Books: On the Trail of Pontiac
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Edward Stratemeyer >> On the Trail of Pontiac
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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.
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