The men gave a little cheer, and in two minutes the line of march was taken
up, some sharpshooters and Barringford leading the way, with James Morris
and Henry not far behind. Once again they turned into the mighty forest,
heading now directly for the village of Shanorison. Mr. Morris was very
anxious to push ahead with all speed, but the soldiers would not go beyond
their regular gait.

"Let us go ahead," said he at last, to Henry. "I cannot stand this
suspense."

"I'm willing enough," answered his nephew. "Only let us take Sam along."

This was done, and despite the protests of the sharpshooters they were soon
out of sight. A little later White Buffalo joined them, having taken the
nap already mentioned.

The trail was just as difficult to follow as before, and more than once
they had to halt in perplexity, for the thickets seemed impassable.

"You must have had your own troubles in following the trail," said Henry to
White Buffalo, in admiration.

"Slow work, but sure," said the Indian chief, with a little smile. "White
Buffalo is growing old--he cannot follow like one whose eyes are bright."

At last they reached the cliff. Not wishing to abandon their horses, they
made a detour, coming up to the Indian village by what might be termed a
back way. In a thicket they tethered their steeds and once on foot each
inspected his weapon to see that it was ready for use.

"Don't want any trip-up this time," said Henry, to the flint-lock he
carried. "You have played me tricks enough. After this I want you to behave
yourself."

It was decided that James Morris and White Buffalo should go slightly in
advance--the Indian chief to point out the different parts of the village.
Luckily no dogs were near to betray their approach.

To their amazement they found the village practically abandoned, only the
women and children and a few very old men being present. The old chief,
Mamuliekala, was likewise gone.

"What can this mean?" questioned James Morris.

"It means that the braves have flown, as fly the birds at the coming of
winter," answered White Buffalo.

"Let us set a watch and make sure."

Barringford and Henry were called up, and all moved slowly from one
outskirt of the village to another. Then they marched forward boldly,
arousing several sleeping dogs, who began to bark loudly.

A cry went up from one of the squaws who had a pappoose in her arms, and at
this half a dozen squaws and two old men showed themselves.

"Where is Mamuliekala, the Great Water Bear?" asked White Buffalo sternly.

"He has gone on a journey," answered one of the old men, his eyes shifting
uneasily as he spoke.

"And where is the white prisoner who was here?"

The old man hesitated and looked for aid from the other aged Indian.

"There was no white prisoner here," said the second old Indian.

"Are you so old that you cannot remember," said White Buffalo sternly. "The
white prisoner was here. Where has he gone? Answer without delay!"

"Long Knife knows not. He has been sick and asleep. When he awoke
Mamuliekala and many of the braves were gone."

This was all the old man would say, and the other aged Indian said he had
been away in the woods, digging roots and herbs, for three days. The
stories were probably not true, but nothing was to be gained by
cross-examining the pair, and White Buffalo did not try it.

"Let us search the village, and question the squaws," said he, and this was
done without delay. At first but little could be learned, but at last they
made out that Pontiac had been there, and also Foot-in-His-Mouth, and both
had gone off during the night with Mamuliekala, taking the braves and some
young white person with them. One squaw said that Foot-in-His-Mouth had
said the white young man was a runaway soldier and that Pontiac meant to
take him to the Fort at Detroit and claim a reward for the service.

"It was a trick--if the story is true," said James Morris.

"True or not, they certainly have taken Dave away," answered Barringford.
"And that being so, all we can do is to follow them."




CHAPTER XXX

IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY


To Dave, in the dark and foul-smelling wigwam, the time passed slowly. His
mind was busy, wondering what the Indians meant to do with him. That they
were enraged over the discovery of the underground storehouse was very
evident. He heard them talking earnestly among themselves, but what was
said, or what conclusion was reached, he could not ascertain.

Late in the evening an Indian girl brought him something to eat and a jug
of water. She was rather handsome, with her glossy hair and deep dreamy
eyes, and Dave wanted very much to question her. But she could speak no
English, and merely shook her head and smiled when he spoke to her.

"I don't think she would try to harm me," he mused. "Wonder if I could get
her to aid me?" But this last question remained unanswered, for the young
pioneer never saw the Indian maiden again.

Having slipped to the bottom of the post, he fell into a troubled sleep,
from which he was rudely awakened by a light kick in the side. An Indian
stood there, gazing at him speculatively.

"White young man stand up and come along," grunted the red man, and
released him from the post.

With stiff arms and shoulders, and knees that did not wish to move, Dave
walked from the wigwam. It was early morning, and near a small camp-fire
were assembled Foot-in-His-Mouth, Mamuliekala, and several others. They
were eating the first meal of the day, and Dave was given a fair share of
the food. When he started to talk, he was told to keep silent, and after
that saw it would be useless, for the present, to say more.

