Books: On the Trail of Pontiac
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Edward Stratemeyer >> On the Trail of Pontiac
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"I think Jacques Valette must be about as bad."
"More 'n likely--blackbirds generally flock together. But I don't reckon
that Valette is the schemer Bevoir is--he don't keep sober enough."
"I've often wondered if it wasn't Bevoir who robbed Valette that time."
ventured Dave. "I think he'd be equal to it."
"Like as not--or else Valette dropped his money on the trail an' never knew
it."
CHAPTER XXIV
SOMETHING ABOUT SLAVES AND INDIAN CAPTIVES
Two days later found the young hunters and Barringford about forty miles
further to the northwest of the trading-post, at one of the most beautiful
spots it is possible to imagine.
To the westward was a small stream running silently through a wide stretch
of prairie land, the banks covered with bushes and plants. To the eastward
was the edge of the mighty forest, a few giant trees standing out
picturesquely in the foreground. Under the trees lay the sprawling roots,
covered in spots with light and dark green moss, as soft to tread upon as
the richest velvet carpet. At one side of the camp was a small series of
rocks, and from them gushed forth a spring of cold water, running over the
rocks and into the tall grass out of sight.
The weather had remained perfect, and the last twenty-four hours had been
productive of sport not to be despised. They had found a beaver dam and
taken twelve beavers, and had also laid low two deer and a cougar, or
panther. The last-named animal had been found asleep by Barringford, and a
single bullet had dispatched it almost before the beast awakened.
"Thet's what I call dead-easy huntin'," Barringford remarked when the
panther was found to be dead. "No fight nor nuthin'."
"You won't often surprise the game like that," replied Henry.
The two young pioneers had surveyed the panther with interest. The fur,
even at this season of the year, was fairly good, and they had assisted
Barringford in dressing it, and it now hung on a branch of the nearest
tree.
"What a farm one could have here," declared Dave, as his eye roved over the
stretch of prairie. "Not a single tree to cut down or stump to burn or drag
out."
"And just look at the soil," came from Henry. "As black and rich as any I
ever saw. A fellow could raise anything he wished without half trying."
"It is certainly beautiful ground," put in Barringford, who sat in the
shade, smoking a red clay pipe with a reed stem. "An' some day you'll see a
plantation here true enough."
"How well the Indians could live, if they would only till this soil,"
continued Dave. "But you can't get them to raise anything but a little
maize and tobacco."
"They are natural-born hunters--just like I am," said Henry with a short
laugh.
"Sam, shall we find that buffalo we've been talking about?"
The old frontiersman blew a long stream of smoke from his mouth ere
replying. "Will it rain afore Sunday, Dave?" he drawled.
"What has that got to do with it?"
"Nuthin'; only you know as much about thet as I do about the buffalo. Ef he
comes this way, we'll git him, an' if he don't, why, we won't git him,
thet's all," and the old frontiersman continued his enjoyment of the pipe.
"You said buffaloes like such prairie ground as this," declared Henry.
"So they do, so they do; but most of the buffaloes thet war here air
gone--either killed, or lit out to the westward. Ye see," went on the old
hunter, "buffaloes air like elk--they need lots o' elbow-room. I've been
told thet a young buffalo will travel fifty miles an' think nuthin' of it."
"I don't think I want to try running down a young one then," answered
Henry. "I'll try an old one that can't travel over three or four miles,"
and this caused a general laugh.
They had spent the entire morning on the edge of the prairie, keeping
somewhat out of sight so as not to disturb any game that might appear. All
had enjoyed an unusually hearty dinner, and were quite content to take it
easy during the middle of the day. A faint breeze was blowing which was
exceedingly pleasant, for the morning had been a trifle warm.
"I wonder what the folks are doing just now," mused Henry.
"I think I can tell you," answered Dave. "Your father and Rodney are
getting ready to go back to the field to work, your mother is clearing off
the table, and little Nell is playing with the twins. Perhaps they are
wondering what we are doing at the trading-post, too."
"Them twins is what gits me," came from Barringford. "It's mighty funny I
can't find out who they belong to, ain't it?"
"It is in one way, Sam; but you must remember that many women and children
have been lost in the last five or six years. This war has been simply
awful in that respect. The Indians don't think anything of carrying them
off into captivity."
"Well, why should they, when you come to think of it?" came from Henry.
"Oh, Henry!"
