A hunt had followed in first one direction and then another. As the storm
came up Dave's horse was unfortunate enough to run into a mud reach close
to the river, and it proved no light task to save the steed from being
drowned.

With the coming of night, Barringford had proposed that they go into camp,
but Dave was too worried to do this, and urged that the search be
continued.

"For all we know, those buffaloes may have turned and charged on Henry," he
said. "I shan't rest until I know the truth."

"If they turned an' charged, I'm afeered it's all up with Henry." returned
the old frontiersman. "A mad buffalo can make short work o' a hunter. He's
wuss nor a mad bull."

They moved off slowly after this in something of a semicircle. Occasionally
one or the other would raise a yell, but to these cries no answer was
returned.

"Might as well give it up, Dave, onless ye want to ride around all night,"
said Barringford at last.

He had hardly spoken when Dave drew up his horse.

"Hark, Sam! what is that?"

The old frontiersman listened attentively for several minutes.

"Wolves, onless I miss my guess," he replied presently.

"They appear to be heading toward us."

"No, they are off in that direction, Dave." Barringford pointed with his
hand. "They are after something."

"Not our buffalo meat, I hope."

"No, they are heading the other way. It's something else."

"Let us follow. They may be after another buffalo, or after Henry."

"That is so."

On they went once more. Soon they could no longer hear the wolves, and drew
up in perplexity. While they were consulting together, they heard a distant
gun shot.

"Somebuddy is a-firin' on 'em!" ejaculated Barringford. "Perhaps it's
Henry. Come!" And he set off at a gallop, with Dave beside him. As they
rode on they heard another gun shot, and a moment later the report of a
pistol.

"It must be Henry, and, if so, he is having a fearful fight with the
wolves!" cried Dave. "Oh, Sam, we must help him!"

"I see him!" shouted Barringford, and in less than half a minute later he
was blazing away at the wolves. Dave also fired his gun and his pistol, and
four wolves were put out of the fight in almost the time it takes to tell
of the deed.

"Save me!" came faintly from Henry. "Save me!"

"I will!" answered Barringford, and leaped from his horse, hunting-knife in
hand. The blade was plunged deeply into a wolf that had Henry by the left
arm. Dave used his musket as a club, and another of the beasts was sent
staggering back with a broken jaw.

What few remained of the beasts were scared by the new arrivals, and now
they made off at top speed. It was high time, for Henry had suffered much,
and as soon as the living wolves had disappeared he plunged forward and
fainted in Barringford's arms.

"He has had a lough time of it, poor fellow," murmured the old
frontiersman. "If we hadn't 'a' come up as we did, he would have been done
for."

"Is he seriously hurt?" questioned Dave anxiously.

"Don't think he is, Dave. It's his wind as has given out."

Barringford was right, and it was not long before Henry revived. His arm
was slightly pierced in three places and on his left leg were two long,
irregular scratches. These were washed and bound up by Dave, and during the
time consumed Barringford managed to start up a tiny fire in spite of the
dampness.

"Where in the world have you been?" asked Henry. "I watched and watched for
you."

"And we've been hunting for you until we were about ready to give it up,"
answered his cousin. "The wolves put us on the track."

Sitting around the fire, which Barringford coaxed into a respectable blaze,
each party told what had happened since the separation.

"Reckon as how you've had your fill o' buffalo huntin' jest for the
present," said Barringford, when the narratives were concluded. "Buffaloes
an' wolves is a terribul bad combination."

"Where is your game?" questioned Henry.

"About two mile from here, I reckon."

"Perhaps the wolves will be after that."

"Can't help it if they air, lad. Dave wanted to look for you, an' wouldn't
stay by the game nohow. Can't blame him, nuther, seein' as we came up jest
in the nick o' time," added the old frontiersman.

All thoughts of sleep were now out of the question, and the three sat
around the tiny campfire, discussing the situation. With the first streak
of dawn Barringford set to work skinning the buffalo, and Dave assisted.

While they were thus occupied, Henry saw a familiar form advancing slowly
over the prairie. He set up a call, and in a few minutes his horse came up
on a trot, to mingle with the other horses.

"You rascal! to leave me in the lurch!" cried Henry, but he did not strike
the steed, but patted him instead. "Be thankful that he has come back,"
said Barringford. "Sometimes a frightened critter like thet runs off an'
never shows himself again." After the buffalo had been skinned, the best
portions of the meat were cut out and rolled in the hide, which was
strapped to the back of Barringford's saddle. The wolves were left where
they had fallen. "Sooner or later them other wolves will come back," said
the old frontiersman, "an' they'll eat wot's left of the buffalo an' the
wolves' carcasses, too." It was fully an hour before they reached the spot
where the other buffalo had fallen. No wild beasts had been near the
carcass, and now this was also dressed and the hide packed up behind Dave.
Then they set off for the camp on the edge of the prairie, reaching it
shortly after noon. "I declare, the spot seems like home!" cried Dave. "I
must say I am glad to return to it." All were equally happy, and lost no
time in preparing a regular meal, which tasted far better than the
makeshift they had indulged in early in the morning. Hunting was declared
to be at an end for the time being, and for the rest of that day, and all
of the next, the three took it easy.

"My bear hasn't shown himself," said Dave. "But I reckon I can do without
him."

The rest of the hunting tour passed without anything out of the ordinary
happening. Many small animals were brought in by both Dave and Henry, and
Barringford varied the sport by laying low a wildcat that came one night to
rob them of some of the meat.