The meal over, the Indians brought forth a number of horses, and soon the
whole party were leaving the village, being followed by a number of braves
Dave had not seen before. It was cold and raw, and the wind blew freely and
more than once came a flurry of snow.

By the middle of the afternoon the party reached another village called
White Bear Spring, tradition telling that a white bear had once had his den
close to the spring which fed the brook that was at hand. There was but a
small collection of wigwams here, and the place seemed more than half
asleep when Dave and his captors came in.

While on horseback the young pioneer's hands had remained free, so that he
might guide the steed through the forest and along the river bank. But now,
when he dismounted, his hands were again bound behind him.

"White young man try to run away, Indian kill," said Foot-in-His-Mouth,
with a frown, and after that Dave was allowed to move around the camp-fire
as pleased him. But if he tried to edge toward the boundary of the village
he was at once ordered back in a manner that left no room for dispute.

"They don't intend to let me get away," he thought dismally. "And yet, what
good will it do them to carry me off?"

It was easy to ask himself this question, but no answer could be reached,
and at length he had to give it up. He noticed that some Indians were sent
out as guards and he knew that the red men were fearful that somebody had
followed them.

The night was passed at White Bear Spring, and the following day the
Indians split up into two parties, one moving back to the southward and the
other continuing to the north. With the latter contingent went Dave and
Foot-in-His-Mouth. The Indian had a long talk with Mamuliekala, and Dave
saw a string of wampum passed from the old magician to the other. He also
heard Pontiac's name mentioned.

A hard journey on foot now followed. The trail was over rocks and uneven
ground, and more than once the young pioneer slipped and fell. The Indians
were in no good humor and often pushed and struck him, urging him forward.
They did not stop for dinner, and the day's tramp was not concluded until
an hour after sunset, when they reached a small valley, wherein flowed a
stream on its way to Lake Erie.

The coming of Foot-in-His-Mouth to this place was hailed with delight by
the Indians who had erected a village there. Here were a number of huts and
log cabins, showing that the red men had gone into winter quarters. Dave
was thrust into a hut and told to make himself comfortable on a bundle of
robes that were both dirty and full of vermin. He was given a scant supper,
and in the morning his breakfast was no more substantial, and even worse
cooked.

Several days followed in which nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Dave
was occasionally given the freedom of the camp, at which times two braves
were set to watch him. At other times, and during the night, he was forced
to keep in the hut, while a red man, young or old, sat on guard at the
doorway.

Winter was now coming forward rapidly, and one morning, he awoke to find
the ground covered with snow to a depth of several inches. Some additional
Indians had come in during the night, and the village was full of life in
consequence.

Among the newcomers was Flat Nose, the rascal who had aided Jean Bevoir and
Jacques Valette to make the raid on the Morris pack-train. Flat Nose
listened with interest to all the other red men had to tell him, and looked
at Dave when the young pioneer was eating his dinner. Then Flat Nose left
the camp in a hurry, stating that he would be back the next day.

Twelve miles away was a trading-post, which in years gone by had been
erected by a Frenchman named Camboyne. The Frenchman had been slain by some
Indians, and for three years the post had been deserted, many white hunters
and many red men believing it to be haunted. But some Indians who had not
heard the story of ghosts came along once and stopped at the post, and
after that Indians and whites came and went as pleased them. But everybody
was afraid to do any harm to the place, or to take permanent possession,
and there the dilapidated building stood until about the time of the
Revolution, when a windstorm razed it to the ground.

To the so-called haunted post went Flat Nose, where he joined half a dozen
of his followers of the Wanderers.

"What has become of our white brothers, Bevoir and Valette?" he asked of a
fellow warrior, in his native tongue.

"They have gone away, but will be back before the sun is down," was the
answer. "Why does Flat Nose ask the question?"

"I bring news of importance. The Wyandots have in their village the son of
James Morris, he who has settled upon the Ohio."

"A prisoner, or to trade?"

"A prisoner. Where he was captured they will not tell, but Flat Nose thinks
it must have been miles from here."

"Was Pontiac of the Ottawas at the village?" asked the other Indian.

"He was looked for by sunset. That is why I have hurried to see Jean Bevoir
and his men. They may wish to question the Wyandots and Pontiac concerning
young Morris."

"And what about word to fall upon the whites and slay them?"

"The time is not yet ripe, such was the word given to me by
Foot-in-His-Mouth. Many of the Indians are not yet ready for the war."

"Bah! we shall never be ready!" cried the other red man in disgust, and
turned away.

For the rest of the day Flat Nose waited impatiently for the coming of
Bevoir and Jacques Valette. When at last he saw them approaching he ran to
meet them.

