Strange as it may seem, nothing more was heard from Jacques Valette and
Jean Bevoir, and the Morrises often wondered what had become of them, and
of their companion, Hector Bergerac. They questioned the hunters, both
white and red, but could get no information.

"They must have gone up to the Lakes after all," said James Morris. "If it
is so, I am thankful for it."

"And so am I thankful," added Dave.

As soon as the weather moderated, the hunters and trappers sallied forth
once more, going up and down the Ohio and many miles to the westward. Some
of the Indians used their guns as skillfully as the white men, but when
powder and ball were scarce they fell back upon their bows and arrows, and
it was astonishing what large game they secured.

Once during the winter Dave went out with White Buffalo, on a hunt which
lasted three days. They took their bags full of provisions, and the Indian
chief led the way across the Ohio and into the depths of the forest, which
was entirely new to the youth.

"White Buffalo knows the deer are plentiful here," said the Indian, and so
it proved, for before noon they struck the trail of some of the animals,
and by nightfall had laid a large buck and his mate low. Then they took up
the trail of some other animals and were equally successful.

The evening of the second day's hunt found the pair in the vicinity of an
Indian village called Shilagum, standing not far from where the Muskingum
River flowed into the Ohio. It was only a small place, but noted among the
Shawanoes as the abode of a great medicine man named Paka-Lokalla, or
Medicine-of-the-Clouds. The medicine man was an old fellow, with but one
ear, and an eye that drooped, but he was looked to as being powerful, and
many of the Indians refused to do much without consulting him.

White Buffalo was known in the village, but being of a different tribe he
received a cold welcome, until he said he was willing to pay for
accommodations for himself and his companion, pointing at the same time to
a small skin hanging over his shoulder. At once the Indians bustled about
and made the squaws get the visitors something to eat, and made them clean
out a small wigwam where the pair might rest for the night.

Dave was suspicious about the wigwam, and especially the old robes offered
for bedding, for he had had one unpleasant experience with red men's
vermin, as already related in this series. But the wigwam and the robes
proved fairly clean after all, and he slept soundly until morning.

When he came forth for his breakfast he was informed by White Buffalo that
a most important visitor had arrived at the village. This was none other
than Pontiac, the great chief of the Ottawas, who was accompanied by
several companions, including Deer Neck, an under-chief of the Wyandots.

Having heard so much about Pontiac, Dave was anxious to see him. He spoke
to White Buffalo about the matter and the latter spoke to one of the head
men of the village, and a little later both were introduced to the man who,
a year and a half later, was to head one of the greatest Indian uprisings
known to our history.

At this time Pontiac was between forty-five and fifty years of age, tall,
well-formed, and with muscles of iron. His hair was long, his eyes black
and penetrating, and his general manner a commanding one. Where he had come
from was rather uncertain, although it was generally believed that his
father had been either an Ottawa, a Miami, or a Sac, and his mother an
Ojibway.

Not only was Pontiac the head of the Ottawas, but he was likewise a chief
of the Metais, a powerful organization in the Lake region, the members of
which were supposed to be master magicians. To the Metais the ignorant
savages humbled themselves as they did to their greatest medicine man.

Of the early history of Pontiac but little can be said. It is doubted if he
was a great hunter, although he could use his bow and arrows and a gun with
considerable skill. It was as a leader that he shone best. He had uncommon
sagacity, good reasoning powers, and a manner of talking that was most
persuasive. More than this, his spirit was such that, once having
undertaken a project, he would do his best to carry it through, no matter
what the cost.

What had brought him to this village Dave did not learn, nor did White
Buffalo, for Pontiac said but little so long as they remained at hand. The
great chief showed plainly that he wished to be alone with those he had
sought out, so White Buffalo and the youth did not prolong their stay
longer than was necessary.

As they were about to leave, Pontiac strode forward and glanced sharply at
Dave.

"They tell me your father has opened a trading-post on the Ohio." he said
in his native tongue.

Dave did not understand, but White Buffalo quickly interpreted the speech.

"He has," answered the youth.

"Does he expect to stay there, or move still further westward?"

"He is going to stay."

At this the great chief gave Dave another close look. Then he turned away
and said no more.

"What do you make of this, White Buffalo?" asked Dave, after they had left
the Indian village a goodly distance behind them.

"Pontiac likes not the fact that Dave's father has settled down on the
Ohio," was the slow answer. "Pontiac wishes the English to keep close to
the shores of the Great Waters."

"I must say he looks like a great chief," said the youth thoughtfully.

"He is a great chief, and his power is as wide-spreading as a great summer
storm," answered White Buffalo. "The red men everywhere listen to him with
all ears."

"Do you suppose he came to see that medicine man?"

"It may be so--he did not tell White Buffalo. But Pontiac is a magician--he
can work wonders when he will, so I have heard."

Dave did not believe this, but said nothing on the point to his companion,
for he knew it would be useless to attempt to uproot so deep--set a
superstition.

"I sincerely hope Pontiac does not try to make trouble for my father," he
went on.

"He will do nothing at present--the time is not ripe. The war hatchet is
not dug up when the snow covers the ground."

"I know that. But we want no trouble in the spring either."

At this, White Buffalo shrugged his shoulders.

"Who can tell what the moons to come will bring forth?" he said. "The sun
comes up and man is alive; it sets, and the last rays fall upon his grave.
The Great Spirit of the happy hunting ground rules, but the face of the
Great Spirit is hidden from the eyes of the red man and the eyes of the
white man as well."