When the start for the trading-post was begun, they found their steeds
loaded down with the trophies of the chase. Consequently, progress was
slow, and it took one day longer than they had expected to reach the Ohio.

"Back again, I see!" cried James Morris cheerily. "And safe and sound, too!
I am glad to see it."

"We've had a powerfully good trip," answered Barringford. "Two buffalo, an'
no end o' small game."

"That is certainly fine. Boys, I reckon you are proud of the haul."

"We are," answered Dave promptly, and Henry nodded. "Have you seen anything
of Hector Bergerac?" he continued.

"Yes, he is here now. He has told me his story, and told me all about Jean
Bevoir, Jacques Valette, and that redskin they call Flat Nose. Hector
Bergerac wants to cut the whole crowd, and I am going to help him to do
it."

The weather had threatened a change, and inside of a week after Dave and
his companions returned to the trading-post there was a heavy frost, and,
two days later, a touch of ice.

"I think winter is coming now," said James Morris. "And if anybody is going
to start for home he'll have to do it soon."

"I shouldn't mind taking the trip," answered Dave. "It seems an age since I
saw Uncle Joe and the others."

The matter was talked over for several days, and it was finally agreed that
Dave should go eastward this time, in company with Barringford and White
Buffalo and his braves. Henry would remain with his uncle, and so would the
others at the trading-post. Only a few horses were to be taken along, and
in the spring Dave and Barringford were to purchase ten additional steeds,
and bring along a well-guarded pack-train containing goods to the value of
eight hundred pounds. The trading-post was now doing well, and it looked as
if, sooner or later, the Morrises would make a small fortune out of it.

The departure was made in a keen, frosty air, which was as clear as it was
invigorating. Henry and Dave's father accompanied those who were going as
far as the burn-over on the Kinotah, and then watched them out of sight
around a bend of the trail.

"It looks a bit familiar to me now," said Dave to Barringford, as they rode
along under the big trees.

"I suppose in a few years more there will be a regular road here, just as
there now is from Fort Pitt eastward."

"Like as not, lad, onless the redskins upset everything again."

"They have been very quiet lately."

"Yes, Dave, but thet may be the calm afore a storm, as sailor men call it.
I don't believe in trustin' a quiet Injun."

"White Buffalo is good enough when he is quiet," answered the youth, with a
merry glance at the chief mentioned, who was riding a short distance to the
rear.

"True, but a few good Injuns don't make a basketful," answered Barringford,
using a form of speech he had heard once when down East.

The weather proved fine until Fort Pitt was gained. Here the party put up
for two days, the commandant of the stronghold being glad to meet those who
might bring news.

"All is quiet here," said the officer. "There was something of a plan to
attack us during the summer, but it fell through, why I don't exactly know.
I think the Indians are waiting for the French to help them."

"Will they do that?" asked Dave.

"I don't think so. The French are having their hands full in the old
country."

When the party left Fort Pitt the sky was overcast, and that night came a
light fall of snow. They had been told that there had been a landslide on
the route, and that they had better take another trail, one leading around
to the northward.

"This trail bring party to Indian village of Ninalicmic," announced White
Buffalo.

"Are they much of a tribe?" asked Dave.

"Only a handful. But my white brothers must beware of the Ninalicmics. They
are of the magicians, and do great wonders."

"They are a branch of the magicians who live up near the lakes," put in
Barringford. "I've heard of them, but I thought they had cleared out long
ago."

When they came close to the village, they heard a strange beating of Indian
tom-toms and a loud shouting and clapping of hands.

"Some kind of dance going on," said Barringford. "Reckon as how I'll go in
advance and see if it's safe to break in on 'em."

"Let me go with you," said Dave.

The others were halted, and Dave, Barringford, and White Buffalo went
forward on foot, keeping themselves out of sight behind a row of bushes and
a series of low rocks.

Before them was a fair-sized glade, in the midst of which was located the
Indian village, consisting of a dozen or more wigwams, all of good
dimensions and each gaudily painted with many signs and symbols. In front
of several of the wigwams were erected posts on which hung strips of
feathers and other strips of bear's claws and wampum belts that were new to
Dave's eyes.

In the center of the village was a cleared space, and here a bright
campfire was burning. On each side sat several Indians, all smeared with
various colored paints and greases. Other red men were dancing around the
fire, keeping time to the tom-toms and chanting in a low, monotonous tone.

"Big medicine men and magicians," said White Buffalo. "Make much magic."

Dave looked at his old Indian friend and saw, to his astonishment, that
White Buffalo was ill at ease, if not actually nervous. Had he been alone,
it is likely that he would have turned on his heel and hurried away.

"What be they a-saying?" demanded Barringford, after listening to the
chant. "I never heard sech gibberish in my life afore."

"Much magic," answered White Buffalo. "Magic make the Indians strong to
fight their white enemies."

"Oh, so that's it, eh? Do they believe in it, White Buffalo?"

"Magic is magic," returned the old chief simply.

"Does it mean digging up the war hatchet?"

"White Buffalo cannot tell, for he is not in their secrets. But if the
hatchet should be dug up--ha!"

White Buffalo stopped short, for the flap of one of the wigwams had opened
and a tall Indian had stepped outside. The red man was naked to the waist
and painted with rings and blotches of several colors. On his head he
carried something of a crown of black feathers with brass ornaments
dangling over each ear. As he came out, those around the fire set up a yell
of welcome.

"Who is it?" questioned Dave, in a whisper.