As best he could he related what he had seen and heard at the Indian
village. Jacques Valette listened in moody silence, but ere Flat Nose had
finished a crafty look came into Jean Bevoir's face.

"Ha, it will be a master stroke!" he cried, in French. "A master stroke--if
only I can get this Dave Morris in my power! Flat Nose did well to tell
me."

"Perhaps we shall burn our fingers" growled Jacques Valette, who was none
the brighter for having drank several glasses of liquor that afternoon.

"No, no, Jacques! Not if we keep our wits about us. I must find out why
they have made him their prisoner!"

"And what think you to do then?" asked Valette, exhibiting some interest at
last.

"Think? Can you not see? If Pontiac will only turn the youth over to our
tender mercies, we shall hold all of the Morrises in our power."

"I see not how."

"Jacques, you are growing stupid. 'Tis as clear as glass. We are becoming
hard pressed. Glotte has disappeared and Bergerac has deserted us and gone
over to the enemy--"

"He should have his neck wrung for him!" muttered Valette.

"I agree. He has most likely told them everything. The English are in
power--"

"But not for long, Jean, not for long!"

"About that I am not so sure. The news from France would seem to point to
the fact that our country will give up everything for the sake of peace.
Half of the red men are already the friends of the English, and more will
follow, if France does nothing to aid Pontiac and his followers."

"Pontiac is strong--he will strike a terrible blow when all his plans are
complete."

"I think that myself. But he is not yet ready, and when he is, he may find
the English too strong for him. And if Pontiac fails, what will become of
us? We shall be hunted down, smoked out, tracked to our final stopping
place--and hanged!"

"You are a true comforter, upon my word!"

"I am not one to throw dust into my own eyes, Jacques. Can I not see what
is taking place around us? Even many of our old friends shun us, not only
our own countrymen, but also the Indians. They see how the wind is
blowing."

"With this Dave Morris in your power, what will you do?" questioned Jacques
Valette after a pause, during which Jean Bevoir began to walk up and down
nervously.

"With him in our power, we shall be safe. Yes, we may even dictate terms to
James Morris, the father. He will do anything to save his son--his only
child."

"You mean that you will make him promise not to prosecute us?"

"Yes, and more, perhaps."

"What more?"

Jean Bevoir closed one eye suggestively.

"Leave that to me, Jacques. The plan is not yet clear in my mind. But one
thing is certain: James Morris will do anything to save his son from harm."

"But what of that Henry Morris, and that old hunter, Barringford?"

"Both will do as James Morris wishes, for one is his nephew and the other a
very close friend of the family."

"You may not be able to handle Pontiac."

"That, of course, remains to be seen. It is possible he may be glad enough
to get rid of the prisoner. The game is worth the trying," went on Jean
Bevoir. "And if Pontiac will not give Morris up, I have another plan," he
added suddenly.

"What is that?"

"Time enough to speak of it if Pontiac refuses my request, Jacques. But I
must not lose time here. Every hour may count. Will you go to the village
with me, or remain with Flat Nose?"

"I will go along," answered Jacques Valette; and soon the wily pair set out
on their mission.




CHAPTER XXXI

HELD AS A SPY


Two hours after Flat Nose left the Indian village several Ottawas came in
to announce the coming of Pontiac. At once there was a fresh stir and
everything possible was done to give the great chief a proper reception.
When he appeared the head of the Wyandot tribe went forward to greet him,
and both sat down in front of the main log cabin of the village to smoke
and to talk.

The conference lasted but a short quarter of an hour, and then Pontiac had
himself conducted to the hut in which Dave was a prisoner.

"The white young man is sorry to be a prisoner," he said slowly, and gazing
searchingly into the young pioneer's eyes.

"I am sorry," answered Dave simply. "I do not understand it. Are not the
English and the red men now at peace with each other?"

"'Tis true, but the white young man has not treated the Indians fairly."

"What have I done that was wrong?"

[Illustration: "The white man is sorry to be a prisoner," he said slowly]

"The white young man has the eyes of a hawk; he has seen into places that
are dark and secret. Such sights are not good for him."

"If you mean the cave under the waterfall, let me ask, why did you have
those guns and pistols, and the powder, that belong to the English, stored
there?"

"The English owe the poor Indians much--they will not pay. Hence the
Indians thought it no more than fair to keep the goods."

Not wishing to anger the great chief too much, Dave did not reply to this.

"The white young man has the eyes of a hawk and the cunning of a fox,"
continued Pontiac. "He is no trapper, no hunter, no trader, but a spy."

"A spy!" cried Dave, a light breaking in upon him. "So you take me to be a
spy?"

"And Pontiac is right. 'Tis useless to deny it. The young man would spy
upon the Indians and then go and tell the great English general of what he
has seen. He is a snake in the grass, close to the trail of Pontiac and his
followers."

