"Something has gone wrong, or they would be here by this time," put in
Sanderson.

Glotte viewed the coming of Sam Barringford with great astonishment. "How
you geet avay?" he asked.

"That is my business, Glotte," answered the old frontiersman. "I reckon you
thought I couldn't do it, eh?" And he chuckled to himself.

"Zat fellow ees a sharp one," was the Frenchman's comment. "He ees like ze
flea to slip avay, _oui!_"

Throughout the remainder of the night the guard remained as watchful as
ever. But it was labor lost, for neither French nor Indians showed
themselves.

At daybreak White Buffalo said he would go out on another scouting tour,
taking with him two of his braves. They moved off by the way of the river
bank and then made a large semicircle, returning to the post from a
diametrically opposite direction.

"Wanderers and bad Frenchmen all gone," announced the chief, on coming
back. "They came, but did not fight."

"Do you mean to say that they have been here?" cried James Morris.

White Buffalo nodded several times. "Five canoes come down the river, land
by the four big trees. The trail is in the mud and the wet grass--so many
Frenchmen"--he held up five fingers--"and so many Indians"--holding up
both hands twice and then four fingers, a total of twenty-four.

"Where did they go to?" asked Henry.

"Go into the woods and stand. Two walk around to the hill--one canoe land
on other side of river and Indians go up past the post--then come back.
Then all gone once more. Afraid to fight! The Frenchmen and the Wanderers
are cowards!" And the face of the Delaware showed his deep disdain.

"It must be true," put in Sanderson. "They most likely met the Indian who
came here first, and then the fellow with Glotte, and both told 'em it
would be of no use--that we were too strong for them."

"Well, if they are gone, I hope they don't come back again," said Dave, and
a number standing around echoed the sentiment.




CHAPTER XXII

THE ROCK BY THE RIVER


The Indians did not return, and in forty-eight hours the scare was over,
and the hunters and trappers sallied forth from the trading-post as before,
confident that Sanderson had been right,--that the enemy had thought the
little garrison too strong for them.

But this was a mistake. Jean Bevoir and Flat Nose had been eager for the
fight, but word had come in at the last moment that the attack must be put
off, and such was the power of Pontiac and other great chiefs of that
vicinity that Flat Nose obeyed. As it was impossible for the handful of
Frenchmen under Bevoir to do anything alone the whole scheme fell through,
and then Bevoir lost no time in getting back to where he had left the loot
from the pack-train, claiming that which had been allotted to him and his
men, and getting away further to the northwestward, where he felt tolerably
safe from pursuit.

How far the conspiracy to fall upon the English on the frontier in the
summer of 1762 was concocted by Pontiac will perhaps never be known. Some
historians have contended that he was responsible for it in its entirety,
while others have told us that the real Pontiac conspiracy was confined to
the awful uprising which took place just one year later. But be that as it
may, it is undoubtedly true that Pontiac hated the English intensely and
that it galled him exceedingly to see them pushing further and further to
the north and the west. His own lands around the Great Lakes were being
invaded, and when his tribe went to the English for redress they got but
scant attention.

The summer of 1762 proved to be one of anxiety and uncertainty for all on
or near the frontier. To the northward the Iroquois, or Mingoes as they
were commonly called, were held in check by Sir William Johnson, but in
western New York and western Pennsylvania the Wyandots, the Shawanoes, and
certain tribes of the Delawares did what they could to harass the pioneers,
burning cabins and sheds at night, stealing crops and cattle, and
occasionally murdering men, women, and children, or carrying the latter off
into captivity. There were no battles, but the pioneers and frontiersmen
retaliated, and as winter came on the feeling of bitterness increased. No
one felt safe, and all wondered what new outrage would happen next.

The Delawares have been mentioned as taking part in these evil doings, and
as White Buffalo and his followers were Delawares, it is but right that
their standing should be explained. In years gone by the Delawares had been
a mighty tribe, numbering over a hundred villages of importance. But
internal strife had done its work, and now the villages were widely
scattered, so that Delawares could be found from Virginia in the South to
the Great Lakes in the North and as far west as the Mississippi. Those who
remained near the eastern coast generally sided with the English, while the
others either strove to remain neutral or threw in their fortunes with the
French.

It must not be supposed that James Morris allowed matters to rest after it
became known that no attack would be made upon the trading-post. He wished
to recover the stolen goods and also the fifty pounds which had been taken
from Sam Barringford by Jean Bevoir at the time the old frontiersman was a
prisoner at the Wanderers' village.

An expedition was organized, consisting of the trader and seven whites and
Indians, and they remained out the best part of a week, hunting for the
Wanderers and for Bevoir and his companions. But the Wanderers had moved
and Bevoir had likewise disappeared, and the trail was lost at the river
bank.

"I suppose I can say good-by to both money and goods," said James Morris
soberly. "I declare, it's too bad!"

"I'll try to make it right with ye about the money," said Barringford.

"No, Sam, I don't want you to do that. You did your best and it's not your
fault that the money is gone, nor the goods either. But I'd give a few
pounds to get hold of Bevoir and his crowd."

As the days went by it was decided by James Morris not to send to the East
for more goods until late in the fall, the goods to be brought to the
trading-post early in the spring. Louis Glotte was allowed his liberty and
immediately disappeared.