"Pontiac, the great chief of the Ottawas," answered White Buffalo. And then
he added hastily, as Pontiac threw up his arms and swept them around in a
circle: "Let us go, let us not stay! It is not safe! Pontiac will make
great magic! Let us go ere it is too late!"




CHAPTER XXVII

THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC


The fright of such a brave chief as White Buffalo may seem strange to my
young readers, but it must be remembered that among the Indians the art of
magic was considered the blackest art of all, and a magician was looked
upon as something far out of the ordinary. The art was somewhat similar to
that of the voodoos of the South, and the fakirs of India, and a real
magician was looked up to and obeyed where a common medicine man would be
ignored.

It is said, upon fairly good authority, that Pontiac belonged to the
magicians of the Great Lakes. This has already been mentioned, but nothing
has been said of how he practiced the black art. Much that was recorded has
been lost, so some things can only be surmised. But his doings had a strong
hold on all who came in contact with him, making his friends stick to him
closer than ever, and causing many of his enemies to drop their antagonism
and sue for peace.

"Don't you get afraid of him, White Buffalo," whispered Barringford. "His
magic is all humbug."

"No! no! it is true!" insisted the Indian chief. He caught Dave by the
hand. "Come! If Dave is caught watching, he will surely lose his life!"

"I shall stay, if Sam stays," said the youth. "We'll take good care that we
are not discovered."

"You can go back to the others," went on Barringford. But at this White
Buffalo demurred, and in the end remained to see the weird performance.

The dance of the magicians lasted fully a quarter of an hour. Then came a
low chant, and a conference followed. Strange strings of beads were
exchanged, and finally Pontiac made an address, in an Indian dialect of
which neither Barringford nor Dave could understand a word.

White Buffalo listened to the address with keen interest. His first fright
over, he was now fairly calm, and when Pontiac stopped and prepared to
leave the village he pulled the others back to a place of safety.

"Pontiac will go away alone," he said. "White Buffalo follow on the trail.
Want his brothers Dave and Sam to come, too."

"Why?" asked the others, in a breath.

"Learn much. Maybe do the English great good. Pontiac is like a fox in
wisdom. If the spell of magic is broken, Pontiac may fall as falls the
mighty tree of the forest before the hurricane."

"I must say I don't quite follow ye, Buffalo," came from Barringford.
"Where is Pontiac going?"

"To the woods, where the waters fall in the sunshine. White Buffalo thinks
he knows the spot, but he is not sure."

"Why should we follow him?"

"White Buffalo cannot explain. There is much magic. Perhaps the coming of
night will clear the mystery."

Both Dave and Barringford were much perplexed. Never before had White
Buffalo acted in this manner, and it was easy to see that he was laboring
under great excitement.

"We may as well do what White Buffalo says," came from Dave, after he had
talked to the old frontiersman in private. "We'll only lose a day or two by
the operation and we are in no particular hurry to reach Will's Creek."

"Very well, lad, I'll go ye on't," was the answer. "We may learn something
of great importance to the English authorities."

White Buffalo had by this time joined those of his tribe who were with him.
His speech to his followers was as peculiar in its effects as had been the
mysterious incantations of the magicians upon himself. Two voted to follow
Pontiac, while the others said they would not do so under any
circumstances. "The squaws can return to the trading-post," said the chief.
And thus were the others dismissed. A short while after this all were on
the trail of Pontiac, who, contrary to expectations, had taken with him a
young brave known by the extraordinary name of Foot-in-His-Mouth, a Wyandot
famous for his accuracy at shooting. Foot-in-His-Mouth had often won prizes
at target shooting, both among the Indians and the French, and he was
called one of the best hunters in the Ohio valley. Both Pontiac and his
escort were on horseback, and they rode so swiftly along the forest trail
that the others had all they could do to keep close to them. White Buffalo
led, and never once did he allow those he was following to suspect his
presence. Whenever they slowed up so did he, and instead of passing over an
open space he invariably rode around it, keeping his steed in the shelter
of the trees and brushwood. "If he is simply going to his home on the
Detroit River, we'll have our ride for nothing," observed Dave, after six
or eight miles had been covered.

"Oh, something is in the wind, you may be sure of that," returned
Barringford. "The question is, what is it?"

It was growing dark when Pontiac and his companion came to the side of a
fair-sized brook, rushing swiftly over some rough rocks. They passed up
this brook for a distance of several hundred feet and then took to the
other side. Here there was a burnt spot covering half an acre, and Dave and
the others noted the remains of a cabin.

"Somebuddy lived here once an' was wiped out," remarked the old
frontiersman laconically. "Can't tell who did it."

The falling of waters could now be plainly heard, and before long Pontiac
and Foot-in-His-Mouth reached a beautiful waterfall, fifteen or eighteen
feet in height. The fall was narrow and was lined upon either side with
rugged rocks, overgrown with mosses and trailing vines. At the foot of the
waterfall was a circular pool of great depth.

Pontiac and his companion came to a halt and, dismounting, tied their
horses to trees near by. At once those who were following did the same, and
all crawled forward with extreme caution to learn what would next take
place.

For several minutes Pontiac stood talking earnestly to Foot-in-His-Mouth,
and pointing to the waterfall. Then both climbed the rocks at the side of
the fall until they could touch the water with their hands.

"Something is up now, that's certain!" whispered Dave.

The words had just been uttered when a curious thing happened. With a quick
movement Pontiac stepped through the waterfall and disappeared from sight!