"I am not a spy, Chief Pontiac. My father is a trader and I help him at his
trading-post on the Ohio, that is all."

Pontiac waved his hand. "The wind can blow a lie away, but the truth is
like a rock that the wind cannot stir. Pontiac's followers have watched the
white youth, and he knows."

"Chief Pontiac is mistaken, I give him my word upon it," answered Dave. And
then he added. "What do you propose to do with me?"

"That remains to be seen. In war times the English and the French put a spy
to death. It may be that Pontiac will be more merciful. But first the white
young man must tell all he knows."

"Of what?"

"Of the secrets of the Indians, and of their plans."

"I know next to nothing. I understand but little of the language."

"And what of the plans of the English?"

"You mean of our soldiers?"

"Of the soldiers and of those who command them."

"I know absolutely nothing about our soldiers. I was in the army at the
fall of Montreal, but after that I was mustered out and I went back to my
regular work on the farm, and to hunting and fishing."

"You were at the fort at Niagara."

"Yes, I was there, too, before I went down the St. Lawrence."

"And still you say you are not a spy? The fox is sly, but not so sly as
Pontiac supposed." "I tell you, once for all, I am not a spy, Chief
Pontiac."

The celebrated Indian chief drew himself up and gave Dave a long, earnest
look. He evidently saw that the young pioneer meant what he said. He was
about to speak, to offer Dave a chance to return home. But then he
remembered what had happened at the underground storehouse, and hesitated.

"Pontiac will see the white young man again," he said briefly, and left as
abruptly as he had come.

The conversation made Dave more uneasy in mind than before. He had not
thought that the red men would consider him a spy. If they continued to do
that, it might go extra hard with him in the near future. Pontiac had said
that the French and the English put a spy to death, but he had not added
that the Indians frequently took a spy and tortured him most cruelly, yet
such was a fact. Only two years before a spy had been caught by the Indians
near the Great Lakes, and it was a matter of record that the red men had
placed him upon the ground flat on his back and built a fire upon his
breast, leaving him to burn slowly to death! The thought of this sent a
cold shiver down Dave's backbone.

"I hope they don't torture me!" he muttered. "Oh, anything but that!" There
was no consolation in the thought that Pontiac had said he might be more
merciful than the French or English. He knew how cruel all red men could be
when their evil passions were aroused.

When Pontiac came away from his interview with Dave, he was beyond a doubt
in a quandary. His plans against the English were many, and evidently he
was much worried, thinking Dave knew much more than was the fact. It had
galled him to let the summer pass without striking the cherished blow, but
he had great hopes for the summer to come; and history has already recorded
what he did shortly after the time of which I am now writing.

Pontiac was in deep thought when a young brave came to him and said two
French hunters wished to speak to him. Thinking they might have news of
value, he consented to the interview, and was soon in conversation with
Jean Bevoir and Jacques Valette.

Of Bevoir Pontiac had heard several times. He knew the French trader to be
a two-faced rascal, and probably he despised him accordingly, for, judged
solely by Indian standards, Pontiac was an upright and honest man. His
duplicity was only that of the red man when on the war-path. In his
personal dealing he would not have cheated a fellow Indian or a white man
out of a farthing.

Jean Bevoir was not long in coming to the point.

He said he had heard that Dave Morris had been made a prisoner by the
Indians. If Pontiac wanted to get rid of the young fellow he, Bevoir, would
take him off his hands and be glad to do it.

"But what will my French friend do with this Morris?" asked Pontiac.

"Leave that to me," answered Bevoir. "I'll take good care that he does not
bother you again."

By skillful questioning Pontiac managed to learn a great deal of what was
in Bevoir's mind, and he saw at once that the Frenchman was indeed an enemy
to the young pioneer. Then Valette began to talk, saying Morris should
never cross the path of the Indians again, once he and Bevoir got their
hands upon him.

"Pontiac wishes him to live," said the chief shrewdly.

"He shall not die," said Bevoir. "But we shall take care that he comes not
to this neighborhood again."

Pontiac said he would think it over. He felt certain that Bevoir and
Valette were up to some foul deed, and was half inclined to send them from
the village.

"While Pontiac thinks it over can I speak to the prisoner?" asked Jean
Bevoir.

After some hesitation Pontiac allowed him to see Dave, and soon the two
were face to face in the hut. Pontiac wished to set a spy to listen to what
was said, but another matter claimed his attention.

"Jean Bevoir!" cried Dave. "What brings you to this place?"

"Not so loud!" answered Jean Bevoir in a whisper. "Morris, I am your
friend, believe me."

"My friend?" ejaculated the young pioneer.

"_Oui!_ Listen! The Indians wish to kill you. I wish to save you. If I
do that, will you--you--"

"What?"