Both Dave and Henry were very anxious to go out on a regular hunt with
Barringford, and this was arranged for several weeks after it became
positively known that all hostile whites and red men had left the
neighborhood of the trading-post. The hunting tour was to last a week or
ten days, and the young pioneers made their preparations accordingly.

"Sam, we must get a buffalo this trip," said Henry. "Nothing less will
satisfy me."

"Easier said nor done, lad," answered the old frontiersman. "The hunters
an' trappers have scart 'em putty far to the westward. Howsome-ever, we can
try our best to lay one low."

"I want to get a bear," said Dave.

All were feeling in fine spirits when the start was made, and James Morris
came out of the post to see them off. All were on horseback, for
Barringford had said that a buffalo hunt was generally in the open where
riding was fairly good.

"Now don't you get into any more trouble," were Mr. Morris' parting words.
"We've had trouble enough to last us a lifetime."

"We'll do our best to steer clear of it," answered his son.

The evening of the first day found them in a territory that was entirely
new to both Dave and Henry, although Barringford had been over the ground
several times. Only some small game had been seen, not worth powder and
shot, as the old frontiersman put it, and they made their evening meal from
some fish which Henry managed to catch. While Barringford was preparing the
fish, both of the young pioneers took a swim in the river, where the water
was cool and refreshing.

"This is something like!" cried Dave, as he splashed around.

"You're right there," answered Henry. "Only I don't want any more wildcats
tumbling down on my head from the trees," he continued, referring to an
adventure which has already been told in "Marching on Niagara."

"I don't believe there are any wildcats around here, Henry. The place seems
utterly deserted. I reckon we'll have to travel a day longer before we
strike game. The old hunters have been over the ground too thoroughly."

"It's not half as bad as it will be, when more settlers come here."

"That is true."

The young pioneers felt in fine spirits, and as Barringford was slow in
getting the evening meal prepared, Henry proposed a swimming match.

"I'll race you to yonder big rock and back!" he cried, pointing to a round
stone resting on the opposite bank, under a thick, overhanging tree. "The
best piece of fish in the pan to the one who wins!"

"Done!" returned Dave. "Are you ready to start?"

"Yes. But wait, let us call Sam, and he can start us." And he yelled to the
old frontiersman.

"Want to race, eh?" said Barringford. "All right, if ye ain't too tired
after sech a ride as we've had. All ready? Then go it, both on ye! Go!"

Away they went, side by side, each cutting the clear water with a firm,
broad stroke, for both could swim well.

"It's goin' to be nip an' tuck, I reckon!" went on Barringford, as
interested as if the youths were matched for a heavy purse. "I must say I
don't know who to shout for! Do your best, both on ye! Now, Dave, that
won't do!"

For Dave had fallen behind a few strokes. But Henry could not keep the
speed at which he had started, and slowly but surely his cousin reached his
side once more and then went a foot and more ahead.

"Henry, this won't do!" sang out the old frontiersman. "Don't you let Dave
git the best on ye! Strike out an' make it a tie!"

Thus encouraged, and laughing to himself, Henry put on another spurt, and
while Dave was still four yards from the big rock came up alongside as
before.

"Now ye have it!" roared Barringford. "Keep the pace, both on ye! The
feller to lose gits walloped, an' the winner gits the King's Cross an' a
purse of a thousand pounds! Tech the rock fair an' squar', or I'll call the
race off!" And Barringford slapped his thigh in high glee. To see such a
contest took him back to his boyhood days, and he half wished he was in the
race himself.

Both reached the rock at precisely the same time, and rested heavily on it
for a second, so that Barringford might see that it was really and truly
"teched," as he expressed it. It was somewhat over their heads, and in the
water at their feet they could feel the sprawling roots of the tree behind
it.

Then, exactly how it happened would be hard to tell, but without warning
the great rock suddenly slipped from the river bank and went into the water
with a loud splash, carrying the two swimmers down under it!

Barringford saw the catastrophe and for the instant he stood spellbound. It
was as if the light of day had suddenly given way to the darkness of night.
Both of his young friends were gone, carried to the bottom by that huge
rock which had seemed such a safe point for the turn in the race.

The old frontiersman waited a few seconds--to him they seemed an
eternity--and then, as neither Henry nor Dave reappeared, he plunged
hastily into the river and swam in their direction with all his might and
main. He was a good swimmer, and now desperation lent strength to his
muscles.

He was in midstream when he saw a head bob up, and an instant later he
recognized Henry. The youth was panting for breath.

"Henry!" he called out. "Henry! Whar is Dave!"

"I--I--don't know!" came with a gulp and a gasp. "That rock was--was almost
the de--death of me!"

"Dave must be under it!" groaned the old frontiersman. "We must help him,
or he'll be drowned!"

"Yes! yes!" Henry tried to catch his breath. "Oh, Sam, what shall we do?"

He tried to look down into the water, but the falling of the rock had
dislodged a quantity of dirt also, and what had before been so clear was
now muddy, so that little or nothing could be seen excepting the top of the
stone, which now lay about six inches below the surface.

"Can't you see him at all?" queried Barringford, after a painful pause.

"I can't see anything. Oh, this is awful!"

"Dive an' take a look!" ordered the old frontiersman, and taking as good a
breath as his condition would allow, Henry went down, to catch hold of the
sprawling roots with his hands and try his best to locate the body of his
cousin. But the muddy water made his eyes smart, and seeing was practically
out of the question. More than this, the great rock was slowly sliding
outward, to the deeper part of the stream, so he had to watch out for fear
of being caught once more.