CHAPTER XVII

THE ATTACK ON THE PACK-TRAIN


With the coming of spring, both James Morris and Dave looked eagerly for
the time when Henry and Barringford should return to the trading-post with
many articles which were much needed, and with what was better yet, news
from home.

"I can hardly wait for Henry to get here." said Dave one day. "There is so
much I want to know about."

"You must be patient, Dave," returned his parent. "The trails are by no
means good yet, and it may be that they have not got started on the
journey."

The Indians were now bringing in many beaver skins, to exchange for
blankets and powder, but James Morris had nothing to offer them. Many came
from a great distance and were much disappointed, so it was not long before
the trader looked for the coming pack-train as anxiously as did Dave.

"If they don't come soon, I'll lose what trade I have established," he
said. "They will take their skins and furs where they are sure of making an
exchange."

With the white hunters and trappers it was different. All were willing to
trust James Morris, and simply left their goods at the post, to be paid for
when the pack-train arrived. It may be added here that Barringford and
Henry had been told, in secret, to bring with them one hundred pounds
(about five hundred dollars) in gold and silver money, for not a few wanted
cash for their pelts.

In the meantime came news that Jean Bevoir and Jacques Valette had been
seen among the Indians on the upper Muskingum River. They had done a little
trading with the Indians in that neighborhood, and had become very friendly
with a young chief named Flat Nose, and with some warriors under him who
went by the name of the Wanderers.

"Did you ever hear of this Flat Nose?" asked Dave of the frontiersman who
had brought in the information.

"Not I, but Jadwin has," said the hunter. "He says he is as treacherous as
they make 'em, and so are all the Wanderers under him. They move from place
to place, taking whatever they can lay their hands on."

"Then they will just suit a fellow like Jean Bevoir."

"I don't doubt but that you are right, lad, and they'll suit Jacques
Valette, too."

"What has become of Hector Bergerac, do you know?"

"I think he has cut company with Bevoir and Valette. He was too honest for
them, I reckon."

In the meantime, matters between the English and the Indians all over the
Colonies were going from bad to worse. Those in authority would not listen
to such a man as Sir William Johnson, who knew the red men thoroughly, and
such a wise statesman as Benjamin Franklin, who believed in giving the
Indian his just due. The war had cost a great deal, and now it was decided
to cut down expenses, which meant that in the future the Indians would get
but few of the presents which, in the past, had been presented to them.
More than this, English traders of all sorts were allowed to go among the
red men and barter as they pleased, and some of these literally robbed
those who were too ignorant or simple of heart to trade intelligently.

The coming of so many English traders made the French traders furious, and
as they saw their business slipping away from them they did all they could
to get the English into "hot water" with the red men. They told the Indians
that the English meant to take everything from them, their lands, their
wigwams, and their possessions, including their squaws and children--to
make slaves of the latter--and that the red men must fight or be wiped out.
And they always added that, if the Indians would make war, they, the
French, would help them in every possible manner.

This was but the empty talk of brutal and ignorant traders, who had
everything to gain and nothing to lose. But the Indians listened to them,
and at last concluded that it must be so--that the English meant to
exterminate them. They held long councils of war, and at last determined to
strike a blow at the first favorable opportunity. Pontiac spoke at many of
these secret meetings, in a manner that was truly eloquent of the cause he
espoused.

"The Indian must fight or he must become as a squaw and a slave," said
Pontiac. "The English will press him to the bitter end. They say they are
our friends, but they come as wolves in the night to take away our all. You
ask how are we to fight them, for they are many? We must use our cunning,
we must not let them think we are their enemies. We must treat them as our
best friends. Then, when the time is ripe, shall the blow be struck, and no
English man, woman, or child shall escape. Pontiac has spoken. Who is there
to dispute what he has said?"

The discontent of the Indians was strongest throughout Virginia,
Pennsylvania, and New York. The Delawares--those who would not listen to
such chiefs as White Buffalo--were angered in the extreme, and the
Shawanoes were likewise unsettled. In New York State some simple-minded
Indians petitioned Sir William Johnson to have the English forts "kicked
out of the way," as they expressed it. This, of course, could not be done,
and the red men viewed the strengthening of the strongholds with increased
suspicion. Some threats were made to destroy the fort at Detroit, but the
time was not ripe for a well-planned attack, and nothing came of it.

At last James Morris could bear the waiting no longer, and leaving Dave and
the frontiersman, Sanderson, in charge of the trading-post, he set out with
Jadwin on horseback, to see if he could learn anything about the pack-train
that was expected.

"Be very careful while I am gone," he said to his son, and Dave promised to
do his best.

The route of Mr. Morris and his companion lay through the burn-over, and
along the trail previously followed. Good time was made, for their steeds
were fresh, and by nightfall they had covered at least twenty-five miles.
They went into camp at a convenient spot on the bank of a purling brook,
where nothing came to disturb them while they slept. Hardly had they gone
two miles in the morning, however, when they came upon a sight that filled
them with alarm. Propped up against a tree was Henry, capless, and with the
blood streaming over his face from an ugly cut in the forehead.

"Henry! What does this mean?" demanded James Morris.

"Uncle James!" faltered the youth. "Help--help me!"

"To be sure I'll help you, Henry. But what does it mean? Where are Sam and
the others, and the horses?"

"We were attacked--some Indians and some white men came upon us at
nightfall yesterday. Lampton and Cass, who were with us, were shot down,
and Sam was hit and so was I. Our Indians fled into the forest, for the
enemy were four to one. Sam and I did what we could, but we had to run. In
the darkness we became separated--and here I am."