"Now, hold on, Dave, let me reason it out for you. The whites hold hundreds
of black slaves, don't they?"
"Yes."
"Well, to an Indian it is no worse for a red man to hold a white person as
a captive than it is for a white man to own a slave. It's a poor rule that
won't work both ways."
"The blacks are naturally slaves--ain't good fer nuthin' else," put in
Barringford, who had some old-fashioned ideas on the subject.
"I don't believe that, Sam," came from Dave. "Some black people are wiser
than you think. If they had the chance to rise, they'd do it."
"I heard tell that some men believe in freeing the blacks," came from
Henry.
"Some on 'em don't want to be free," said the old frontiersman. "Jest look
at the slaves belongin' to old Lord Fairfax, and to the Dinwiddies, and to
the Washingtons. Why, they all think it is an honor to belong to them
families. They wouldn't go if ye druv 'em away."
"Yes, I know, for I have talked to some of 'em myself," said Dave. "The
Washington blacks are particularly faithful. If they were set free I don't
suppose they'd know what to do with themselves."
"They'd starve," said Barringford.
"But to come back to where we started from," went on Dave. "There is a
difference between being a white man's slave and being an Indian captive.
The whites don't kill their slaves or torture them."
"They torture some of 'em," replied Henry. "I've seen a negro whipped till
it made my blood boil. Of course the majority of 'em are treated fairly
good."
"A darkey who has a good home on the plantation has nuthin' to complain
on," said Barringford. "His master feeds him, clothes him, and takes care
of him when he's sick. In nine cases out of ten he's better off nor he
would be if he had to shift fer himself."
"I shouldn't wonder if we had trouble some day over this slave question,"
came from Henry. "If they bring too many over, the slaves may rise up some
day and try to wipe the whites out."
"Don't you fear for thet, Henry; they ain't equal to it, nohow."
"But if they join with the Injuns?"
"They'll never do thet nuther, an' you know it. A good darky ain't got no
opinion at all o' a redskin--they hate 'em wuss nor p'ison."
How long the fruitless discussion might have lasted there is no telling,
but during a brief pause Henry chanced to glance across the prairie and
uttered an exclamation.
"Something is moving yonder. What is it?"
Barringford leaped to his feet and gave a long, earnest look.
"Buffaloes!" he said laconically. "Two on 'em!"
"Can we catch them?" queried Dave.
"We can try, lad. But keep under cover. They seem to be coming this way."
All three hurried back to the foremost trees in the forest, carrying their
guns as they did so. Luckily the camp-fire had died out, so there was no
smoke to alarm the animals. Further in the forest the horses were tethered,
having had their fill of grass two hours before.
"Better see if the horses are ready for use, Henry," said Barringford. "We
may have to do some tall riding for our game."
"I will," answered Henry, and ran back without loss of time. The three
steeds were quickly saddled, and then the young hunter brought them forward
in a bunch, still, however, keeping them out of sight of the prairie.
It was now seen that the buffaloes were indeed moving in the direction of
the camp. The two that had at first appeared were followed by eight or ten
others, who kept in a bunch several rods behind the leaders.
"Oh, what a chance for big game!" whispered Dave. "If only we had two or
three guns apiece!"
"Never mind, we have our pistols," came from Henry. "They'll count for
something at close quarters."
"Whatever you do, don't all fire at once," cautioned Barringford. "One
bullet may not be enough for one of the buffaloes. I'll fire first, and if
he don't fall then Henry can fire, and then Dave."
Anxiously they waited for the big game to come within gun shot. The
buffaloes moved slowly, and to Dave it appeared an age before even half the
distance was covered.
"Oh, pshaw! They are turning to the northward!" cried Henry a few minutes
later.
"Wait, they may turn this way again," said Barringford, but they were
disappointed; the buffaloes continued to move in a direction that was
parallel to the edge of the forest.
"We'll lose them unless we ride after them," said Dave; and a minute later
all were in the saddle, leaving their camping outfit behind them.
They kept well in among the trees, riding as hard as possible, until half a
mile was covered. Then Barringford slipped to the ground and crawled
forward to the open.
"We are gaining on 'em," he announced. "Another ride like thet an' we can
go after 'em on the prairie."
Once more they urged their steeds forward. The way was full of rocks and
dangerous tree-roots, but the horses were growing used to such traveling
and rarely made a misstep. Twice they crossed little creeks which flowed
into the larger stream beyond. Then, without warning, they reached a
portion of the forest so thick with young trees that further progress in
that direction was impossible.