"Will you promise to go to your father and tell him I have saved you?"

"Why do you want that?"

"We are now enemies. I wish to be friends. He will be a friend to one who
saves his son's life."

"Perhaps, Bevoir." Dave's head was in a whirl. "But this,--of you! I can
scarcely believe it! And then that attack on the pack-train!"

"Was Hector Bergerac's work! I can prove it! Come, shall I save you or
not?"

"Yes, save me if you can," muttered Dave.

"And you will tell your father of it?"

"Yes."

"Then listen. Here is a sharp hunting knife. See, I will stick it between
the logs, so that you may cut your cords with it. To-night when you hear
the owl hoot, free yourself and steal from the hut, if you can. Follow the
hoot of the owl and I will be there with swift horses."

"And then?" asked the young pioneer.

"We will away, straight for your father's trading-post." Jean Bevoir paused
a moment. "It may be I can persuade Pontiac to give you up. If I can, so
much the better. But if not, remember what I have told you. If Pontiac asks
you if you will go with me, say yes."

"I may be shot down if I try to escape in the dark."

"You must take the risk." Bevoir came closer. "They mean to burn you at the
stake, to-morrow at noon,--I heard the talk an hour ago," he went on, in a
low tone.

"I'll escape if I can," said Dave; and a moment later Jean Bevoir left him.

The young pioneer's thoughts were in a tumult. He did not believe in
Bevoir, yet what the man said might possibly be true. He did not wish to be
tortured by the Indians.

"I'd rather run my chances with Bevoir," he told himself. "I'll have the
knife, and perhaps I can pick up a gun or a pistol. He may be sick of
hiding himself, and he knows father will treat him kindly if he really does
save me."

Dave had not seen Jacques Valette, and he fancied he was to meet Jean
Bevoir alone. It would be dark, and perhaps he could slip away from the
Frenchman as well as from the Indians. Anyway, the plan appeared to be
worth trying.

Pontiac had expected to remain at the village over night, but at sunset a
messenger came for him to meet some other chiefs several miles away. He
departed hastily, leaving Dave in charge of Foot-in-His-Mouth and the
Wyandots.

When Jean Bevoir saw Pontiac depart he was glad that he had spoken to Dave
about escaping. He felt certain the young pioneer would fall into the trap.
He and Valette left the camp together, and at once summoned Flat Nose and
the other Indians who were in their employ.

"Once let me get Dave Morris in my power and all will be well," said Jean
Bevoir exultantly. He was in such high spirits he could scarcely wait for
night to come,

"Where will you take him?" questioned Valette.

"To the westward, where I know we shall be safe."

"And after that?"

"I shall negotiate with James Morris," chuckled Bevoir. "Oh, but I shall
bring him to terms!"

At last it grew dark. There was a promise of a storm in the air and soon
the snow began to come down. This did not suit Bevoir, for it would make
tracking easy, but as this could not be avoided, he determined to make the
best of it. Should it continue to snow, the tracks made during the night
would soon be obliterated.




CHAPTER XXXII

A FIGHT AND A VICTORY--CONCLUSION


The news that Dave was not at the Indian village of Shanorison was
dismaying to Mr. Morris, Barringford, and Henry, for they had expected
beyond a doubt to find the captive there.

"All we can do is to continue on the trail," said James Morris promptly. "I
shall not turn back until he is found."

"Nor I," added Henry promptly.

"We're bound to catch 'em some time," came from the old frontiersman.
"Don't you think so, White Buffalo?"

"White Buffalo is sure he can overtake those who are fleeing," answered the
chief. "But it may take many days."

Lieutenant Peterson was consulted and he said he would follow the trail for
one day longer.

"After that, I will have to turn back," he continued. "I have strict orders
to go but so far from Fort Pitt, and no further. You see we may be needed
there, if the redskins contemplate an attack." "That is true," said James
Morris. "I should like to have you with us, but orders are orders.

"I will detail two of my best shots to go with your party, Mr. Morris. They
are men who are used to fighting the redskins in their own way, and will be
of great assistance."

The day passed slowly, but when the sun went down no Indians had been seen.
The little party went into camp under the shelter of some trees, and in the
early morning Lieutenant Peterson set out on the return to Fort Pitt,
leaving behind the two sharpshooters as he had promised.

"And now to go it alone!" cried Henry. "Perhaps we'll do better than with
so many soldiers behind us."

"We can certainly continue the hunt with less chance of being observed,"
answered his uncle.

Henry was very impatient to overtake those who had Dave in charge, but the
trail was an uncertain one, and once they made a false move which took them
some miles out of their true course. This false turn made White Buffalo
very angry, and he berated himself roundly for the mistake.

"White Buffalo is getting old," he declared. "He is like a squaw on the
trail. He had better go and live with the old women of his tribe."