While Henry was speaking, his uncle was washing his wound, for the youth
had stopped near a brook, and now the hurt was bound up with a bit of cloth
which was always carried by the trader for just such emergencies. Henry was
very weak, and said he had wandered aimlessly about during the night,
trying to find the trail to the trading-post. "It may be that Sam is dead,"
he said sadly. "I know he was struck twice, by a rifle bullet and by an
arrow which went into his shoulder. Lampton and Cass, I know, are dead, for
I examined them. Conoseka, one of the Indians, was hit in the left arm, but
he fled with the other redskins of our party."

"Did you recognize any of those who attacked you?"

"No, for they were in the forest, while we were in a little clearing. The
attack came without warning. We were just building a camp-fire when two
rifle shots rang out, and Lampton and Cass fell. Then came a yell from the
whites and the war cry from the Indians, and shots and arrows flew in all
directions. Sam and I picked up our guns, and I know Sam hit one of the
whites, for I saw him throw up his hands and fall in some brushwood. Then
one of the redskins went down, and after that I was hit and went into a
twist, so I can't exactly tell what followed. I heard Sam yell to me to
run, or we'd be killed, and I picked up my gun and ran for the trees. I
hadn't gone very far when I tripped and fell, and the gun got lost in a
dark hollow. I tried to find the gun, but I couldn't, and then I heard some
Indians coming after me and I ran on again until I found a small place
between the rocks, where I hid until about three hours ago. Then I started
to look for the trail, but I got dizzy and had to sit down where you found
me."

"You haven't seen any of your party since you ran away?"

"Not a soul. The Indians and Sam ought to be somewhere near, and the
pack-train, too, for that matter."

"The rascals must have known the pack-train was coming." said Jadwin, who
had been through many fights on the frontier. "To my mind it looks like a
well-planned attack."

"That is true," answered James Morris. "The question is, shall we go
forward and investigate, or return to the post and give the alarm?"

"Reckon you had better give the alarm. Those rascals may be plannin' to
attack the post, too."

"I was thinking of that. But I would like to know what has become of the
pack-train and all of my belongings."

"Then, supposing you go ahead alone and take a look around, while Henry and
I go to the post?"

This was quickly settled upon, and a few minutes later James Morris moved
onward, on horseback, with his gun ready for use, should the enemy put in
an appearance.




CHAPTER XVIII

AFTER THE ENCOUNTER


Less than an hour after leaving his nephew and Jadwin, James Morris reached
the spot where the fearful encounter of the evening before had occurred.


The spectacle was one to make the heart of any onlooker turn sick, and a
shudder passed through the frame of the trader as he gazed at the scene of
desolation before him.

Close to the burnt-out camp-fire rested the form of Barnaby Cass, a
well-known resident of Winchester, who had followed Barringford to the Ohio
district in an endeavor to better his fortunes, A bullet had passed through
his heart, and he must have died ere his body struck the ground.

A dozen paces away lay the corpse of the other white man, Oliver Lampton,
well known through western Pennsylvania as the Trapper Preacher, because
about half of his time was spent in hunting and trapping, and the remainder
in preaching temperance to the whites and red men who indulged in liquor to
excess. Beside Lampton lay one of the pack-horses, also dead, and another
pack-horse lay a little further off, suffering greatly from two broken
legs. To put this animal out of its misery James Morris fired a shot into
its brain.

Great confusion was on all sides, for many of the packs had been broken
open and rifled of their most valuable contents. About half of the stuff
had been left behind, principally the goods of the greatest weight. Much
that was breakable had been broken, and some valuable blankets that could
not be carried off had been slashed and cut with keen knives, in a hasty
endeavor to ruin them.

"The rascals!" muttered the trader. "If only we can get on their trail they
shall pay dearly for their bloody work here."

Having surveyed the camp, he moved around among the trees and brushwood in
the vicinity. He soon found the body of an Indian who had belonged to the
pack-train party, and then another Indian who looked to be an enemy. The
latter had his face painted in peculiar wavy streaks which the trader had
seen twice before.

"The Wanderers!" he muttered. "I half suspected it might be so. This is the
work of that rascal Flat Nose--and if that is so, he is moving northward
with all speed to get away with his booty. More than likely some French
hunters--ha!" He broke off short, for in the undergrowth he had caught
sight of another form, that of a white man leaning against a fallen tree,
with a gun clutched tightly in his stiffened hands.

"Baptiste Masson!" he muttered, naming a rough French hunter and trapper
who, in years gone by, had worked for Jean Bevoir. "As I thought. It was a
plot between the Wanderers and the French! They mean to drive me from the
Ohio if they possibly can. Masson, eh? Can it be that Jean Bevoir, and
Valette, and Bergerac were in it, too? More than likely."

The Frenchman was dead, and James Morris did not hesitate to take his gun
and ammunition. He also searched the fellow's pockets, but found nothing of
value, nor any clew which might lead to the identity of his companions in
the outrage. A further hunt through the forest revealed where something of
a struggle had taken place between two white men on foot, but both were
gone, and the trail was lost in an adjacent brook, down which one had fled
and the other had likely followed, at least for a distance.

The fact that he did not find the body of Sam Barringford gave James Morris
hope. If the old frontiersman was not seriously wounded it was more than
likely he was on the trail of those who had attacked the pack-train, with a
view to finding out where they were going, or to ascertain exactly who was
responsible for the affair.