"Well, I never!" murmured Dave. "Where did he go to?"

"Hush!" murmured Barringford. "Look!"

Foot-in-His-Mouth was gazing fixedly at the waterfall. He hesitated for
fully a minute. Then, watching his chance, he dove into the waterfall as
Pontiac had done and also disappeared.

White Buffalo looked at his white companions gravely. "Do my white brothers
know what that means?" he asked.

"I think I do," answered Barringford. "There must be a cave back there, and
the opening to it is through the waterfall."

"But how would they be able to find such a cave?" questioned Dave.

"In two ways, lad. There may be some other opening, and they may have
discovered this opening when the waterfall had run dry."

"It must be a cave," came from White Buffalo. "And if it is, it is the cave
Pontiac told about at the village of Ninalicmic."

"What did he say about it?"

"Pontiac told of planting guns in the ground. He said they would grow, and
the Indians could one day pluck them and use them."

"Planting guns? I don't understand."

"It's an amazement truly," put in Barringford. "We won't know what it means
until--"

"Until what, Sam? Do you feel like following into the cave?"

"I shouldn't mind if I knew the directions Pontiac gave to that other
redskin. But without them directions a feller might lose his life easy
enough in the attempt. He might have told him to turn to the left or the
right, or somethin' like that, you know."

"True enough. Well, what do you advise?"

The matter was talked over with White Buffalo, and it was decided to remain
where they were until Pontiac and Foot-in-His-Mouth returned for their
horses.

"They are bound to do thet, sooner or later," said Barringford. "By the way
they tethered 'em I reckon they expect to come back shortly."

An hour passed, and Dave was growing tired of the watch, when White
Buffalo, who lay beside him, gave his sleeve a quick jerk and nodded toward
the waterfall. As the young hunter looked in the direction he saw a sudden
movement, and Pontiac emerged on the rocks, dripping wet. An instant later
Foot-in-His-Mouth followed, and both climbed down to the side of the pool.

"They have been on some sort o' a mission," whispered Barringford. "Wonder
what's next?"

Untying their horses, Pontiac and his companion turned them up the slope
leading to the stream above the waterfall. Here the pair consulted for some
time. What was said neither White Buffalo nor those with him could make
out. But soon Pontiac rode off in one direction and Foot-in-His-Mouth in
another.

"Shall we follow Pontiac further?" questioned Dave. "For my own part I'd
rather stay here and find out what this cave, if such it is, contains."

"'Tis the cave of the magicians," answered White Buffalo. "My white
brothers must be careful how they enter it."

"I am not afraid of magic, White Buffalo. But of course I want to know what
I am doing."

"We can examine the place in the dark as well as the daylight," came from
Barringford. "It's queer Pontiac and his friend didn't take torches with
'em."

"There may be torches inside."

"Perhaps; but if I go in I'll take my own torch."

"So will I, Sam, and a good big one, too."

Again there was a consultation, and at last it was agreed that Barringford
should attempt to enter the cave first. If he succeeded, and the way was an
easy one, Dave was to follow, and lastly White Buffalo. The other Indians
would remain on guard.

Tucking a good bit of torch wood in his leathern belt, Barringford climbed
up to the footing Pontiac had first occupied. He examined the waterfall
with care and also looked at the pool below.

"Don't think I'll git more 'n a dirty tumble if I fail to git in," he said
to Dave. "Here goes!"

He made a leap and passed through the falling sheet of water before him.
With his heart almost in his throat, Dave watched and waited. He was still
doing this when suddenly Barringford came to view again.

"It's easy, boys," he chuckled. "Jest like walkin' down a pair o' big stone
steps. Jump about six feet an' you'll be all right."

Again he passed through the waterfall, and now Dave and White Buffalo lost
no time in following. The opening beyond was two feet wide and high enough
for a man to stand upright. The flooring led downward several steps, and
then turned to the left, where the passageway spread out into an irregular
cave of uncertain dimensions and various heights.

"That was certainly easy enough," remarked Dave, while Barringford was busy
lighting the tinder in his box. "I declare I only got the water on my head
and shoulders. With a good big hood a fellow could keep as dry as a bone."

With some difficulty the tinder was lit and the torch followed. Swinging it
around, Barringford soon had a good blaze, and then he held the torch
aloft, that they might look around them.

Their first view of the interior of the cave was a disappointment. Close at
hand were nothing but bare rocks, covered here and there with rude writing
in the Indian language. A little further on were some heaps of bones,
probably those of wild animals, but whether killed for the meat or not they
could not tell.

"Not much wuth seein' so far," remarked the old frontiersman as he gave his
torch another swing. "Let us move on."

"Be careful, the walking may be treacherous," came from White Buffalo, and
the warning came none too soon, for a short distance further on was an
opening in the flooring a yard wide and of great depth. They leaped it with
ease, but had one fallen into it there is no telling what would have
happened.

Beyond this the passageway narrowed for a short distance. Here some of the
rocks were wet, showing that there was a small stream or a pool of water
overhead. The flooring was exceedingly rough, so that they had to move
slowly and make sure of one footing ere they tried another.

"I wonder how long the Indians have known of this cave?" said Dave.

"White Buffalo hear of strange cave many years ago," came from the Indian
chief. "Hear much when Colonel Washington and General Braddock fight the
French and the Indians under Pontiac."

"Then is it a fact that Pontiac fought against us at that time?" asked
Dave.

"White Buffalo has heard so. Pontiac is a great warrior."