"Never mind, White Buffalo, we are all liable to make mistakes," said the
trader kindly.

At last the Indian chief announced that they had reached fresh tracks, and
that they were close to another village. Soon after that Barringford came
in and announced that he had seen the trail of some white men, evidently
hunters and trappers.

"We must be careful now," said the old frontiersman, "If we ain't, we may
run into a reg'lar trap."

The party came to a halt, and soon after that it began to snow, and by the
time it was dark the snow covered the ground to the depth of an inch and
more.

"That ends trailing," said Barringford. "Hang the luck anyway!"

As the snow continued to come down, they made themselves comfortable under
some immense spruce trees whose branches almost touched the ground. Here
supper was had, and then Henry and Barringford, accompanied by White
Buffalo; moved up to the top of a small hill which was close at hand,
hoping to discover something from that point of vantage.

"I see a camp-fire!" cried Henry, who was the first to gain the high
ground.

"Yes, an' it ain't more 'n quarter o' mile from here, nuther," came from
Barringford. "Tell ye what, boys, I think we've come about to the end o'
the trail; eh! White Buffalo?"

"White Buffalo thinks his brother Sam is right," was the slow answer. "'Tis
the camp-fire of the Wyandots, and no other camp-fire is near," he added,
sweeping the entire distance with his sharp eyes.

"Shall we go forward at once?" questioned the young pioneer eagerly.

"We'll see what your uncle says," returned Barringford.


It did not take them long to consult with James Morris, and as a result,
the whole party moved onward once more, with the Morrises, Barringford, and
White Buffalo in advance.

This movement occurred on the very night that Dave meant to try for
liberty. The knife in the logs was still there, and all unknown to the
Indians who were holding him a prisoner, he backed up to it and cut the
thongs that bound his hands behind him.

Outside of the hut it was snowing furiously, and the Indian guard did not
attempt to pace up and down as usual, but sat under a shelter of bark,
smoking and dozing. The Indians did not think that their prisoner would
attempt to escape, for on all sides of the village lay the immense forest,
inhabited by many savage animals and now fast filling with snow. Unarmed,
and unguided, a single person in that region would soon become lost, and
most likely perish from hunger.

At last Dave thought it time to make a move. He had not yet heard the
signal agreed upon between himself and Jean Bevoir, but he did not wish to
wait for this, being even more anxious to escape from the Frenchman than
from the red men.

With the hunting knife in his hand, he moved cautiously to the rear of the
hut. Here was a small opening which he had discovered the day before.
Through it he wormed his way, coming out through the dead leaves and the
snow on the outside. A dozen steps away was a fringe of brushwood, and
hither he moved, with the silence of a ghost.

As he gained the bushes the hoot of an owl, or rather the imitation
thereof, came to his ears. It was the signal, and he knew that Jean Bevoir
must be close at hand.

Instead of going directly toward the signal, Dave attempted to go around
it. His object in doing this was to get behind Bevoir, obtain one of the
horses the Frenchman had mentioned, and be off before Jean Bevoir could
stop him. He knew he would run the risk of being shot should the Frenchman
still be treacherous, but hoped that the darkness of the night would favor
him.

Again came the hoot of the owl, in the same place as before. Dave was
moving around to the southward, trying to pierce the darkness. Between the
thick branches of the trees and the snow he could see next to nothing, and
almost before he knew it he had stepped into a hollow and gone down a
distance of several feet. His knee struck a rock, hurting him severely and
causing him to give a gasp of pain.

As Dave was rising a form appeared before him, and an instant later he was
confronted by Flat Nose. The Indian came forward before the young pioneer
could think of withdrawing.

"White young man here!" cried Flat Nose softly. And he followed this with
the call of a night-bird, thrice repeated.

"I want nothing of you!" exclaimed Dave, and started to retreat, when Flat
Nose caught him by the arm. But Dave struck out with the hunting knife, and
the Indian fell back with a wound in his shoulder. Before he could recover,
the young pioneer was running off as swiftly as his hurt knee would permit.

In a moment more Dave heard, not only Flat Nose, but also several others in
pursuit. A call reached him in the voice of Jean Bevoir, but to this he
paid no attention. He knew that his only safety lay in escape.

But while he was running from Flat Nose and Jean Bevoir he was making
directly towards Jacques Valette, and in less than a minute the two came
face to face. Valette had his gun handy and the moment the young pioneer
appeared he raised the weapon.

"Stop!" he roared. "Stop, or I shoot!"

"Do not let him escape!" cried Jean Bevoir, in French.

"I have him safe enough," came from Valette.

Covered by a gun in the hands of such a villain as Jacques Valette, Dave
did not know what to do. The fellow looked ready to shoot, and even anxious
to pull the trigger.