"I know Sam will do what he can," he thought, and with this small degree of
comfort he loaded his steed with such things as he could carry and started
on the return to the trading-post.

It was a hard journey, and he did not reach the Ohio until long after
nightfall. He found the post being guarded by five frontiersmen and eight
Indians, who had been hastily called together as soon as Henry and Jadwin
appeared.

"Father!" cried Dave joyfully, as he ran to meet his parent. "I am glad you
are back safe."

"Has Henry come?"

"Yes, and I made him lie down, he was so weak. What an awful fight it must
have been! Did you discover who did it?"

"Partly. One of the dead redskins was a Wanderer, and a dead white man was
that good-for-nothing Baptiste Masson I have often mentioned to you."

"The fellow who traveled with Jean Bevoir?"

"The same. I am inclined to think that the attack was organized by Flat
Nose, of the Wanderers, and Bevoir. If you'll remember, Jadwin said Flat
Nose, Bevoir, and Valette were very friendly."

"What about Sam?"

"I couldn't find any trace of him, although I looked around pretty well."

"Sam carried fifty pounds of the money you sent for. Henry has the rest of
it safe."

"I am glad of that. But I wish I knew about Sam. He may have run himself
into a regular hornet's nest."

Nothing had happened to disturb those at the post itself, and James Morris
lost no time in sending out two white men and two Indians, with horses to
bring in what was left on the trail of his belongings.

It was found that Henry was not seriously wounded, and after a good night's
sleep the youth felt much better. His mind was now clearer, and he related
all the particulars of the attack as far as he knew them.

"I should judge there must have been, at least, six white men and twenty
Indians," he said.

"They ran from tree to tree and had us at a disadvantage from the very
start. I should have been shot dead if I hadn't got behind one of the
horses. The redskins set up a fearful din after the white men shot off
their guns. I was afraid every one of us would be killed and scalped."

"Thank God that you escaped!" murmured James Morris, and Dave breathed a
silent amen. The following day found James Morris more impatient than ever
to learn what had become of Sam Barringford. He wanted to go on a search
for the old frontiersman, yet he did not deem it advisable to leave the
trading-post, fearing that an attack might come during his absence.

"I will go out for you," said Jadwin "I'd do 'most anything fer Sam
Barringford. We have hunted and fit Injuns fer twenty-five years and more."

"And I'll go with Tony," put in Ira Sanderson. "I think we can hit the
trail if any white men can."

The matter was talked over for fully an hour, and Dave took in what was
said with deep interest.

"Father, let them go, and let me go with them," he said. "You know what I
think of Sam. If he is in trouble, I want to aid him if it can possibly be
done."

"You'll be safer here, Dave."

"Perhaps, but let me go, won't you?"

Dave continued to plead, and in the end it was settled that he should
accompany Tony Jadwin and Ira Sanderson on the scouting tour. The three
were to go on horseback, and were to return inside of four or five days,
unless a turn of circumstances made it necessary to stay away longer.

"You take good care of yourself, Dave," said Henry, who was sitting on a
bench with his head bound up. "Those Indians are on the warpath, and they
mean business."

"Well, I'll mean business too, if I get a chance at them," replied the
youth, with a short laugh.

From Henry it was learned that all at the Morris homestead were well. The
twins were now able to walk and were very cute. In spite of all that had
been done to learn something of their parentage, the mystery surrounding
their identity was as thick as ever. A few inquiries had been made
concerning them, but nobody had come forward to claim the pair.

"I reckon they are going to be Sam's twins after all," said Henry. "That
is, unless something has happened to Sam. If he's dead--but no, I can't
think that, can you?"

"I cannot," answered Dave soberly. "He's our best chum, isn't he? Oh, he
must be alive!" He paused a moment. "But if he isn't, I reckon we'll have
to keep the twins for him."

"Of course we'll have to keep the twins. My, but they are funny little
chaps! Nell thinks the world of them, and mother and Rodney are just about
as bad. I think, behind it all, the folks would rather keep them than have
somebody come and take them away," concluded Henry.

Preparations for the departure were soon complete, and the party left the
trading-post in the morning, long before the sun was up. It had been
decided that they should go straight to the spot where the attack had taken
place, and from that point do their best to learn what had become of Sam
Barringford, and of the men who had run away with the goods.

"Remember, my son, to keep out of danger if you can possibly do so," was
James Morris' final warning. "I would rather lose my goods a dozen times
over than have anything serious happen to you."

"I'll do my best," answered Dave; and a moment later he rode away, little
dreaming of the surprises in store for him.




CHAPTER XIX

THE TRAIL THROUGH THE FOREST


It can truthfully be said that at the time of which I write, no hunter on
the trail was more keen-eyed among the whites than Antonio Jadwin, who had
been chosen as leader of the little expedition.

Tony Jadwin, as he was familiarly called, was English by birth, but had
come to America while but a child of four. His folks had settled on the
frontier, and both had been massacred in an uprising when the lad was less
than sixteen. Tony had at once started in as a hunter and trapper on his
own responsibility, and from that day to the present time had managed to
earn for himself a comfortable if not a luxurious living.

He took to all sorts of shooting, trapping, and fishing as the proverbial
duck takes to water, and could follow a deer trail almost in the dark. He
had brought down all sorts of game, and his left shoulder showed deep scars
dating back to a fierce face-to-face fight with a bear, in which he had,
after a tough struggle, come off victorious.