"Didn't see him?" asked Barringford, as he came closer.

"No, it's too rily."

"I'll go down myself."

Barringford was as good as his word, and went down without an effort, his
water-soaked clothing aiding him to sink. He caught hold of the rock and
the roots and strained his eyes in all directions. Then the rock began to
move once more, and he had to get out of the way just as Henry had done.

"I'm afraid it's all up with the poor lad," he said, when he could speak.
"If he's down there, he's drowned by this time."

"Don't let us give up, Sam," pleaded Henry, and started to go down once
more, when the rock turned completely over, and a long tree root flew up
close to the surface of the stream.

"There he is!" shouted Barringford, and swam forward. He was right, the
tree root had brought up the body of Dave, and the young pioneer lay before
them, his eyes closed and nothing giving any indication that he was still
alive. Both swam to it, and in a second more they had it in their arms and
were making for the shore with their burden.




CHAPTER XXIII

DAVE AND THE FAWN


"Sam, do you think he will live?"

Over and over Henry asked the question as he and the old frontiersman
worked over the inanimate form they had brought to shore from the waters of
the river.

"Hope so, Henry, but I can't tell yet," was Barringford's answer. "We'll do
all we can, and trust the rest to God."

Both worked with a will, doing whatever they thought was best. Barringford
held Dave up by the ankles and allowed much of the water to run from the
unfortunate's mouth, and then they rolled the youth and worked his arms and
rubbed him.

At first it looked as if all their efforts would be in vain, and tears
gathered in Henry's eyes. But then they saw Dave give a faint shudder,
followed by a tiny gasp.

"He's comin' around!" shouted Barringford, in a strangely unnatural voice.
"Praise Heaven for it!"

But there was still much to do before Dave could breath with any kind of
regularity, and they continued to rub him and slap him, while Barringford
forced him to gulp down a small quantity of stimulants brought along in
case of emergency. Then a fire was started up, and later on Henry brought
over the youth's clothes, for to take Dave across the stream was out of the
question.

For over an hour Dave felt so weak that neither of the others attempted to
question him. Both helped him into his clothes, and gave him something hot
to drink, and made him comfortable on a couch of twigs and leaves.

"I thought my time had come when I went under," he said, when he could
talk. "The rock pinned me down between the tree-roots, and if it hadn't
been for the roots, I suppose I should have been crushed to death. I held
my breath as long as I could, and then I gulped in some water and lost my
senses."

"It was truly a narrow escape," was Barringford's comment. "I didn't expect
no sech accident when I let ye go into the swimmin' match."

"Did you go under, Henry?"

"Yes, but I soon got myself loose," was the reply. "I was almost scared
stiff when you didn't come up, Dave. After this we'll have to be more
careful than ever."

"It was wuss nor thet wildcat, I reckon," came from Barringford.

"I should say so," returned Henry promptly. "It almost makes me vow never
to go in swimming again."

As Dave continued to feel weak it was decided to remain where they were all
of the next day. Henry procured a log and some brushwood, and on these
ferried over their things, and he likewise tied up the horses, so that they
might not stray away.

By morning Dave felt more like himself, and he would have gone ahead on the
hunt, but Barringford would not permit it.

"We have plenty of time," said the old frontiersman. "You jest lay around
in the sun, an' you'll feel better for it."

"Well, then, you and Henry can go out," insisted Dave. "There is no reason
why you should suck your thumbs waiting for me."

At this the others demurred, but about noon, having had a lunch,
Barringford and Henry set out, promising to return before sundown. They had
not expected to hunt on this side of the river, but, now they were there,
the old frontiersman said they might see what they could stir up.

The camp had been pitched behind some bushes that fringed the river bank.
Close at hand was a clump of trees, and back of these was the edge of the
mighty forest, yet unspoiled by the ax of the pioneer. Not far from the
camp was a small brook where the water rushed over a series of sharp rocks,
making a murmur pleasing to hear.

Having straightened out the camp, Dave took Barringford's advice and lay
down in the warm sunshine to rest. The little work that he had done had
tired him more than he was willing to admit, and, having closed his eyes to
do some thinking, he quickly fell into a sound slumber which lasted for
several hours.

When he awoke all was still around him, and he rubbed his eyes, wondering
what had aroused him. Then he caught sight of a tiny squirrel sitting bolt
upright at the foot of the nearest tree, gazing curiously at him.

"Hullo, you little rascal!" said Dave, good-naturedly. "So you ran across
me, did you? What kind of an animal did you take me for?"

The squirrel continued to gaze at him, but at his first movement to arise,
the frisky animal gave a swish of his brush and was gone up the tree in a
twinkling.

"Don't believe in making friends, that's sure." went on the young pioneer
as he stretched himself. "Heigh-ho, but I must have slept pretty soundly,
and for three hours at least! Well, it was as good a way as any to put in
the time."

The sunshine had made Dave thirsty, and presently he walked to the brook to
get a drink. As he was in no hurry he took his time, and, consequently,
made little or no noise.

He had parted some low bushes, and was just looking for some favorable spot
at which to bend down, when something caused him to look up the brook.
There, to his astonishment and delight, he beheld a beautiful fawn,
standing in several inches of water, watching some birds which circled
close by.

"Oh, what a shot!" was Dave's thought, and as quietly as a mouse he fell
back out of sight and then ran to where he had left his gun. The weapon was
ready for use, and soon he was at the brook once more.