"Hullo!" suddenly cried Barringford, who was a few feet in advance. "We're
coming to something interesting now."

"What is it?" asked Dave eagerly.

"Look fer yourself, lad."

They had gained a portion of the cave that was almost circular in form. In
the center was an immense black stone. On this rested a large pile of
tobacco and several pipes, and beside these were strings of beads and
wampum, and curiously shaped shells and spears. There were likewise some
strings of feathers, and a dozen or more pairs of curiously worked
moccasins. There were also a number of medals, evidently of English design
and workmanship.

"Army medals!" cried Dave, picking one up. "Why, Sam, these must have been
stolen from our soldiers!"

"Taken from our dead heroes most likely," answered the old frontiersman."
It's a curious collection, ain't it, Dave?"

"Cave of the big council," said White Buffalo, pointing to the wampum
strings and belts. "Much magic here."

"These are undoubtedly medals belonging to English soldiers and Royal
Americans," said Dave, "They should be restored to their owners or else to
the government."

"I agree with ye there, lad," answered Barringford. "An' when we leave we
can take 'em along."




CHAPTER XXVIII

AN UNDERGROUND STOREHOUSE


To the Indians, as some of my young readers must know, many wampum belts
were speech belts, usually given as a present when some great message was
delivered. Consequently, White Buffalo looked the belts over with great
interest, certain that they were connected with matters of great
importance.

"Pontiac is as powerful as White Buffalo supposed," said he presently.

Dave and Barringford did not reply, for they had pushed on to another
chamber of the cave. Here was an additional sight that made both cry out
with wonder.

"Didn't expect nuthin' like this, did you, Dave?" queried Barringford.

"Not in the least," answered the young hunter.

The chamber was not very large, but it was literally filled with rifles and
pistols of various sizes and makes, some still bright, and others much
rusted from water and dampness. To the collection were added several
swords, one with a scabbard and the others without. There were also a large
number of powder horns and bullet pouches, and other soldier equipments.

"Where did all this stuff come from?" went on Dave. "It looks like part of
an army outfit."

"Thet's jest wot it is, lad."

"And it must have belonged to our army."

"Right ag'in."

"If Pontiac was in command of the Indians at the time of General Braddock's
defeat, do you suppose he had some of the red men bring this stuff here?"

"That's a question. Either the stuff came from thet place, or else from
some other battle later on. One thing is sartin, there's a fairly good
quantity on it and it ought to be restored."

"What had we best do--tell the commander at Fort Pitt?"

"I reckon thet would be the proper thing to do, Dave."

"I suppose Pontiac thinks to use these guns some day," went on the young
pioneer. "He wanted to hide them until the time came to dig up the hatchet
once more."

"White Buffalo's brother must be right," came from the Indian chief. "In a
war the guns would give the Indians much power."

"Maybe Pontiac told the Indians he would make guns and swords by magic,"
said Dave suddenly.

"It is not impossible," returned White Buffalo gravely. "The magicians have
brought forth powder by magic."

"And so can Pontiac!" shouted Barringford, who had moved to one corner of
the chamber. "Reckon this is a bad place fer a torch," and he held back the
flame,

"What have you discovered now, Sam?"

"Five half-kegs o' powder."

As he spoke the old frontiersman pointed to a rocky shelf whereon rested
the five half-kegs, covered with a piece of heavy drugget, often used in
colonial days in place of rubber cloth.

"Full too," said Dave, after lifting one. "Sam, this stuff is worth a good
bit of money."

"Perhaps we'll git a reward if we return it to the government," was the
answer.

"It ought to be returned, whether we get a reward or not."

"Exactly as I think."

There was a narrow passageway behind the chamber and Sam Barringford
squeezed into this.

"Don't reckon I can make it," he panted presently. "Seems like I was a
leetle too hefty. Dave, do you want to try it? Might be an opening to the
outside world, an' if there is, we won't have to go through thet water
ag'in."

Taking the torch, Dave pushed into the opening, which gradually grew
smaller and smaller until he had to crawl on his hands and knees.

"Tight fit, eh?" called the old frontiersman after him.

"Yes, but it may be larger further on," answered the young pioneer, as he
continued to advance.


Fortunately the passageway was dry, so he had nothing to fear from water.
He progressed fully fifty feet, when he saw a large opening beyond.

"I'm coming to another room!" he shouted back.

But a sharp stone over a foot high barred his further progress. The stone
appeared to be rather loose, and he fancied he could push it out ahead of
him. Laying down the torch, he caught hold of the stone and soon had it
turned from its resting place.

"What are you doing?" called Barringford.

"Getting a stone out of my way."

"You jest be careful how you loosen up these stones," returned the old
frontiersman quickly. "The dirt don't seem to be none too hard, an'--"

Whatever else Sam Barringford said was lost upon Dave, for at that moment
down came a quantity of dirt on the young pioneer which almost buried him.
He attempted to back out the way he had come, but just as he was about to
move, more dirt fell in that direction, followed by half a dozen large
stones. Then, to avoid being completely caught, he pushed on ahead and by
tight squeezing forced his way into the chamber beyond.

The fall of stones and dirt was as dismaying as it was perilous. Looking
into the passageway, torch in hand, Dave saw that it was now completely
choked. To get out by the way he had come was impossible. He was virtually
entombed alive!

A shiver went over him and he called to Sam Barringford with all the power
of his youthful lungs. To his intense dismay, no answer came back, showing
that the fall of dirt and stones had been greater than anticipated.