Having arrived at the scene of the attack, Jadwin took a close survey of
the situation, going over the ground far more observantly than had James
Morris. Nothing escaped his keen eyes, and he quickly announced that Henry
had probably been right in his estimate of the number of the enemy. He also
pointed out Barringford's footsteps, and declared that the old frontiersman
had most likely followed the others, after the pack-train was overhauled
and looted.

It was nightfall by the time all these observations were made, and the
three decided to go into camp at a convenient spot, not far away. While
Dave prepared supper the others dug a large grave, and into this the bodies
of Cass and Lampton were placed, and a stone was set up to mark the spot.

Jadwin would not allow all to sleep at once, declaring that a watch was
necessary. "I'll stay awake a few hours, and then call Ira," said he, "and
then Ira can call Dave." And so it was arranged.

Dave was tired by the hard journey, and it was not long before he was sound
asleep. He did not awaken until four in the morning, when Sanderson aroused
him.

"Why didn't you call me before?" he cried, leaping up. "I want to do my
full share of duty while I am out with you."

"It's all right, lad," answered the other. "I'm not very sleepy myself, but
a couple of hours won't do me any harm."

A brook was close by, and at this Dave took a washing up, which made him
wide-awake. Then he began to gather some sticks with which to start up a
blaze in order to cook the morning meal.

He had taken up half a dozen sticks when a sound not very far away caught
his ears. He was on the alert instantly, thinking it might perhaps be some
wild animal. A dozen paces away was his gun, and he dropped the firewood
and caught up the weapon.

Hardly had he done so, when he saw the form of a burly French hunter
stealing through the forest toward the spot where the attack had been made
on the pack-train. Fortunately, the Frenchman did not look toward Dave, so
he and his companions, and their steeds, were not discovered.

"That fellow is up to no good, that is certain," thought the youth, and
lost no time in arousing his companions.

"A Frenchman, eh?" said Jadwin. "More'n likely one of the crowd come back
to see if he can't take away what was left of the loot."

Making no noise, they followed the Frenchman, who was dressed in the
conventional garb of the hunters of the Great Lakes. The newcomer moved
forward swiftly, and they had all they could do to keep up with him.

The spot reached, the Frenchman gazed around with evident dismay. Probably
he had expected to see what had been left of the pack-train still there.

"Gone!" he muttered, in his native tongue. "I have had my trip of thirty
miles for nothing."

After a careful look around, he returned to the forest, and set off at a
quick pace in the direction from whence he had come.

"Shall we leap upon him and make him a prisoner?" asked Dave, in a whisper.

"No," replied Jadwin shortly. "Keep quiet."

Dave now understood what was in the trapper's mind, and kept still, and in
a moment more the Frenchman was out of sight, moving swiftly to the
northwest.

"I will follow him on foot and blaze the trail with my hunting knife," said
Jadwin, to Dave and Sanderson. "You can come after me with the horses. He
will probably go straight to where the rest of the rascals are in camp."

In a minute Jadwin was off and the others were not slow to follow. As
before mentioned, the trail led to the northwest, through an unusually
thick growth of sycamores and hemlocks. Fortunately the way was well
defined, being used by many wild beasts, in their trips between the Ohio
and the Great Lakes.

The French hunter and trapper was a rapid walker, and Tadwin did not catch
sight of the fellow for two hours after starting on the trail. Then he
located the man sitting on a slight knoll, resting. He at once halted and
kept his position until the Frenchman moved again, when he followed as
before.

During the entire day the following was kept up in this fashion. Late in
the afternoon the Frenchman stopped to prepare himself a meal, building a
tiny fire between some stones for that purpose. Seeing this, Jadwin walked
back a short distance and there met Dave and Sanderson, who had followed
his blazed trail without difficulty.

"He's a good walker," was Dave's comment, as the three partook of food
themselves. "How much further do you think he'll go to-night?"

At this query Jadwin shrugged his shoulders. "Tell you that, Dave, after he
goes to sleep," he answered dryly.

The horses were tethered, and all three stole forward to take another look
at the stranger. To their surprise he had sunk back in some bushes beside
his little fire and was fast asleep.

"He is not going very much further to-night," whispered Dave. "Just listen
to him snore!"

A consultation was held, and Dave was for stealing up while the man slept
and seeing if his pockets contained anything which might lead to his
identity. Jadwin and Sanderson were willing, and watched the young pioneer
with deep interest as he moved slowly forward, screening himself by the
very bushes that served the sleeping man as bed and pillow.

The Frenchman slept soundly, so the youth ran but a small risk of awakening
him. With great caution he searched one pocket after another, finding a
small amount of silver and several letters. With these he returned to
Jadwin and Sanderson, and the three withdrew to look over the
communications.

Tony Jadwin could read a little French, and in his labored manner he spelt
out the two letters Dave had captured. By these they learned that the
Frenchman was named Louis Glotte and that he belonged at Detroit, the
settlement taken from the French by the English after the fall of Montreal.
Both spoke of money to be made out of the English and were signed "Jean."

"That must mean Jean Bevoir!" cried Dave. "This Glotte must be another of
Bevoir's rascally companions."

"To be sure," put in Sanderson, "And Bevoir must mean the attack that was
made on the pack-train."

"I think he will rejoin Bevoir by to-morrow sure," said Tony Jadwin. "And
then we may learn what has become of Sam."

