting ground."

Every night a watch was kept for the possible appearance of an enemy,
either two-footed or four-footed. But no man came to disturb them, and if
any wild beasts were near they kept well out of sight. Once Lukins brought
down a small wild-cat, but that was all.

It must be confessed that James Morris was exceedingly anxious to see how
the trading-post had fared during his absence, and as soon as the rolling
Kinotah was reached, he set off on a gallop along the bank of the stream,
followed by Dave and Henry, leaving Barringford to advance more leisurely
with the pack-train.

The river, with its clear, sparkling waters, was as beautiful as ever, but
while they were still two miles from where the trading-post had been
located, they noticed a change in the character of the surroundings. The
heavy spring freshets had done their work, and the river banks were torn
into numerous gullies and creeks, while the trunks and limbs of great trees
lay in all directions. Further still, they came to a long, burnt district,
which made the heart of the trader turn sick with dread.

"It is as I feared," he said sadly. "There has been a terrible burn-over
here, and the district is no longer what it was."

In less than half an hour's riding over the blackened ground, they came to
where the long, comfortable trading-post had been located. Only a pile of
ashes, with here and there a burnt log sticking up, marked the spot, and
James Morris could scarcely keep back the tears as he surveyed the ruin
wrought. Tears came to Dave's eyes, and Henry shook his head.

"We'll have to go further now, won't we, father?" said Dave, after a long
spell of silence. "You won't want to build here again."

"No, Dave, I'll not build here. It was a beautiful place, but it seemed
fated not to thrive. We must push on to some other territory."

Dismounting, they started to poke among the ruins, thinking they might
possibly turn up something of value. While they were at this task
Barringford and the others appeared.

"Well, I vum!" cried the old frontiersman. "Ef this ain't jess too
naturally bad fer anything! Didn't expect it like this, did ye? An' sech a
handsome spot as it was, too!"

"White Buffalo's heart is sad," said the Indian chief. "He feels sore for
his brother James. The great forest has fallen, and many will be the
summers ere it rises again."

"You are right, White Buffalo," answered the trader. "And even when it does
rise, it will not be as grand as it was before."

The party could not go into camp on the burn-over, so Sanderson took charge
of the pack-train and led it along the river, where the waters flowed
toward the broad Ohio. In the meantime, the Morrises and Sam Barringford
dug over the ashes where the trading-post had stood.

Little of value was found, outside of a rusty pistol, two rusty hunting
knives, a bullet mold, a string of wampum, and a few earthen dishes, and an
hour later the searchers left the spot.

"It is too bad," said James Morris. "I loved the place dearly. But it may
be we shall find another further on that is just as good."

"Let us hope it will be better," said Dave, trying to look on the cheerful
side.

"Yes, let us hope it will be better," said Henry; and the others echoed the
sentiment.




CHAPTER XIII

BUILDING THE NEW TRADING-POST


Four days later found the entire party encamped on the bank of the Ohio
River, about twenty miles from the district which had suffered from the
terrible ravages of fire.

They had, indeed, found a spot as beautiful as that which had once chained
James Morris to the Kinotah. There was a tiny bluff overlooking the broad
stream, and back of this a long, low hill, covered with a forest of
exceptionally good timber. Around the hill wound a pleasing brook, gurgling
gently in its passage over the stones. The brook was lined with various
kinds of bushes and flowering plants, and not far off was a series of
rocks, where a spring of pure, cold water gushed forth. The soil along the
river bank was rich in the extreme, and James Morris saw at once that
anything planted in it would grow with but little care.

"After all, I think we have done well to come thus far," said he to Dave
and Henry. "The Ohio is a larger stream than the Kinotah, hence I think the
chances to do some trading will be better." And without loss of time he
staked out a plot of ground, and, in his own way, proclaimed himself
proprietor. He knew that, later on, he would have to prove his claim to the
Land Company claiming the whole tract, but he felt that this, with proper
influence, would be easy. The Land Companies were glad to have the backing
of honest traders, for to survey their possessions and dispose of certain
plots was by no means easy.

The spot for the location of the new trading-post having been found, many
hard days of toil followed for all of the white men, and for Dave and
Henry. The Indians could not be persuaded to work, but spent their time in
hunting and fishing, and thus supplied the entire party with food.