There was no breeze blowing, and the only sound that broke the stillness
was the rushing of the little watercourse and the songs of half a dozen
birds in the vicinity. The fawn was still there, but seemed to be on the
point of running away; why, Dave could not tell.

Not to let such a chance to bag tender meat escape him, the young pioneer
took hasty aim and fired. The bullet sped true, and, with a convulsive leap
into the air, the fawn fell into the shallow brook dead.

While the smoke was still pouring from his gunbarrel, Dave caught sight of
a larger deer, previously hidden from view by some brushwood. Scarcely had
he laid the fawn low when another gunshot rang out, and this deer also went
down, kicking convulsively.

"Hullo, Sam and Henry must be near!" he thought, and ran forward to make
certain that the second animal should not get away. At the same time he set
up a shout, so that neither of the others might fire on him by mistake.

But the second shot bad been almost as true as the first, and by the time
he came up the large deer was breathing its last.

"Hullo!" he shouted. "We must have spotted these deer at exactly the same
time."

No answer came back to this call, and now Dave looked around with surprise.
If Henry and Barringford were near, why did they not show themselves?

"It's mighty queer," he muttered to himself. "If they--hullo! Hector
Bergerac!"

Dave was right, and an instant later the French hunter and trapper stepped
into the opening. He gazed around sharply to see if the young pioneer had
any companions with him. His clothing was almost in tatters, and his
general manner showed that he had been having a hard time of it.

"Are you alone, Morris?" was his first question.

"Perhaps I had better ask you that question," came just as quickly from the
young pioneer.

"Yes, I am alone," was the answer. "I was making my way to your father's
trading-post when I saw the deer and shot it."

"And I shot the fawn. What were you going to do at the trading-post?"

"I wish to talk to your father on matters of business."

"Did Jean Bevoir send you?"

At the mention of Bevoir, Hector Bergerac's face grew dark and took on a
look full of bitterness.

"No, he did not send me, I came of my own accord. I was a fool to go with
him in the first place, and that is why I wish to see your father."

"Did you have anything to do with the looting of the pack-train?"

"No! no! I am not a robber of the road, like Bevoir and Valette. They
wanted me to go into the thing, but I refused. Then we quarreled, and I
went my own way. But after that Jean Bevoir made me a prisoner--he and Flat
Nose--thinking I was going to tell upon them. I was a prisoner until
yesterday, when I managed to get away, taking this gun with me. For
twenty-four hours I have tasted nothing but one little bird, and I am half
starved."

"You say you want to see my father," went on Dave after a pause. "May I ask
what you wish of him?"

"I want to tell him of some plans Bevoir and Flat Nose have made. They wish
to make trouble."

"Are they near here?"

"No, they are going away for the present. But they will be back, either in
the winter or the spring."

Hector Bergerac was willing enough to go into the camp with Dave, and
between them they dragged the fawn and the large deer to the spot. The fire
was started up and some venison set to broiling, and of this the Frenchman
partook liberally, proving that he was indeed half starved.

"You cannot be alone," he ventured, while eating. "Where are your
companions?"

"They are off on a hunt, but will soon be here," answered Dave; and half an
hour later Barringford and Henry put in an appearance. They were doubly
astonished, first upon seeing Bergerac and then upon seeing the game. Their
own luck had not been very good, and they only had a few birds and a beaver
to their credit.

They listened with interest to what Bergerac had to tell, and when the
Frenchman had warmed up he related the full particulars of how Bevoir,
Valette, and Flat Nose had concocted the plan to loot the Morris'
pack-train, corroborating Glotte's story in all details. He said that all
the Frenchmen with Bevoir knew that it was nothing but an act of thievery,
but that some of the Indians had looked upon it merely as the beginning of
the new uprising against the English, an uprising which he considered had
been started by Pontiac and those under the great chief.

"I am no longer for war," he concluded. "I wish only for peace, and I am
sorry that I did not remain in the St. Lawrence territory. The war has cost
me all that I possessed. It was not much, but it was enough. Now I must
start over again."

"If you will do what is square, my father will be glad to deal with you,
and he will pay you all your skins are worth," returned Dave. "But you must
not play him false."

"He can trust me, take my word upon it," said Hector Bergerac. "I have
thought it over, and I feel certain that French rule in this country is at
an end. England is too strong for us. To fight longer would be like
striking one's head against a stone wall."

"Which shows that you have some sense," put in Barringford. "I must say I'm
sick o' war too. Let us all go to huntin,' I say, an' make money. If the
French an' the English would unite, we'd have nothin' to fear from the
redskins."

"But they will not unite, it is not in their nature. But if they will only
keep the peace, it will help greatly," concluded Bergerac.

He was worn out from traveling and glad enough to remain with the others
over night. He dressed his deer and said he would take the skin to the
trading-post, and also such a part of the meat as he could readily carry.

"He probably means to turn over a new leaf," said Henry, after Bergerac had
departed. "I hope he does."

"He seemed to be mighty anxious to see your uncle," put in Barringford.

"Well, if he can save Uncle James from serious trouble, I hope he does it."

"What a scoundrel Jean Bevoir is!" put in Dave. "Wouldn't you think that,
after all his upsettings, he would be content to rest and do what was
right?"

"Some men are born that way, lad," said the old frontiersman. "It's in
their nature. He won't stop bein' bad until he's killed or dies a natural
death; no two ways on't."

"I think Jacques Valette must be about as bad."