While one or another remained on guard during the night the others slept.
Dave, it must be admitted, was impatient to learn what had really become of
his old frontier friend, and it was some time before he could bring himself
to slumber. Near at hand was an owl hooting weirdly through the night.
Under ordinary circumstances they would have scared the bird away, but now
they did not dare, for fear of arousing Louis Glotte's suspicions.

The sun was just coming up when Sanderson called softly to the others.
"He's moving," said the hunter, and in a few minutes Jadwin took to the
trail as before, and the others came after with the horses.

The way was now more difficult than ever, and they had numerous small
streams to cross. Then they came to a river, and before Jadwin could catch
sight of the Frenchman again the fellow was in a canoe and hurrying to the
other side.

"Now we are in a pickle truly," declared Dave. "How are we to get to the
other side without a boat?"

"Wait until he's out of sight and I will show you," answered Jadwin.

Louis Glotte soon disappeared among the bushes, and then Jadwin led the way
to where a fallen tree lay. "Tie up the horses," he ordered, and it was
done. Next the tree trunk was pushed into the stream and all straddled it.
By means of rude paddles cut from tree boughs they ferried themselves to
the opposite shore.

"Wait! I see something!" murmured Dave, after having gone through the
bushes which lined the water's edge.

"So I do see something," came from Jadwin. "Lay low until I investigate,
boys."

Dave and Sanderson secreted themselves in the bushes and waited. Tony
Jadwin disappeared and it was the best part of half an hour before he
returned.

"Just as I thought," he said. "The Frenchmen and the Indians have a village
back there, on the bank of a creek that flows into this river. Jean Bevoir
is there, and also Jacques Valette, and I rather think all the stolen goods
are there also."




CHAPTER XX

GUARDING THE TRADING-POST


"Did you see anything of Sam Barringford?" asked Dave, who was just then
thinking more of his old friend than of his father's belongings.

"I did not. But I shouldn't be surprised if those Frenchmen and redskins
had some prisoners," answered Jadwin. "They have one wigwam that they are
guarding closely. If it doesn't contain prisoners, it contains something of
great value."

For quarter of an hour the frontiersmen and Dave talked over the situation,
but could not solve the problem of what was best to do next.

"To attack would be foolhardy, even if we hid ourselves among the trees,"
said Sanderson. "They'd drive us from cover sooner or later, and kill us."

"One of us might go back for help," suggested the young pioneer.

"I was thinking of that. But that would take time, and your father couldn't
spare enough men to make it worth while. As near as I can make out there
are six Frenchmen in the camp and nineteen red men, or twenty-five fighters
in all. The most we could muster up would be ten or a dozen. That would be
two to one."

"If they have any captives, and especially Sam Barringford, I wish we could
release them."

"Let us wait until nightfall," suggested Ira Sanderson. "Something may turn
up."

Not far away was a slight rise of ground, and behind some bushes on this
they hid themselves. From this quarter they could get a fair view of the
village and note much of what was going on.

They had scarcely settled themselves when they heard a shout, and an Indian
who had been on guard came in with another Indian, who had just arrived on
foot from a distance.

"It is an Ottawa!" murmured Jadwin. "One of the braves of Pontiac's tribe."

"He evidently has news," said Dave. "I wish we knew what it was."

Jadwin decided to crawl to another spot and learn if he could overhear what
was being said.

This time he was gone the best part of an hour, nor did he return until
Dave and Sanderson saw the strange Indian messenger depart.

"What did you learn?" asked the youth eagerly.

"A great deal," answered Jadwin hurriedly.

"We must get back to the trading-post without delay."

"Why?"

"The Indians are going to make an attack. The Miamis are up in arms.
Pontiac has told them that if they do not destroy the forts and
trading-posts the English will soon wipe them from the face of the earth."

"The Old Nick take Pontiac!" ejaculated Sanderson.


"I'd like to get on his trail and make him a prisoner," put in Dave.

"Another thing, Sam Barringford is Bevoir's prisoner."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I heard Bevoir speak of it to another Frenchman. He says he will make
Barringford suffer before he is done with him."

"Oh, the rascal!" burst out Dave. "I wish--"

"Never mind, lad, I know how you feel. But every moment is precious. We
must hasten to the post and prepare for the attack."

"Yes! yes! Come!" and Dave himself led the way.

Not to excite the suspicions of either red men or white, they did not use
the canoe which was at hand, but recrossed the stream on the tree trunk
which had brought them over in the first place. This done, they cast the
tree adrift and lost not a moment in mounting their steeds.

"'Tis a long, long ride," said Jadwin. "But if the horses can make it
without a night's rest, so much the better for us and for all of the
others."

It proved a ride that Dave Morris never forgot. All that day and through
the night the three pressed on, through the mighty forests and across the
creeks and small rivers. More than once a horse would stumble and almost
throw his rider, and the branches of the trees often cut them stinging
blows across the faces and necks and hands. Once Dave received a long
scratch on the left cheek from which the blood flowed freely, but he did
not stop to bind up the wound, nor did he complain.

"To save father, and Henry, and the post!" Such was the burden of his
thought. He remembered how that other post, on the Kinotah, had been
attacked. Should the new post fall, he well knew that it would go hard with
all who had stood to defend it.

When at last the post was gained Dave was more dead than alive. Chafed by
his hard ride, and almost exhausted, he tumbled rather than leaped from the
saddle. It was the middle of the night and the coming of the three had
provoked a small alarm, so that all at the trading-post came to learn what
was in the air.

Jadwin's story was soon told, and Dave and Sanderson corroborated it.
Without delay James Morris called the whites and Indians around him.