The first work was to build a rude, but substantial palisade, of logs about
twelve feet long, and sharpened at the upper end. This palisade extended
from the river front to where the brook made a turn, almost parallel to the
Ohio, with the north side flanked by a small rise of rocks. The gateway was
at the south end, ten feet wide, and later on, fitted with a strong pair of
gates, secured by a top and a bottom crossbar.

Fortunately, as already stated, good timber was close at hand, and while
Dave, Henry, and Sam Barringford cut the logs, the others had the horses
haul them to where they were wanted and set them up as desired. James
Morris was an old hand at this sort of employment, and so the work went
forth rapidly.

"This is really working for a living," said Dave, one day, after having
brought down a tall, straight tree, from which, at least, four logs could
be cut. "We are truly earning our bread by the sweat of our face."

"But it's healthy labor, and I don't mind it," answered his cousin.

"Do you really mean that, Henry?" asked Dave, resting for a moment and
gazing sharply at the other.

Henry colored slightly. "I suppose you think I'd rather be out hunting with
White Buffalo's crowd," he said slowly.

"Wouldn't you? Tell the plain truth?"

"Perhaps I would. But I don't let myself think about it, Dave. This work
has got to be done, and I mean to do my full share of it. I reckon
everybody has to do things he don't just like in this life."

"I think you are right there--I know I often have to do 'em."

"And it don't do to growl either. The best thing to do is to pitch in and
get through as fast as possible," went on Henry, and then set to chopping
with renewed vigor.

"Do you remember the time we first started to chop down trees?" continued
Dave. "How our hands got blistered, and how we wouldn't give up because the
men were looking on?"

"Indeed I do. What a lot has happened since that time! The war, and our
going to Fort Niagara, and then down the Lakes and the St. Lawrence to
Quebec and Montreal, and all the fighting! In one way, Dave, we have seen
quite something of life."

"So we have. But I want no more war."

"Neither do I," answered Henry. Neither dreamed of the terrors of the
Indian uprising, or of the grim horrors of the Revolution which would come
later. The molding of this great nation into what it is to-day was to be no
easy matter.

Inside of two months the greater part of the work on the palisade was
complete. There were many things still to accomplish, but James Morris
decided to let these rest until later. He and the others set to work to
clear the grounds within, called the stockade, and then a long, low log
house was started at one side, and a low storehouse and horse stable at the
other.

So far, but few hunters and trappers had appeared to do any trading.
Strange as it may seem, the Ohio at this point had but few Indians upon it,
the red men confining their operations very largely to the smaller streams.
But those who did appear were treated liberally by James Morris, and soon
they spread the news, with the result that quite a fair trade was
established by the time snow was flying once more.

The white men, and especially Dave and Henry, were glad enough to shift
from the outside camp to the log house as soon as one end of the building
was completed. All was still in a crude state, but sleeping under any sort
of roof was preferable to the open. The entire house could not be completed
that season, so only two rooms were made weather proof, one for trading,
and the other for living and sleeping purposes.

"Not as nice as at home," observed Dave, as he gazed at the rough logs,
filled in with mud, and the dirt flooring. "But it will be warm this
winter, and that's something."

It had been decided that Barrington and Henry should return to the Morris
homestead before winter set in. They were to take six of the horses, and,
if everything went well, were to return to the trading-post as early as
possible in the spring, bringing with them a long list of articles wanted
by James Morris. Both were now quite anxious to return to the East, Henry
to learn how his folks were faring, and Barringford to see the twins and
find out if their identity had yet been disclosed.

"If they ain't found out nuthin' about them twins, I'm going to make 'em my
own," said the old frontiersman. "I ain't got no chick nor child, an' I
might as well be a-doin' somethin' for somebody in this world."

"But you must leave them at our house," returned Henry. "Mother and little
Nell are so attached to them."

The departure of Henry and Barringford was an event, and all quit working
to see them off. Dave was sorry to part with his cousin, and wrung his hand
several times.

"You take good care of yourself," he said. "Don't tumble over any more
cliffs."

"And you take good care of yourself during the winter," returned Henry. "It
snows heavily out here, so they tell me. Don't you get lost in a snowstorm,
like you did when you and Sam were journeying to Fort Oswego."

Dave and James Morris accompanied the pair as far as the burn-over and then
watched them as they disappeared over a distant ridge. As they were lost to
sight, the youth could not repress a sigh, wh