"They'll surely try to dig me out," he thought. "But it may take a whole
day, and in the meantime--"


He did not finish, but his heart sank within him. He examined the
passageway once more and shouted as before. He fancied he heard an answer,
but was not certain.

Looking about him, the young pioneer saw that he was in a cavern not over
twenty feet square. Beyond was a tall split in the rocks which seemed to
run upwards.

"That may lead to daylight," he thought. "Anyway, I might as well try it as
stay here."

His torch was now burning so low he could no longer hold it. He looked
around for something else with which to continue the light, but nothing was
at hand. He rested the torch on a rock, and a few minutes later it
fluttered up and went out, leaving him in total darkness.

It was a truly horrible situation and Dave's heart sank like a lump of lead
in his bosom. For the time being all hope of escape appeared to be cut off.
He shouted again and again, but could get no reply.

"Of course they'll do their best to dig me out," he reasoned, "but they
have no tools, and the passageway was very small anyway. If the rocks are
wedged in, all the power they can bring to bear won't budge them."

He felt around the chamber and soon found himself at the split in the
rocks. He entered it for a distance of a few yards and then came back to
the point from which he had started.

"It would be foolish to go into that in the dark," he thought. "I might
fall into some ugly hole, or have worse luck. I'll stay here and see what
comes."

He sat down and gave himself up to his reflections. They were rather
bitter. He now realized how tired he was, and not long after this sank into
merciful slumber.

When Dave awoke all was still dark around him. How long he had slept he
could not tell, but he knew it must have been for some time, for he felt
wonderfully refreshed. Getting up, he stretched himself, and his eyes roved
around the chamber.

A single streak of light caught his eye, coming from the split he had
failed to examine. He approached the split once more and saw that the light
was stronger a short distance beyond, so strong in fact that he could see
the surface of the rocks and dirt.

"It must be morning, and that must lead to the outer world," he told
himself. "Can it be possible I have spent the whole night down here?"

The dampness had made him stiff in the joints, but to this he paid no
attention. His one thought was to reach the top of the earth again. Feeling
his way with care, he entered the split in the rocks and slowly climbed
from one projection to another. The rocks came to an end amid the roots of
a large tree, and in a few minutes more Dave was pulling himself up among
the roots and into the open air.

The glorious sunshine struck full in his face as he emerged, to find
himself on something of a sweeping hill, dotted here and there with trees
and brushwood. His heart gave a leap for joy. Inwardly he thanked God for
his safe deliverance from perils underground.

"Now to find my way back to the waterfall and let Sam and White Buffalo
know that I am safe," he told himself. "But first I had better mark this
spot, so that I can find it again."

With his hunting knife he started to make a blaze upon the tree. It was
easily done, and he turned around to make certain of the locality.

Then, like lightning from a clear sky, came an attack as sudden as it was
unexpected. Two forms leaped from behind some neighboring bushes. They were
Indians and one held a tomahawk in his hand. With the flat of this he
struck Dave a blow on the head, knocking him down.

"Don't!" gasped the young pioneer, when a second blow descended, giving him
a shock he could not withstand. He stretched out his arms, and then rolled
over on his back, senseless.

[Illustration: "'Tis one of the English," said the taller of the Indians.]

"'Tis one of the English," said the taller of the Indians, in his native
language. "We were right to set a watch here."

"And what shall be done with him?" questioned the second. "Pontiac cares
not for the scalp of a stripling."

"It shall be for Pontiac to answer," was the reply. "Bind him to yonder
tree. There may be more to come forth, like foxes from their holes."

Without ceremony Dave's limp body was dragged into a thicket and fastened
to a tree. Then the two Indians went back to renew their watch. This
continued for the best part of an hour.

At the end of that time three other Indians appeared, including
Foot-in-His-Mouth. The latter listened intently to what had happened.

"The fight is over," he said. "Two Indians are dead, and a white man and a
Delaware squaw named White Buffalo have retreated in the direction of Fort
Pitt. Let us away from here without delay, for I must report this new
happening to Pontiac."

"And the stripling, what of him?"

"Bring him along."

Dave was just returning to his senses when the Indians shook him roughly. A
scalping knife was brandished before his eyes, and he was given to
understand that he must either walk with them or suffer death.

"Where are you going to take me?" he asked, when he felt strong enough to
speak.

This question the Indians would not answer. But two of them shoved him
roughly, and he was compelled to walk to where a number of horses were in
waiting. With his hands tied behind him, and his head aching severely, he
was mounted on one of the animals, and the entire party set off northward
through the forest.

"If only Sam was here," thought the young pioneer dismally. He did not know
that a fierce hand-to-hand conflict had taken place near the waterfall, and
that Barringford and White Buffalo had barely escaped with their lives, yet
such was a fact.

The ride was a rough and hard one for Dave, and long before it came to an
end he was ready to sink into a faint from exhaustion. Every time he reeled
in the saddle one of the red men would shove him up roughly, or prick him
with the end of a scalping knife.

At last the Indians called a halt at the foot of a small cliff. They
dismounted and forced Dave to the ground, and the entire party ascended to
the top of the cliff. Here was a well-defined path, and along this they
journeyed for a short distance, coming out presently at a point where there
was a small sheet of water, fed by several brooks. On the edge of the
pond--it can scarcely be called a lake--was an Indian village containing
perhaps a hundred inhabitants. It was known as Shanorison, and here dwelt
an aged chief named Mamuliekala, looked up to by many of the red men
because he had once made a trip to Boston and to England. Mamuliekala never
ceased to tell of the wonders of the land across the ocean, but only a
handful of the red men believed all he said, contending that the English
and the rolling of the ship on the ocean had cast a spell over his mind, so
that his eyes had deceived him.