"There is news that the French and Indians intend to attack this post," he
said loudly. "Will you help me to save what is my own, or must I
surrender?"

At once there was a hubbub. White Buffalo was the first to step to the
trader's side.

"White Buffalo will fight for his brother James," said the Indian chief
simply. "And his braves will fight also," and he motioned for the other
Indians to follow him.

"I'm for the post, every time," cried Jadwin. "If I hadn't been, I
shouldn't have been in sech a hurry to get back."

"Ditto myself," put in Sanderson.

"I reckon we air all with you," drawled one of the trappers. "We want an
English tradin'-post hyer, eh, boys?"

"That's the tune," added another. "The only question is, air we strong
enough for 'em?"

"Got to be!" exclaimed Sanderson emphatically. "I'll fight 'em for all I
know how!" muttered Henry. His rest had done him much good.

The details of the defense were quickly arranged, for James Morris had
often speculated upon just what to do in such a situation as was now at
hand. Everything left outside of the palisade was brought in and then the
gates were closed, barred, and reenforced by large rocks which lay handy.
This accomplished, every gun and pistol in the post was examined, cleaned,
and put into perfect order for use, and powder and ball were dealt out
liberally. The Indians also looked after their bows and arrows, and hunting
knives and tomahawks were not forgotten.

By the time arrangements were all complete, the sun was shining in the
eastern sky. Hour after hour passed and no strangers put in an appearance.

"But they will come, never fear," said Jadwin. "I've made no mistake."

"Somebody coming now!" shouted James Morris, who was near the gate. A
moment later an Indian came strolling along the bank of the river.
Evidently he had expected to find the gate to the stockade wide open.
Seeing it closed, he hesitated for a moment.

"_Hoola_! _hoola_!" he shouted. "Brown Bear come to trade!"

"Where are your furs?" asked James Morris, mounting some steps so that he
could see over the gate.

"Furs in canoe on river," answered Brown Bear. His eyes were full of
distrust and suspicion.

"You are one of the Wanderers, I believe," said James Morris. "You trade
with the French, not with the English."

"Trade with English now," said the red man doggedly.

"You can't trade here, so pass on."

"No take furs from Brown Bear?"

"No."

"Make much cheap trade. Buffalo skin, too, an' bear."

"Bring them up till I see them."

"White man open gate."

"Show me your buffalo and bear skins," was all James Morris would answer.

With a grunt of disgust Brown Bear walked away and disappeared among the
bushes.

"Do you think he really has the furs?" asked Henry. "I don't."

"No, Henry. He came to report what we were doing. He is a spy. We'll see
some more of them soon."

[Illustration: 'Where are your furs?' asked James Morris]

Mr. Morris was right; half an hour later another Indian, accompanied by
Louis Glotte, came into view from over the hill.

"Open the gate! Want to trade!" cried the Indian.

"Vat for you close ze gate, Meester Morris?" asked Glotte smoothly. "No
fighting now, no!" And he laughed shortly.

"No, I don't reckon there will be any fighting," answered the trader. "But
if it comes, I am ready for it. The Indian can't come in, but you can, if
you wish." And he threw a ladder over the gate, keeping hold of the top.

Not knowing what a trap he was walking into, Louis Glotte spoke to the
Indian in his native tongue and then mounted the ladder. As soon as the
Frenchman was inside of the stockade James Morris returned the ladder to
its original position.

"Don't you come too near!" he shouted to the Indian, and waved him away.

"I'll keep an eye on him, never fear," said Sanderson, who was at one of
the port-holes.

"What want you of me?" demanded Glotte, as he gazed around at the armed
English and Indians in dismay.

"I want to talk to you," replied James Morris. "Come into the cabin with
me."

More suspicious than ever, the Frenchman followed into the building slowly.
Dave came after and so did Jadwin.

"Now, Glotte, you can consider yourself a prisoner," said James Morris
shortly. "Place your gun on that table, and your pistol also."




CHAPTER XXI

SAM BARRINGFORD BRINGS NEWS


Louis Glotte understood the true situation at last, and the cold sweat
stood out on his forehead. James Morris had a pistol in his hand, and the
Frenchman saw that all of the others were also armed.

"So I am your prisonair?" he said slowly. "For vat, tell me zat?"

"You know well enough," put in Dave.

As James Morris' pistol came up the Frenchman's gun was placed on the rough
table and his pistol followed. Glotte might have showed fight, but he saw
that such a course would be worse than useless. He had walked into a neat
trap and with his eyes wide open.

"Louis Glotte," said James Morris sternly, "I want you to tell me the
truth, do you hear? If you do not tell me the plain truth, you shall
suffer."

"Vat ees it you vant?"

"Who organized the attack on my pack-train?"

"I know nothing of zat."

"Stop! You do know, and you must tell me."

The Frenchman grew pale and something like a shiver passed over him. He saw
that James Morris was in no mood for trifling.

"Who--who say zat Louis Glotte know 'bout dat?" he asked stammeringly.

"I say so. You were there, for one."

"No! no! I--I vas far away!"

"Tell me who organized the attack."

"I--I cannot!"

"You can."

"No! no! I--I--I--Stop! Do not shoot me! I vill tell! Eet vas Jean Bevoir."

"I thought as much. Was Jacques Valette with him?"

"_Oui!_ But say not I tell you, or za vill keel me!"

"And Hector Bergerac?"

The Frenchman shook his head. "Not Bergerac, no. He ees gone avay."

"Who were the others?"