"More 'n likely--blackbirds generally flock together. But I don't reckon
that Valette is the schemer Bevoir is--he don't keep sober enough."

"I've often wondered if it wasn't Bevoir who robbed Valette that time."
ventured Dave. "I think he'd be equal to it."

"Like as not--or else Valette dropped his money on the trail an' never knew
it."




CHAPTER XXIV

SOMETHING ABOUT SLAVES AND INDIAN CAPTIVES


Two days later found the young hunters and Barringford about forty miles
further to the northwest of the trading-post, at one of the most beautiful
spots it is possible to imagine.

To the westward was a small stream running silently through a wide stretch
of prairie land, the banks covered with bushes and plants. To the eastward
was the edge of the mighty forest, a few giant trees standing out
picturesquely in the foreground. Under the trees lay the sprawling roots,
covered in spots with light and dark green moss, as soft to tread upon as
the richest velvet carpet. At one side of the camp was a small series of
rocks, and from them gushed forth a spring of cold water, running over the
rocks and into the tall grass out of sight.

The weather had remained perfect, and the last twenty-four hours had been
productive of sport not to be despised. They had found a beaver dam and
taken twelve beavers, and had also laid low two deer and a cougar, or
panther. The last-named animal had been found asleep by Barringford, and a
single bullet had dispatched it almost before the beast awakened.

"Thet's what I call dead-easy huntin'," Barringford remarked when the
panther was found to be dead. "No fight nor nuthin'."

"You won't often surprise the game like that," replied Henry.

The two young pioneers had surveyed the panther with interest. The fur,
even at this season of the year, was fairly good, and they had assisted
Barringford in dressing it, and it now hung on a branch of the nearest
tree.

"What a farm one could have here," declared Dave, as his eye roved over the
stretch of prairie. "Not a single tree to cut down or stump to burn or drag
out."

"And just look at the soil," came from Henry. "As black and rich as any I
ever saw. A fellow could raise anything he wished without half trying."

"It is certainly beautiful ground," put in Barringford, who sat in the
shade, smoking a red clay pipe with a reed stem. "An' some day you'll see a
plantation here true enough."

"How well the Indians could live, if they would only till this soil,"
continued Dave. "But you can't get them to raise anything but a little
maize and tobacco."

"They are natural-born hunters--just like I am," said Henry with a short
laugh.

"Sam, shall we find that buffalo we've been talking about?"

The old frontiersman blew a long stream of smoke from his mouth ere
replying. "Will it rain afore Sunday, Dave?" he drawled.

"What has that got to do with it?"

"Nuthin'; only you know as much about thet as I do about the buffalo. Ef he
comes this way, we'll git him, an' if he don't, why, we won't git him,
thet's all," and the old frontiersman continued his enjoyment of the pipe.

"You said buffaloes like such prairie ground as this," declared Henry.

"So they do, so they do; but most of the buffaloes thet war here air
gone--either killed, or lit out to the westward. Ye see," went on the old
hunter, "buffaloes air like elk--they need lots o' elbow-room. I've been
told thet a young buffalo will travel fifty miles an' think nuthin' of it."

"I don't think I want to try running down a young one then," answered
Henry. "I'll try an old one that can't travel over three or four miles,"
and this caused a general laugh.

They had spent the entire morning on the edge of the prairie, keeping
somewhat out of sight so as not to disturb any game that might appear. All
had enjoyed an unusually hearty dinner, and were quite content to take it
easy during the middle of the day. A faint breeze was blowing which was
exceedingly pleasant, for the morning had been a trifle warm.

"I wonder what the folks are doing just now," mused Henry.

"I think I can tell you," answered Dave. "Your father and Rodney are
getting ready to go back to the field to work, your mother is clearing off
the table, and little Nell is playing with the twins. Perhaps they are
wondering what we are doing at the trading-post, too."

"Them twins is what gits me," came from Barringford. "It's mighty funny I
can't find out who they belong to, ain't it?"

"It is in one way, Sam; but you must remember that many women and children
have been lost in the last five or six years. This war has been simply
awful in that respect. The Indians don't think anything of carrying them
off into captivity."

"Well, why should they, when you come to think of it?" came from Henry.

"Oh, Henry!"

"Now, hold on, Dave, let me reason it out for you. The whites hold hundreds
of black slaves, don't they?"

"Yes."

"Well, to an Indian it is no worse for a red man to hold a white person as
a captive than it is for a white man to own a slave. It's a poor rule that
won't work both ways."

"The blacks are naturally slaves--ain't good fer nuthin' else," put in
Barringford, who had some old-fashioned ideas on the subject.

"I don't believe that, Sam," came from Dave. "Some black people are wiser
than you think. If they had the chance to rise, they'd do it."

"I heard tell that some men believe in freeing the blacks," came from
Henry.

"Some on 'em don't want to be free," said the old frontiersman. "Jest look
at the slaves belongin' to old Lord Fairfax, and to the Dinwiddies, and to
the Washingtons. Why, they all think it is an honor to belong to them
families. They wouldn't go if ye druv 'em away."

"Yes, I know, for I have talked to some of 'em myself," said Dave. "The
Washington blacks are particularly faithful. If they were set free I don't
suppose they'd know what to do with themselves."

"They'd starve," said Barringford.

"But to come back to where we started from," went on Dave. "There is a
difference between being a white man's slave and being an Indian captive.
The whites don't kill their slaves or torture them."