Having been brought into Shanorison, Dave was brought before one of the
under chiefs, and his captors told their tale. The talking was in a dialect
the young pioneer could not understand, and he was asked no questions. Then
one of the Indians took him by the arm and led him away.

"What are you going to do with me?" asked the youth.

"Hold white young man a prisoner," was the answer.

"What for?"

"The white young man must tell Pontiac how he came into the cave under the
waterfall."

"Did you see any other white people there?"

"Moon Head cannot answer that question," said the Indian.

In the center of the village was a small and rather dirty wigwam, and in
this Dave was placed. His hands were kept fastened behind him, and also
tied to a short post in the center of the shelter.

"If the young man attempts to escape, he will be killed like a dog," said
the Indian, on departing.

"When will Pontiac be here?" called Dave after him, but to this the red man
made no reply. He stalked away, letting the flap of the wigwam close after
him.

If Dave felt sick in body, he was doubly so in mind. The expedition to the
east had come to a sudden and unexpected termination, and what was to be
the real end of the adventure there was no telling. Certain it was that
Pontiac would be very angry when he learned that the secret he and his
followers had guarded so closely was known to the English, and Dave felt
that it might go very hard with him in consequence.

"Perhaps they'll burn me at the stake, or do something equally bad," he
thought dismally. "I must say, I wish I was out of it. I wonder if I can't
manage to escape?"




CHAPTER XXIX

PONTIAC'S TRAIL ONCE MORE


The fight between the Indians and the party under Barringford and White
Buffalo had been short and sharp. Finding they could not open the
passageway to the chamber in which Dave was, as they supposed, entombed
alive, the old frontiersman and the Indian chief had returned to the outer
world, hoping to find another entrance to the cave. In the midst of the
search the enemy had fallen upon them, and the slaughter of the Indians
under White Buffalo had occurred.

Pontiac's braves had suffered also, but to what extent Barringford and
White Buffalo could not tell. Barringford was wounded in both the thigh and
the back, but fortunately neither hurt was serious. White Buffalo received
a bullet through the forearm and a cut from a tomahawk, yet with the
adroitness of his race he managed to flee with the old frontiersman, and
both, after much difficulty, managed to elude their pursuers.

"We must return to Fort Pitt and tell the commander there of what has
happened," said Barringford, and White Buffalo agreed. Their horses were
gone, so they had to return on foot, the journey taking them two days.

Fort Pitt, it may be mentioned here, was at the time commanded by Captain
Simeon Ecuyer, a brave officer, of Swiss birth, who had served the colonies
well for years. He listened to Barringford's tale with close attention and
keen interest.

"I have suspected something of this sort for a long while," he said. "It
was known that many guns and pistols were stolen at the time of General
Braddock's defeat, and also during the battles further to the north. I will
send out a party at once, and if we can capture the Indians I will see to
it that justice is done."

"Bring along picks and spades," said the old frontiersman. "We must save
Dave Morris, if the deed is possible."

A company eighteen strong and fully armed left the fort that very noon. Two
sharpshooters were in advance, but none of the enemy put in an appearance.
Arriving at the waterfall, they found the spot totally deserted. Roaming
the forest were two of the horses and these were easily captured, and,
later on, one more animal was secured.

"Well, this beats anything I have ever seen!" declared the lieutenant who
was in command of the soldiers, after following Barringford into the cave.
"It's a perfect treasure house."

"Pray do me the kindness to lose no time in clearing out that passageway,"
responded Barringford, and under his directions the soldiers set to work
with picks and spades and various other entrenching tools to remove the
fallen rocks and dirt.

It was a hard task, but inside of three hours the way was cleared and
Barringford crawled through, followed by White Buffalo.

"Gone!" murmured the old frontiersman, with a sigh of relief. "I am mighty
glad of it."

"White Buffalo glad too," returned the Indian chief simply. "Let us look
for his trail."

Plenty of torches were at hand and also a lantern, making the rocky chamber
almost as bright as day. With ease the Indian chief traced Dave's footsteps
to the split in the rocks, and then hauled himself out through the opening
by the tree roots, followed by Barringford.

"This is the way he got out," said the old frontiersman. "But why didn't he
return to the waterfall?"

"Fight here," was the red man's answer, pointing to the footprints in the
soil. "Two Indians come up behind Dave. Come!"

They left the vicinity, and soon both reached the conclusion that the young
pioneer had been carried away a prisoner.

"But where did they take him to?" questioned Barringford.

"We must follow the trail," was all White Buffalo could answer.

A conference was held with the lieutenant, and it was decided that the
whole party should follow the trail.

"We can come back to the cave for the goods later," said Lieutenant
Peterson. "We certainly must rescue young Morris and make an example of
those who have carried him off."

It was no light task to follow the Indian trail through the woods. With all
the cuteness of which they were capable, the followers of Pontiac had taken
to a shallow stream for over quarter of a mile, and before the trail could
be discovered again night came on. They tried to keep up the hunt with
torches, but it was of no avail.

"Beaten," muttered Barringford, and his eyes grew moist. "Poor Dave! What
will become of him?"

With the coming of morning the lieutenant decided to return to the
waterfall. An examination was made, and it was found to be an easy task to
make the water flow in another direction, thus leaving the main entrance to
the cave a dry one. Without delay the things inside were removed, and
loaded on horses. In this manner everything was sooner or later removed to
Fort Pitt.