After Considerable hesitation Louis Glotte named them over. Then James
Morris questioned him concerning the Wanderers and learned that they had
been headed by their chief, Flat Nose. The other red men he knew little
about, but he said they were a dirty, irresponsible tribe, willing to do
almost anything for the sake of getting provisions or rum.

"They think ze pack-train carry much rum," said Glotte. "Verra mad when za
found out not so."

In the end he told practically all he knew, being assured that he would not
be harmed if he made a full confession. Jean Bevoir and Flat Nose had led
the attack, in which four of their party had been killed or wounded. What
had been taken away was removed under the directions of Bevoir and taken to
an Indian village "many miles away," as he expressed it. He said the red
men were about a hundred and fifty strong, and had made Sam Barringford a
prisoner. Of course he knew nothing of the visit of Dave, Jadwin, and
Sanderson to the place, nor did James Morris enlighten him.

The trader then insisted upon knowing if an attack upon the trading-post
was contemplated, and Glotte at last confessed that such was a fact. The
man was a thorough coward at heart and willing to do almost anything in
order to save his own life.

"We shall have to make you a prisoner for the present," said James Morris,
and without ceremony Glotte's hands were bound behind him and he was tied
to a strong post used for hitching purposes.

The Indian who had come up with the Frenchman had retreated to the forest,
and for the time being not a human form was to be seen anywhere outside of
the palisade. But the English did not relax their vigilance.

"Perhaps they'll wait until night to begin the attack," said Henry. "The
redskins love to fight under cover of darkness--we know that too well."

"Or else the report that the gate is closed and the place guarded will
dishearten them," returned his cousin.

Hour after hour went by and night came on. A stricter watch than ever was
kept, but as before neither Indian or Frenchman showed himself. More than
this, the night birds and owls uttered their cries as usual, mingled with
the bark of a fox and the mournful howling of several wolves, all of which
told that the vicinity was most likely entirely free from human beings.

"They wanted to catch us unawares, and they have discovered their mistake,"
said one frontiersman; and such was probably the case, for the whole of the
night and the following morning passed without further alarm.

Some of those at the post were now impatient to go out and follow up the
enemy, but others demurred, stating that their numbers were too small.

"If those wretches are in hiding, they'd wipe us out in no time," said
Sanderson. "Better stay where we are for the present."

Nevertheless James Morris and Tony Jadwin went out, on a short scouting
expedition, along the river and then for a few hundred feet into the
forest. They advanced with great caution, taking care not to expose
themselves in the open, and carrying their guns ready for use, should any
of the enemy show themselves.

"We cannot afford to take many chances," said James Morris, as they moved
forward. "Our force at the post is too small."

"Wish we had a company of Royal Americans here, to knock 'em out," said
Jadwin.

Three hours were spent on the scouting tour, and both of the men were on
the point of turning back to the fort, satisfied that the Frenchmen and
Indians had indeed given up the proposed attack, when they heard the sound
of rapid footsteps, and a man burst into view, running with all his might
and main.

"Halt!" cried James Morris, who at the first sound had raised his musket,
while Jadwin did the same.

"Don't shoot!" came back, in the well-known voice of Sam Barringford.

"Sam!" cried the trader, lowering his weapon, "what does this mean?"

"It means I'm 'most out o' breath with runnin'" gasped the old
frontiersman. "But git to the post--the French and Indians air a-comin'!"

Sam Barringford had come up close to the others, and now without more words
all three headed for the post. It was easy to discern that the old
frontiersman was well-nigh exhausted, and he was glad enough to take hold
of James Morris' shoulder on one side and Tony Jadwin's on the other.

"Been a prisoner of them skunks, fire burn 'em!" he explained. "I'll tell
ye all about it later. Have ye heard o' Henry, an' the others?"

"Yes, Henry is safe and so are most of the others. Cass and Lampton are
dead. We were afraid you had been killed, too, until Louis Glotte told us
you were a prisoner." And then James Morris told of the manner in which
Dave, Jadwin, and Sanderson had followed up the trail.

"Glad ye got Glotte a prisoner," said Barringford. "He is 'most as mean a
skunk as Jean Bevoir."

They now came in view of the post and were quickly admitted by those on
guard.

"Sam Barringford!" cried Dave and Henry in a breath, and ran up to greet
their old friend.

After he had been fed and allowed to rest a bit, Barringford told his story
in detail. He said he had followed Jean Bevoir and the others to the river
near which the Indian village was located. A stray Indian dog had exposed
his hiding place, and after a desperate fight in which one Indian had been
killed and he himself had been cut in the shoulder with a tomahawk, they
had succeeded in making him a prisoner. He had been put into the wigwam
already mentioned, with his hands bound behind him and to a stake driven
deeply into the soil. He knew of the message sent in by Pontiac, and added
that numerous other attacks were to be made on forts and settlements
throughout the West.

"But how did you get away?" asked Dave.

"Easier nor I expected," was the old frontiersman's answer. "As soon as it
was settled the post should be attacked there was some confusion, and the
guard left the wigwam. I yanked and pulled with all my might and at last
the stake came out of the ground. Then I rolled to the back of the wigwam
and slipped under the skins to some bushes. As soon as I was that far, I
got on my feet and legged it for all I knew how. I ran along the river for
about a mile, because I didn't know how to get across with my hands tied.
At last I got the rawhides loose and slipped 'em, and then I came over at a
shallow spot where I didn't have to swim but a few yards. I ran as fast as
I could, for I didn't know how soon the attack would start."