"They torture some of 'em," replied Henry. "I've seen a negro whipped till
it made my blood boil. Of course the majority of 'em are treated fairly
good."

"A darkey who has a good home on the plantation has nuthin' to complain
on," said Barringford. "His master feeds him, clothes him, and takes care
of him when he's sick. In nine cases out of ten he's better off nor he
would be if he had to shift fer himself."

"I shouldn't wonder if we had trouble some day over this slave question,"
came from Henry. "If they bring too many over, the slaves may rise up some
day and try to wipe the whites out."

"Don't you fear for thet, Henry; they ain't equal to it, nohow."

"But if they join with the Injuns?"

"They'll never do thet nuther, an' you know it. A good darky ain't got no
opinion at all o' a redskin--they hate 'em wuss nor p'ison."

How long the fruitless discussion might have lasted there is no telling,
but during a brief pause Henry chanced to glance across the prairie and
uttered an exclamation.

"Something is moving yonder. What is it?"

Barringford leaped to his feet and gave a long, earnest look.

"Buffaloes!" he said laconically. "Two on 'em!"

"Can we catch them?" queried Dave.

"We can try, lad. But keep under cover. They seem to be coming this way."

All three hurried back to the foremost trees in the forest, carrying their
guns as they did so. Luckily the camp-fire had died out, so there was no
smoke to alarm the animals. Further in the forest the horses were tethered,
having had their fill of grass two hours before.

"Better see if the horses are ready for use, Henry," said Barringford. "We
may have to do some tall riding for our game."

"I will," answered Henry, and ran back without loss of time. The three
steeds were quickly saddled, and then the young hunter brought them forward
in a bunch, still, however, keeping them out of sight of the prairie.

It was now seen that the buffaloes were indeed moving in the direction of
the camp. The two that had at first appeared were followed by eight or ten
others, who kept in a bunch several rods behind the leaders.

"Oh, what a chance for big game!" whispered Dave. "If only we had two or
three guns apiece!"

"Never mind, we have our pistols," came from Henry. "They'll count for
something at close quarters."

"Whatever you do, don't all fire at once," cautioned Barringford. "One
bullet may not be enough for one of the buffaloes. I'll fire first, and if
he don't fall then Henry can fire, and then Dave."

Anxiously they waited for the big game to come within gun shot. The
buffaloes moved slowly, and to Dave it appeared an age before even half the
distance was covered.

"Oh, pshaw! They are turning to the northward!" cried Henry a few minutes
later.

"Wait, they may turn this way again," said Barringford, but they were
disappointed; the buffaloes continued to move in a direction that was
parallel to the edge of the forest.

"We'll lose them unless we ride after them," said Dave; and a minute later
all were in the saddle, leaving their camping outfit behind them.

They kept well in among the trees, riding as hard as possible, until half a
mile was covered. Then Barringford slipped to the ground and crawled
forward to the open.

"We are gaining on 'em," he announced. "Another ride like thet an' we can
go after 'em on the prairie."

Once more they urged their steeds forward. The way was full of rocks and
dangerous tree-roots, but the horses were growing used to such traveling
and rarely made a misstep. Twice they crossed little creeks which flowed
into the larger stream beyond. Then, without warning, they reached a
portion of the forest so thick with young trees that further progress in
that direction was impossible.

"Nothing left but to take to the open and ride like the wind," announced
the old frontiersman. "Are ye ready, lads?"

"Yes," came from both.

"Then follow me!"

Barringford turned his horse toward the open prairie, and the others came
close behind him. Away they went at what to an ordinary observer would have
seemed a breakneck speed. The little ride through the forest had warmed up
the horses, and the rest of the morning had put them in fine condition for
a good run. On they sped, as if they enjoyed it fully as much as did their
riders.

"Don't make any noise," came from Barringford. "The nearer we get without
bein' discovered the better."

At least a third of the distance toward the buffaloes was covered when
suddenly the herd stopped short. They had heard the dull thud of the
horses' hoofs, and now looked around to see what the sound meant. Then came
a wild snorting and throwing of shaggy heads, and away went the herd due
west and making the best speed of which their sturdy limbs were capable.

"They have found us out!" shouted Barringford. "Now to catch 'em--or miss
'em!"

"I don't intend to miss 'em," came warmly from Henry. "But I think you
ought to give me the first shot if I get nearest to 'em."

"All right, Henry, so be it."

No more was said, for, with the pace such a hot one, nobody cared to waste
breath in conversation. Far ahead the buffaloes were running as gamely as
ever, being spread out somewhat in a semicircle, with the leader, a heavy
old fellow with an extra shaggy head, a little in advance.

Slowly, but surely, Henry gained on both of his companions. His steed was
the best of the three, and if Henry was a natural-born hunter and trapper
he was likewise a good horseman. Bending low over the horse's neck he spoke
words of encouragement, to which the animal responded to the best of his
ability.

Thus mile after mile was covered, and still the buffaloes kept on as
before. They were now coming to a locality where the prairie was broken up
into little hummocks, with here and there gopher holes that were
exceedingly dangerous.

At last all three of the hunters saw one of the buffaloes go down. One leg
had gone into a gopher hole and become broken, and although the animal
arose and tried to run, it was soon overtaken by Henry.

"Finish him off, Dave!" yelled back the young hunter. "I'm going to see if
I can't run down another!" And he kept on as before.