While he was meditating, Jean Bevoir, Flat Nose, and several Indians of the
Wanderers' tribe came up. The young pioneer was immediately surrounded, and
Flat Nose caught him around the breast from the rear, pinning his arms to
his side. The hunting knife was taken from him, and he realized at once
that further resistance would be useless.

"Ha! so you think to escape, not so?" sneered Jean Bevoir. "I was afraid it
would be so. But now you are my prisonair, ha! ha!"

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Dave, as calmly as he could, but
with a sinking heart.

"You will learn that later, Dave Morris."

"You said you would take me back to my father's trading-post."

"Did you believe zat? Ha! ha! you are a leetle fool! I shall take you to
the west, far away, _oui_! Then your father shall come to terms, not so?
He will do anything to geet back his only son."

Like a flash the full realization of Jean Bevoir's plot forced itself upon
the young pioneer. He was truly in the hands of the enemy, and it was safe
to say that Bevoir would not treat him any better than had Pontiac, if as
well.

"Supposing I won't go with you?" he said.

"You shall go with us," replied Jean Bevoir. "You are my prisonair and must
do as I say. Jacques, bring up the horses."

Valette turned away to do as bidden. As he did so there came a shout from a
distance, followed by a peculiar Indian-cry, telling all in the village
that the white captive had escaped.

"We must be quick!" said Bevoir, in French. "There is not a moment to
spare."

Jacques Valette brought up the horses with all possible speed. There was
one for Dave, and he was hoisted in the saddle, with his hands bound behind
him. Then the whole party turned directly westward, toward a trail well
known to Flat Nose and his followers.

It was now snowing furiously, and the trail left by the party was quickly
covered. In the village the alarm continued, and several of the Wyandots
and the red men left behind by Pontiac began a diligent search for the
missing prisoner. In the party was Foot-in-His-Mouth, and before long he
found the right trail and came in sight of Jacques Valette, who was in the
rear.

He had hardly raised his cry of discovery when Valette turned in the
saddle, took aim through the falling snow, and fired. His bullet went true,
and Foot-in-His-Mouth pitched headlong and lay still forever.

"They are coming!" cried Valette, as he went forward once more. "We shall
have to fight for it!"

"No! no! we must escape through the snow!" ejaculated Jean Bevoir. He had
not dreamed that the situation would take such a serious turn. "Come!
come!"

On they went, faster than ever. The branches of the trees struck Dave in
the breast and in the face, and once he was almost thrown from the saddle.
They were passing down into an open space, where the snow was blowing
furiously. Jean Bevoir hailed the falling flakes with satisfaction. They
would surely cover the trail which so badly needed obliteration.

Beyond the open space was another patch of timber. But here the trees were
further apart, so progress was easier. On and on they went, with the
Wyandots and Ottawas still in pursuit. The horses were almost out of
breath, yet were urged to do their utmost by the Frenchmen and the
Wanderers, who knew that if the pursuers came up to them a fierce pitched
battle would surely result, with perhaps a number killed and wounded on
each side.

Dave was tugging at the cords which tied his hands, and now to his
satisfaction they came loose, leaving him free. He wondered what he had
best do. Should he risk a rush to the right or the left? That would place
one set of enemies in front of him and one behind. But all might pass on,
leaving him to shift for himself.

While he was deliberating a shout rang out ahead, followed by a rifle shot.
Then, as if in a dream, he heard a yell in Sam Barringford's voice:

"Stop, Jean Bevoir, you everlastin' rascal! Stop!"

"Sam! Sam!" he screamed, and rode forward. "Sam, is it really you!"

"Dave!" came in the voice of Henry. "Dave! What can this mean? What are you
doing here?"

The cry came from the left, and Dave turned his horse in that direction.
More shots rang out, and he saw an Indian go down. Then Jacques Valette
turned toward the young pioneer.

"You shall not get away!" cried the rascally French hunter, and raised his
gun. But before he could use the weapon James Morris fired upon him, and
Valette pitched into the snow, shot through the thigh. Then Dave went on,
and in a moment more found himself among his friends and relatives.

There was no time to answer questions. The Wyandots and Ottawas were coming
up swiftly, and once more the Wanderers and Jean Bevoir attempted to
outdistance them. Jacques Valette also attempted to remount his horse, but
ere he could do so a Wyandot reached him and struck him down again. The
blow crushed the Frenchman's skull, and he died before sunrise.

"We must get out of this," said Dave, when he could speak. "The Indians are
after us! If we stay here we may be caught between two fires."

"Come with me!" came from White Buffalo. "White Buffalo knows a good hiding
place."