"Nothing left but to take to the open and ride like the wind," announced
the old frontiersman. "Are ye ready, lads?"
"Yes," came from both.
"Then follow me!"
Barringford turned his horse toward the open prairie, and the others came
close behind him. Away they went at what to an ordinary observer would have
seemed a breakneck speed. The little ride through the forest had warmed up
the horses, and the rest of the morning had put them in fine condition for
a good run. On they sped, as if they enjoyed it fully as much as did their
riders.
"Don't make any noise," came from Barringford. "The nearer we get without
bein' discovered the better."
At least a third of the distance toward the buffaloes was covered when
suddenly the herd stopped short. They had heard the dull thud of the
horses' hoofs, and now looked around to see what the sound meant. Then came
a wild snorting and throwing of shaggy heads, and away went the herd due
west and making the best speed of which their sturdy limbs were capable.
"They have found us out!" shouted Barringford. "Now to catch 'em--or miss
'em!"
"I don't intend to miss 'em," came warmly from Henry. "But I think you
ought to give me the first shot if I get nearest to 'em."
"All right, Henry, so be it."
No more was said, for, with the pace such a hot one, nobody cared to waste
breath in conversation. Far ahead the buffaloes were running as gamely as
ever, being spread out somewhat in a semicircle, with the leader, a heavy
old fellow with an extra shaggy head, a little in advance.
Slowly, but surely, Henry gained on both of his companions. His steed was
the best of the three, and if Henry was a natural-born hunter and trapper
he was likewise a good horseman. Bending low over the horse's neck he spoke
words of encouragement, to which the animal responded to the best of his
ability.
Thus mile after mile was covered, and still the buffaloes kept on as
before. They were now coming to a locality where the prairie was broken up
into little hummocks, with here and there gopher holes that were
exceedingly dangerous.
At last all three of the hunters saw one of the buffaloes go down. One leg
had gone into a gopher hole and become broken, and although the animal
arose and tried to run, it was soon overtaken by Henry.
"Finish him off, Dave!" yelled back the young hunter. "I'm going to see if
I can't run down another!" And he kept on as before.
Dave heard the cry. He could not make out what was said, but he understood,
and riding up close to the hurt buffalo, he let the animal have a bullet
directly in the head. It was a fair shot, and with a lurch the beast
staggered a few feet and then fell with a heavy thud on the prairie.
"Good for you, Dave!" cried Barringford. "That makes number one. Now let us
finish him and see if we can run down some more on 'em."
CHAPTER XXV
THE RESULTS OF A BUFFALO HUNT
The brief stop made by Dave and Barringford had allowed Henry to increase
his lead until now he was almost out of sight of those behind him. The
prairie was growing rougher, and soon the buffaloes reached a small creek,
bordered in spots with trees and brushwood. Into the creek they plunged
boldly and scrambled up the opposite bank. Henry came after them, and now
another level stretch of prairie was encountered at least a mile across and
several times that in length.
The buffaloes were gradually turning to the northward once more, and by
keeping straight for them Henry cut off much of the distance he would
otherwise have been compelled to cover. He soon saw that they had changed
their course because of a river they were afraid to swim, for it was
shallow and the mud on the bottom was sticky and treacherous.
"They certainly know what they are doing," thought the young hunter. "Go
along, Buzzy! We must catch them somehow!"
Buzzy heard the words and leaped forward in a fresh effort. As he did this
Henry looked behind him, and was surprised to learn that both Dave and
Barringford were nowhere in sight.
"Can they have given up the chase?" he asked himself. It was possible, but
not at all probable. "Perhaps they had more trouble with that fallen
buffalo than they expected," he thought.
At last Henry saw that the animals ahead of him were beginning to slacken
their speed. The leader still kept on with three or four others, but the
rest were dropping further and further behind. One in particular, quite a
big beast, too, lagged more than any of them, and Henry soon spotted this
for his own.
"I'll have you yet, old fellow," he told himself, and looked to see if the
priming of his gun was still as it should be.
Once more the buffaloes made a turn to the westward, following the bank of
the river just mentioned. The beast Henry had picked out was a dozen or
more rods to the rear, and this distance was increasing rapidly. Evidently
his wind had given out. Suddenly he stopped short, whirled around, and made
straight for the young hunter!