Dave heard the cry. He could not make out what was said, but he understood,
and riding up close to the hurt buffalo, he let the animal have a bullet
directly in the head. It was a fair shot, and with a lurch the beast
staggered a few feet and then fell with a heavy thud on the prairie.

"Good for you, Dave!" cried Barringford. "That makes number one. Now let us
finish him and see if we can run down some more on 'em."




CHAPTER XXV

THE RESULTS OF A BUFFALO HUNT


The brief stop made by Dave and Barringford had allowed Henry to increase
his lead until now he was almost out of sight of those behind him. The
prairie was growing rougher, and soon the buffaloes reached a small creek,
bordered in spots with trees and brushwood. Into the creek they plunged
boldly and scrambled up the opposite bank. Henry came after them, and now
another level stretch of prairie was encountered at least a mile across and
several times that in length.

The buffaloes were gradually turning to the northward once more, and by
keeping straight for them Henry cut off much of the distance he would
otherwise have been compelled to cover. He soon saw that they had changed
their course because of a river they were afraid to swim, for it was
shallow and the mud on the bottom was sticky and treacherous.

"They certainly know what they are doing," thought the young hunter. "Go
along, Buzzy! We must catch them somehow!"

Buzzy heard the words and leaped forward in a fresh effort. As he did this
Henry looked behind him, and was surprised to learn that both Dave and
Barringford were nowhere in sight.

"Can they have given up the chase?" he asked himself. It was possible, but
not at all probable. "Perhaps they had more trouble with that fallen
buffalo than they expected," he thought.

At last Henry saw that the animals ahead of him were beginning to slacken
their speed. The leader still kept on with three or four others, but the
rest were dropping further and further behind. One in particular, quite a
big beast, too, lagged more than any of them, and Henry soon spotted this
for his own.

"I'll have you yet, old fellow," he told himself, and looked to see if the
priming of his gun was still as it should be.

Once more the buffaloes made a turn to the westward, following the bank of
the river just mentioned. The beast Henry had picked out was a dozen or
more rods to the rear, and this distance was increasing rapidly. Evidently
his wind had given out. Suddenly he stopped short, whirled around, and made
straight for the young hunter!

Henry was not taken greatly by surprise, and had been on the lookout for
such a trick. As the buffalo came closer he pulled the hammer of his gun.
To his chagrin the weapon refused to go off, acting exactly as it had done
when he was after the big elk.

"What luck!" he muttered, and then had to pull his horse to one side. The
animal was now nervous, and in a twinkling it balked and sent Henry flying
headlong to the ground! Then, without waiting to note what was happening,
the horse set off on a run whence it had come.

To face an angry buffalo had been bad enough while on horseback, but on
foot it was doubly perilous. For the instant after he picked himself up
Henry knew not what to do. Then, in sheer desperation, he raised his rifle
once more and pulled the trigger as before.

The weapon now spoke up and the bullet hit the bison (for such the American
buffalo really is) fairly and squarely between the eyes. Down went the
beast as if struck with a heavy club. But the skull was thick and the shot
was by no means fatal.

As soon as the gun was empty Henry retreated. He knew better than to use
his pistol until it became absolutely necessary to do so. With all possible
speed he reloaded the larger weapon.

The young hunter was just fixing the priming and looking to the flint when
the bison came up with a snort and charged as before. There was blood
trickling down his face and he presented a truly ferocious sight. Henry
waited until the beast was but a few paces away, then aimed for the right
eye once more and fired.

This time both gun and aim did not disappoint him. The bullet passed into
the very brain of the buffalo, and he pitched over with a thud that could
be heard for a long distance. Once or twice he pawed the prairie grass, but
that was all.

Henry did not examine his prize at once. A glance convinced him that he had
nothing more to fear in that direction, and then he looked for the other
buffaloes. All were out of sight. He reloaded his gun and then began to
search for his horse.

To his chagrin the steed was also among the missing, nor could he catch
sight of the animal anywhere, try his best. Then he looked for Dave and
Barringford. They had not come up, and where they were there was no
telling.

He was alone on the broad prairie with the dead buffalo. More than this,
the chase had occupied considerable time, and he saw with some alarm that
both night and a storm were coming up. Already in the west dark clouds were
beginning to crawl up toward the orb of day. In a few minutes more the sun
was obscured, and the bright stretches of the prairie took on a somber
tone.

"Well, I'm certainly in a pickle," he thought. "I wonder where that horse
went to, and how long it will be before Dave and Sam come up?"

Had there been a tree handy, Henry would have mounted it to take
observations. But not even a hillock was near, and he had to content
himself with remaining on the level, using his eyes to the utmost.

"If they don't come soon, I suppose I'll have to spend the night here," he
mused. "That won't be very pleasant, especially if any wolves happen to be
around."

Hoping every minute that Dave and Barringford would appear, Henry examined
the dead buffalo. The prize was a big one, and it must be admitted that the
young hunter was much elated as he surveyed it.

"For a first buffalo, I'm sure that isn't so bad," he thought. "The folks
at home will be surprised when they hear about it."

Swiftly the storm came closer, and presently the scattering drops of rain
came down, followed by a steady shower. With nothing to protect him, he was
soon wet to the skin.

Knowing there was scant danger of a prairie fire during a storm, Henry took
out his hunting-knife and cut up a small portion of the buffalo. Then he
dug out the dry grass from under the game, lit his tinder-box, and started
up a fire, feeding it both with grass and with some buffalo fat. The latter
made quite a heavy smoke, and he hoped that this would attract the
attention of the others.