James Morris' party turned back, and with Dave by his father's side, all
rode through the forest to the southward. Here they reached a small brook,
backed up by rugged rocks and a thick patch of timber. In the timber they
halted, and in a short while the snow, now whirling in every direction, hid
their trail completely from view.

Listening intently they heard many shots at a distance and knew that a
fierce fight was on, between those from the village and the party under
Jean Bevoir. The fighting kept on for a good half-hour, then gradually died
away to the northward.

Safe in the shelter near the brook, Dave told his story, to which his
father, Henry, and the others listened with great interest.

"You can be thankful that we came up as we did" said James Morris.

"I am thankful," said the young pioneer. "I never want to see Jean Bevoir
and his rascally companions again."

"Perhaps Jean Bevoir is dead," put in Henry. "That shooting must have meant
something."

"I brought down Jacques Valette," continued Mr. Morris. "But I don't
believe I killed him."

"I hit Bevoir in the arm," came from Barringford. "He'll remember it a
while, I'll warrant."

"It was all Pontiac's fault," came from Dave. "I think the authorities
ought to bring him to book for it."

"Perhaps they will," answered James Morris seriously.

Let me add a few words more and then bring to a close this story of pioneer
life, and of adventures while "On the Trail of Pontiac."

The snowstorm that started that evening proved a heavy one, and it was not
until nearly a week later that the Morris party managed to get back to Fort
Pitt. Here the commandant listened to what they had to relate with close
attention and said he would report to the proper authorities at the first
opportunity. But means of communication were now almost entirely cut off;
and in the end little or nothing was done to make Pontiac and his followers
explain their actions, matters of greater importance coming up in the
meantime.

When they felt able to do so, Dave and Barringford continued on the trip to
Will's Creek, taking White Buffalo and some of his followers with them. The
others of the party returned to the trading-post, anxious to learn if
matters there were quiet. They found no cause for alarm, but a few days
later two trappers came in with news that nearly all of the Bevoir party
had been killed, Bevoir himself escaping after being wounded both in the
arm and the side.

"The Wyandots and the Ottawas are very angry at the Wanderers," said the
hunter who furnished the news. "They say the Wanderers must hereafter keep
to the hunting grounds in the far west. The Wyandots say there was some
mistake made about Dave, and they are going to bring in, next spring, the
goods they got away from Bevoir, and which were stolen from the
pack-train."

"I trust they keep their word," answered James Morris. "But I reckon that
fifty pounds is gone for good."

"I think they will keep their word," said Sanderson, who knew many of the
Wyandots well. "They want to be at peace and they'd be all right if only
the Ottawas would leave them alone."

"Pontiac will never rest until he has united the Indians in a regular war
against the English," said James Morris, and how true his words were will
be shown in another volume of this series, to be entitled, "The Fort in the
Wilderness; or, The Soldier Boys of the Indian Trails." In this volume we
shall meet all of our old friends again, and learn what more was done
toward establishing the trading-post on the Ohio, and of how Jean Bevoir
again crossed the path of the Morrises and made himself more odious than
ever.

The home-coming of Dave was made a joyous time at the Morris cabin. His
Aunt Lucy came out to greet him warmly, followed by Rodney and little Nell.
The twins stood in the doorway, gazing shyly at him and Sam Barringford.

"I am so glad you are safe!" said Mrs. Morris, as she kissed her nephew.

"And I'm glad myself," answered Dave, but she did not fully understand all
he meant until he had told his story.

"Reckon as how this is my family," came from Sam Barringford, as he took
one of the twins in each arm. "No news of 'em, is thar?" he asked.

"No news, Sam," said Rodney. "Reckon they are yours right enough." But
Rodney was mistaken, as later events proved.

"Well, I'll try to give 'em a father's care," went on the old frontiersman.
And he gave each twin a half-dozen hugs and kisses, at which both crowed
loudly. They were the pets of the household and all loved them dearly.

"You can't imagine how good it feels to be at home once more," said Dave,
later on. "The trading-post is all well enough, but it can't touch a place
like this."

"If all goes well, I am going out to the trading-post next year," came from
Rodney. "I am now as strong as any of you."

"Do not talk of spring yet," said Mrs. Morris. "We have still a long, hard
winter to face."

What she said was true, and winter started in earnest the very next day,
snowing for the best part of a week, and then turning off bitterly cold.
Yet firewood was to be had in plenty and the cabin was kept warm and
comfortable for all.

"We've had some great times this past season," said Barringford, as he
warmed himself by the cheerful kitchen blaze. "Great times, eh, White
Buffalo?"

The Indian chief, who had come in to smoke a friendly pipe, nodded. "My
brother Sam is right," he said. "But all has gone well, so let us be
thankful."

"Yes, let us be thankful," came from Dave.

And they were thankful; and here let us leave them, wishing them the best
of luck for the future.




THE END