"I shall report to the authorities without delay," said Captain Ecuyer.
"More than likely you will be well rewarded for this discovery." But no
reward was ever received.

"Never mind the reward," answered Barringford. "I want to find Dave
Morris."

"At present I cannot send out another detachment, Barringford. But I will
do so in a few days."

"Then I'll take time by the forelock and let his father know what has
happened."

"I believe I should do so, were I in your place."

Barringford had had his wounds washed and dressed, and, mounted on a fresh
horse, he lost no time in riding back to the trading-post on the Ohio.
White Buffalo did not go with him, stating he would renew the hunt for the
lost trail.

It was Henry who met the old frontiersman at the stockade gate.

"What's wrong?" he questioned quickly. "Where is Dave?"

Before Barringford had time to answer, James Morris showed himself.

"Something has gone wrong!" he cried. "I can see it in your face. What is
it?"

"We had a brush with the Indians,--part of Pontiac's party," said the old
frontiersman.

"And Dave?"

"We think he was made a prisoner," went on Barringford, and then told his
story in detail.

"And you say White Buffalo has gone out again to look for the lost trail?"
questioned the trader.

"Yes. He'll find it, too, if it is to be done. I thought you'd like to
know, so that you could go out with me and the soldiers."

"Yes! yes!"

"I'd like to go myself, Uncle James," put in Henry.

"One of us ought to remain at the post, Henry. I do not like to leave it in
the hands of strangers."

"But they are not all strangers," pleaded Henry. "Some of the men we know
very well. We can leave Sanderson in charge. He knows what to do, and so
does Jadwin."

"Well, I'll see about it," said Mr. Morris.

As Barringford was hungry, a hasty meal was prepared for him, and then the
Morrises had a talk with Sanderson, Jadwin, and some of the others. As a
result, Sanderson said he would take charge of the trading-post for a week
or longer, if necessary, and Jadwin said he would also remain close at
hand, in case he was wanted.

This left Henry free to join Mr. Morris and Barringford in the hunt for
Dave, and the young pioneer was not long in preparing himself for the
expedition. Fresh horses were obtained, and the party set off early the
following morning, when the sun had not yet shown itself over the rolling
hills to the eastward.

The day had promised fair, but about noon the sky grew dark very suddenly,
and soon after this came a flurry of snow, followed by a heavy wind which
tore through the trees of the forest with a mighty roar, hurling more than
one trunk to the ground. Broken branches fell in all directions, one
hitting Henry on the head and scaring his steed so that the animal could
scarcely be controlled.

"I must say I don't like this much!" panted the young pioneer, as he reined
in the horse. "What is it, a tornado?"

"We'll have to get behind some rocks for the present," declared
Barringford, and this was done. The fierce wind continued for half an hour
longer and then subsided. More snow followed, but then came sunshine, as
bright and fair as one would wish.

"Only a squall after all," said James Morris. "But it was heavy while it
lasted."

When the party arrived at Fort Pitt they found the soldiers ready to go out
once more. But nothing had been heard of White Buffalo, which all thought
rather strange.

"Perhaps he has failed to recover the trail," said James Morris
sorrowfully. "With all his sagacity, White Buffalo cannot do the
impossible."

"Do you think it impossible to recover such a trail?" asked Lieutenant
Peterson.

"He'll find it--if you give him time enough," put in Barringford
confidently. "No Injun better nor White Buffalo on a trail."

"I believe that," said Henry. "He's as smart as they make 'em."

Two hours after this White Buffalo came in. He was plainly tired out, but
his face brightened on seeing the whites he knew so well.

"White Buffalo has found the trail," he announced. "It leads to the village
of Shanorison, where lives the old chief Mamuliekala, the Great Water Bear.
Mamuliekala and Pontiac are like brothers. They have made Dave their
prisoner."

"Do you know where Dave is now?"

"White Buffalo has not seen his white brother, but thinks Dave is at the
village, or close to it. But we must hurry, for soon Pontiac and his braves
will go northward, to the land of the Wyandots and the Ottawas."

"Will they take Dave, or kill him?" asked Henry.

At this the Indian chief shrugged his shoulders.

"Who can answer for the future?" he said briefly.

"Let us be on the way!" cried James Morris impatiently. "An hour lost may
mean much to my son!"

"Did the Indians at the village see you?" questioned Captain Ecuyer of the
Indian chief.

"No, White Buffalo showed not himself, for it would not have been wise."

While the soldiers were preparing for the new expedition, the Indian chief
was given food and drink, after which he said he felt much better. He was
provided with a fresh horse to mount, and said he would take a nap in the
saddle, a common trick even among red men of to-day. This may appear
strange to some of my young readers, but in our army it is well known that
men have slept both in the saddle and while on the march!

When the soldiers were assembled, Captain Ecuyer addressed them briefly:

"Men," said he, "you are embarking on rather a dangerous mission. I am
sorry I cannot be with you, but it is my duty to remain at the fort, for
there may be a general uprising, of which we know nothing. I expect every
man to obey Lieutenant Peterson thoroughly, and I want all to do their duty
to the uttermost. If you can avoid bloodshed do so, but do not let Pontiac
or his followers lead you into any trap. If you are needed at the fort I
shall send a messenger after you, and then you must return with all
possible speed, for, no matter what else happens, Fort Pitt must not be
taken from us."