But when fully an hour had gone by, Henry grew both hungry and uneasy.
"Something serious must have happened," he mused. "They wouldn't leave me
like this."

He set up a yell, using the utmost power of his strong lungs for that
purpose. Only the patter of the rain answered him.

Crouching over the tiny fire, he cooked himself a bit of the buffalo meat
and ate it. Then he walked over to the river and procured a drink. On every
side he could see nothing but the prairie, with the stream running through
it like a huge serpent. Close to the water's edge were a few bushes, and
some of these he pulled up with ease, with which to replenish the fire.

To tell the truth, Henry felt very lonely. Often had he been out in the
forest at night, but the present experience was new to him. Had there been
some rocks at hand, or a single tree, he might have made himself feel at
home, but this immense stretch of flat land, water-soaked and becoming fast
wrapped in the darkness of night, was truly depressing.

"Give me the woods every time, for an outing," he said to himself. "But,
now I am here, I reckon I've got to make the best of it."

Returning to the river, he pulled up what was left of the bushes. These he
did not put on the fire, but propped up against the broad back of the
buffalo, forming a little shelter, into which he crawled in an endeavor to
protect himself from the rain. Night was now on him, and he felt certain
that he would have to remain in the spot until morning.

"One thing is certain, I'll never forget this buffalo hunt," he murmured as
he turned in. "It's not proving as much fun as I thought it would be."

For a good two hours Henry crouched in the little shelter, trying his best
to go to sleep. The rain continued to come down, but fortunately it was not
cold, so he suffered but little discomfort on that account. At last his
head fell forward on his breast and he became oblivious to all around him.

Towards one o'clock in the morning the rain ceased and a brisk wind came up
from the southwest. As the stars began to show themselves, the wind carried
to the keen nostrils of several wolves the scent of the buffalo carcass.
The wolves were hungry, and with little yelps of satisfaction they trotted
off toward where the game lay.

It did not take the beasts long to get within a dozen yards of the dead
buffalo. Several were about to leap forward to plunge their fangs into the
cut flesh, when they made the discovery that a human being was present. At
once a howling of dismay arose on the night air.

The howl awoke Henry with a start. For the moment he could not imagine what
had awakened him, but, with the true instinct of the hunter, he reached for
his gun and also felt to see if his hunting knife was where it should be.

"Wolves," he told himself, and set up a sudden yell. At the sound of his
voice the beasts retreated into the darkness and began to yelp violently.
They were much disappointed, for they had expected to have a rare feast on
the big carcass lying before them.

"I'll have to stir up that fire, that's certain," thought the young hunter,
and he made haste to use his tinder-box. But grass and bushes were too wet
to ignite, and in a few minutes he had to give up the idea.

In the meantime the wolves had ranged themselves in a semicircle before
him, continuing to howl as dismally as ever. One especially large beast
came a little forward, showing his fangs viciously.

"Get back there!" cried Henry, and the leader of the wolves retreated for
the moment. But then he came closer than ever, and the others followed.

Picking up one of the bushes, Henry threw it at the pack and all set up a
wild yelping. Away they sped into the darkness, and he fancied they were
gone. But this did not last. They came back howling with additional
loudness, and drew closer and closer, until it looked as if the largest
would certainly leap for the young hunter's throat.

Henry waited no longer, but, raising his musket, fired at the leader of the
wolves. With a snarl the beast sprang into the air and whirled over and
over in his death agonies. The struggle carried him further away from where
Henry stood, and without loss of time the youth reloaded his weapon, so
that he might be prepared for another attack.

The sudden fall of the leader disconcerted the other wolves for the time
being, and it was fully five minutes before they came forward as before.
Henry half expected them to eat the dead wolf, but they did not touch the
body.

"Reckon they mean business," thought the young hunter, setting his teeth
hard. "They want either the buffalo or me! And they shan't have either--if
I can help it!"

He yelled once more at the beasts, but this time they merely halted,
showing that the sound of his voice did not alarm them as it had previously
done. Then, like a flash, one leaped for Henry's throat.

Crack! went the rifle again, and this wolf also fell, shot through the
throat. The wound was serious, but not fatal, and with gleaming teeth and
eyes that blazed with fury the beast gathered himself for another spring.
On he came, but Henry knew enough to leap to one side. Not wishing to use
his pistol, excepting as a last resort, he drew his hunting-knife, and,
watching his chance, plunged it into the wolf's shoulder. Down went the
beast, and a second stroke of the blade finished the creature.

Scarcely was the second wolf down when all the others appeared to come
forward in a bunch. Bang! went Henry's pistol, and a third wolf was struck
in the breast. Then the youth caught up a bush and whirled it into the
beasts' faces. But some got behind him, and one snapped at his
hunting-shirt and another at his leather leggings. It looked as if in
another minute he would be down and killed.




CHAPTER XXVI

STRANGE INDIAN MAGIC


"Well, where in the world can Henry have ridden to?"

It was Dave who asked the question. He sat on his horse, peering forth in
all directions through the storm and the oncoming darkness. Beside him was
Barringford, equally anxious to learn what had become of their companion.

Killing the first buffalo had not proved easy, and they had spent more time
over the game than they had anticipated. But a bullet from Dave's pistol
had finished the big creature, and then the pair had looked around for
Henry, to find that he had vanished.