THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS

                                  OR

                 THE SOLDIER BOYS OF THE INDIAN TRAILS

                         BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER

          Author of "With Washington in the West," "Larry the
              Wanderer," "American Boys' Life of William
             McKinley," "Old Glory Series," "Pan-American
                             Series," etc.

                     _ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE_

                                BOSTON
                      LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

                      Published September, 1905.
         COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD COMPANY
                         _All rights reserved_

                      THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS

                             Norwood Press
                         BERWICK AND SMITH CO.
                            Norwood, Mass.
                               U. S. A.

                                PREFACE

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

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

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

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

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

                                                    EDWARD STRATEMEYER.

                                                         July 15, 1905.

                               CONTENTS

                       I. OUT IN THE FOREST

                      II. FACING A BIG BEAR

                     III. IN CAMP WITH OLD FRIENDS

                      IV. A TRAMP THROUGH THE SNOW

                       V. A LETTER OF INTEREST

                      VI. THE TRADING-POST ON THE OHIO

                     VII. HENRY'S STRANGE DISCOVERY

                    VIII. SURROUNDED BY THE INDIANS

                      IX. THE ATTACK ON THE TRADING-POST

                        X. JEAN BEVOIR APPEARS

                       XI. THE FLIGHT FROM THE POST

                      XII. WHITE BUFFALO'S PERIL

                     XIII. SUGAR MAKING, AND HUNTING

                       XIV. THE BEGINNING OF THE UPRISING

                        XV. AT FORT CUMBERLAND

                       XVI. UP THE OHIO

                      XVII. THE ARRIVAL AT FORT PITT

                     XVIII. SOMETHING CONCERNING THE TWINS

                       XIX. IN WHICH BARRINGFORD IS MADE PRISONER

                        XX. DEEP IN THE WILDERNESS

                       XXI. AT FORT DETROIT

                      XXII. THE ATTACK ON FORT DETROIT

                     XXIII. IN THE WILDERNESS ONCE MORE

                      XXIV. LOST

                       XXV. THE ATTACK ON FORT PITT

                      XXVI. THE MISSING CHILDREN

                     XXVII. IN THE RANKS ONCE MORE

                    XXVIII. THE BATTLE OF BUSHY RUN

                      XXIX. DAVE AMONG THE INDIANS

                       XXX. ESCAPE AND FLIGHT

                      XXXI. THE LAST FIGHT--CONCLUSION

                             ILLUSTRATIONS

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

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

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

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

    They ran into half a dozen half-starved wolves.

    These preparations made Dave faint at heart.

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

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

                      THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS

                               CHAPTER I

                           OUT IN THE FOREST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is it?"

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

"A bear!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              CHAPTER II

                           FACING A BIG BEAR

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They are afraid of his magic."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you see the bear?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: "Look out!" screamed Rodney, "He's coming for you. Run!
Run!"]

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

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

                       IN CAMP WITH OLD FRIENDS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I like it very much."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Were you there?" cried Dave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              CHAPTER IV

                       A TRAMP THROUGH THE SNOW

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uncle Davey tummin'!" cried one twin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                               CHAPTER V

                         A LETTER OF INTEREST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who are you?"

"Ira Sanderson."

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

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

"Ye--yes. Let me in. I--I am hurt."

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

[Illustration: They presently discovered the form of a man lying in a
heap in the snow.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              CHAPTER VI

                     THE TRADING-POST ON THE OHIO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

"And he will be here to-morrow?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

"Bundle safe dare?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

"I haven't any rum."

"Give Indians a little tobacco."

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              CHAPTER VII

                       HENRY'S STRANGE DISCOVERY

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

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

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

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

"Did you ever see those redskins before?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"In the bundle--what do you mean?"

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

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

"Shall I go, too?" asked Henry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well?" he questioned, laconically.

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

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

"What did he have to say for himself?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again the red man hesitated before answering.

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

"Who is it?"

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

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

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

"Rain Cloud is alone," answered the Indian.

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

                             CHAPTER VIII

                       SURROUNDED BY THE INDIANS

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who is the prisoner?"

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

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

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

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

"No telling that, now."

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

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

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

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

"Trying to keep warm."

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

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

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

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

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

"Not just yet."

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

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

"What are you doing?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That prisoner is gone!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is anything missing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              CHAPTER IX

                    THE ATTACK ON THE TRADING-POST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you seen them, Henry?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: Crack went one of his guns and another Indian went down.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Supposing I don't care to surrender?"

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

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

"Rain Cloud has counted them and he knows."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                               CHAPTER X

                          JEAN BEVOIR APPEARS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this news Black Ear's face brightened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What have you been doing?" asked Bevoir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              CHAPTER XI

                       THE FLIGHT FROM THE POST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We can fight."

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

"What have you got to say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did you come from the fort up there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                              CHAPTER XII

                         WHITE BUFFALO'S PERIL

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

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

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

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

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

In the days that followed Ira Sanderson's arrival at the Morris
homestead, the hunter who had brought Dave the letter from his father