Henry was not taken greatly by surprise, and had been on the lookout for
such a trick. As the buffalo came closer he pulled the hammer of his gun.
To his chagrin the weapon refused to go off, acting exactly as it had done
when he was after the big elk.
"What luck!" he muttered, and then had to pull his horse to one side. The
animal was now nervous, and in a twinkling it balked and sent Henry flying
headlong to the ground! Then, without waiting to note what was happening,
the horse set off on a run whence it had come.
To face an angry buffalo had been bad enough while on horseback, but on
foot it was doubly perilous. For the instant after he picked himself up
Henry knew not what to do. Then, in sheer desperation, he raised his rifle
once more and pulled the trigger as before.
The weapon now spoke up and the bullet hit the bison (for such the American
buffalo really is) fairly and squarely between the eyes. Down went the
beast as if struck with a heavy club. But the skull was thick and the shot
was by no means fatal.
As soon as the gun was empty Henry retreated. He knew better than to use
his pistol until it became absolutely necessary to do so. With all possible
speed he reloaded the larger weapon.
The young hunter was just fixing the priming and looking to the flint when
the bison came up with a snort and charged as before. There was blood
trickling down his face and he presented a truly ferocious sight. Henry
waited until the beast was but a few paces away, then aimed for the right
eye once more and fired.
This time both gun and aim did not disappoint him. The bullet passed into
the very brain of the buffalo, and he pitched over with a thud that could
be heard for a long distance. Once or twice he pawed the prairie grass, but
that was all.
Henry did not examine his prize at once. A glance convinced him that he had
nothing more to fear in that direction, and then he looked for the other
buffaloes. All were out of sight. He reloaded his gun and then began to
search for his horse.
To his chagrin the steed was also among the missing, nor could he catch
sight of the animal anywhere, try his best. Then he looked for Dave and
Barringford. They had not come up, and where they were there was no
telling.
He was alone on the broad prairie with the dead buffalo. More than this,
the chase had occupied considerable time, and he saw with some alarm that
both night and a storm were coming up. Already in the west dark clouds were
beginning to crawl up toward the orb of day. In a few minutes more the sun
was obscured, and the bright stretches of the prairie took on a somber
tone.
"Well, I'm certainly in a pickle," he thought. "I wonder where that horse
went to, and how long it will be before Dave and Sam come up?"
Had there been a tree handy, Henry would have mounted it to take
observations. But not even a hillock was near, and he had to content
himself with remaining on the level, using his eyes to the utmost.
"If they don't come soon, I suppose I'll have to spend the night here," he
mused. "That won't be very pleasant, especially if any wolves happen to be
around."
Hoping every minute that Dave and Barringford would appear, Henry examined
the dead buffalo. The prize was a big one, and it must be admitted that the
young hunter was much elated as he surveyed it.
"For a first buffalo, I'm sure that isn't so bad," he thought. "The folks
at home will be surprised when they hear about it."
Swiftly the storm came closer, and presently the scattering drops of rain
came down, followed by a steady shower. With nothing to protect him, he was
soon wet to the skin.
Knowing there was scant danger of a prairie fire during a storm, Henry took
out his hunting-knife and cut up a small portion of the buffalo. Then he
dug out the dry grass from under the game, lit his tinder-box, and started
up a fire, feeding it both with grass and with some buffalo fat. The latter
made quite a heavy smoke, and he hoped that this would attract the
attention of the others.
But when fully an hour had gone by, Henry grew both hungry and uneasy.
"Something serious must have happened," he mused. "They wouldn't leave me
like this."
He set up a yell, using the utmost power of his strong lungs for that
purpose. Only the patter of the rain answered him.
Crouching over the tiny fire, he cooked himself a bit of the buffalo meat
and ate it. Then he walked over to the river and procured a drink. On every
side he could see nothing but the prairie, with the stream running through
it like a huge serpent. Close to the water's edge were a few bushes, and
some of these he pulled up with ease, with which to replenish the fire.
To tell the truth, Henry felt very lonely. Often had he been out in the
forest at night, but the present experience was new to him. Had there been
some rocks at hand, or a single tree, he might have made himself feel at
home, but this immense stretch of flat land, water-soaked and becoming fast
wrapped in the darkness of night, was truly depressing.
"Give me the woods every time, for an outing," he said to himself. "But,
now I am here, I reckon I've got to make the best of it."
Returning to the river, he pulled up what was left of the bushes. These he
did not put on the fire, but propped up against the broad back of the
buffalo, forming a little shelter, into which he crawled in an endeavor to
protect himself from the rain. Night was now on him, and he felt certain
that he would have to remain in the spot until morning.
"One thing is certain, I'll never forget this buffalo hunt," he murmured as
he turned in. "It's not proving as much fun as I thought it would be."
For a good two hours Henry crouched in the little shelter, trying his best
to go to sleep. The rain continued to come down, but fortunately it was not
cold, so he suffered but little discomfort on that account. At last his
head fell forward on his breast and he became oblivious to all around him.
Towards one o'clock in the morning the rain ceased and a brisk wind came up
from the southwest. As the stars began to show themselves, the wind carried
to the keen nostrils of several wolves the scent of the buffalo carcass.
The wolves were hungry, and with little yelps of satisfaction they trotted
off toward where the game lay.
It did not take the beasts long to get within a dozen yards of the dead
buffalo. Several were about to leap forward to plunge their fangs into the
cut flesh, when they made the discovery that a human being was present. At
once a howling of dismay arose on the night air.
The howl awoke Henry with a start. For the moment he could not imagine what
had awakened him, but, with the true instinct of the hunter, he reached for
his gun and also felt to see if his hunting knife was where it should be.
"Wolves," he told himself, and set up a sudden yell. At the sound of his
voice the beasts retreated into the darkness and began to yelp violently.
They were much disappointed, for they had expected to have a rare feast on
the big carcass lying before them.
"I'll have to stir up that fire, that's certain," thought the young hunter,
and he made haste to use his tinder-box. But grass and bushes were too wet
to ignite, and in a few minutes he had to give up the idea.
In the meantime the wolves had ranged themselves in a semicircle before
him, continuing to howl as dismally as ever. One especially large beast
came a little forward, showing his fangs viciously.
"Get back there!" cried Henry, and the leader of the wolves retreated for
the moment. But then he came closer than ever, and the others followed.
Picking up one of the bushes, Henry threw it at the pack and all set up a
wild yelping. Away they sped into the darkness, and he fancied they were
gone. But this did not last. They came back howling with additional
loudness, and drew closer and closer, until it looked as if the largest
would certainly leap for the young hunter's throat.
Henry waited no longer, but, raising his musket, fired at the leader of the
wolves. With a snarl the beast sprang into the air and whirled over and
over in his death agonies. The struggle carried him further away from where
Henry stood, and without loss of time the youth reloaded his weapon, so
that he might be prepared for another attack.
The sudden fall of the leader disconcerted the other wolves for the time
being, and it was fully five minutes before they came forward as before.
Henry half expected them to eat the dead wolf, but they did not touch the
body.
"Reckon they mean business," thought the young hunter, setting his teeth
hard. "They want either the buffalo or me! And they shan't have either--if
I can help it!"
He yelled once more at the beasts, but this time they merely halted,
showing that the sound of his voice did not alarm them as it had previously
done. Then, like a flash, one leaped for Henry's throat.
Crack! went the rifle again, and this wolf also fell, shot through the
throat. The wound was serious, but not fatal, and with gleaming teeth and
eyes that blazed with fury the beast gathered himself for another spring.
On he came, but Henry knew enough to leap to one side. Not wishing to use
his pistol, excepting as a last resort, he drew his hunting-knife, and,
watching his chance, plunged it into the wolf's shoulder. Down went the
beast, and a second stroke of the blade finished the creature.
Scarcely was the second wolf down when all the others appeared to come
forward in a bunch. Bang! went Henry's pistol, and a third wolf was struck
in the breast. Then the youth caught up a bush and whirled it into the
beasts' faces. But some got behind him, and one snapped at his
hunting-shirt and another at his leather leggings. It looked as if in
another minute he would be down and killed.
CHAPTER XXVI
STRANGE INDIAN MAGIC
"Well, where in the world can Henry have ridden to?"
It was Dave who asked the question. He sat on his horse, peering forth in
all directions through the storm and the oncoming darkness. Beside him was
Barringford, equally anxious to learn what had become of their companion.
Killing the first buffalo had not proved easy, and they had spent more time
over the game than they had anticipated. But a bullet from Dave's pistol
had finished the big creature, and then the pair had looked around for
Henry, to find that he had vanished.
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