Books: On the Trail of Pontiac
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Edward Stratemeyer >> On the Trail of Pontiac
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In the early morning came a change. The wind went down and there was a
heavy fall of snow which kept up steadily for many hours. By the time Dave
and Henry arose the snow was several inches deep on the doorstep, where it
had previously been swept clean.
"Traveling for Sam Barringford will certainly be bad," remarked Rodney, who
was already at work, blowing up the fire for his mother. "If this keeps on,
it will be a couple of feet deep by nightfall."
As there was but little to do that morning, Dave and Henry took their time
in dressing. After breakfast they set about cleaning the wild turkeys and
the rabbits. The feathers of the turkeys were saved and also the rabbits'
skins, for all would come in useful, sooner or later, around the cabin
home.
"The wind is rising once more," remarked Joseph Morris in the middle of the
afternoon, after a trip to the cattle shed, to see that the stock were
safe. "It is blowing the snow in all directions."
The boys had been out, trying to clean a path to the spring, but found
their labors unavailing. So they filled a cask which stood in the pantry
with water, that they might not fall short of this necessary commodity
should they become completely snowed in.
Nightfall was at hand, and the wind was whistling more fiercely than ever,
when Henry chanced to go to the door, to see if the snow was covering the
cattle shed.
As he looked out he heard a faint cry. He listened intently and soon the
cry was repeated.
"Somebody is calling for help!" he exclaimed to the others.
"Where?" asked Joseph Morris quickly, and reached for his hat and
greatcoat.
"I think the call came from yonder," answered the son, pointing in the
direction.
"Was it Sam Barringford's voice?"
"I couldn't make out."
"Perhaps some traveler has lost his way," put in Rodney.
"We can go out and see," said Joseph Morris. He went to the doorway. "This
way!" he shouted. "This way!"
"Help!" came back faintly. "Help!"
"We're coming!"
Joseph Morris was soon out of the house, and James Morris followed him.
Without delay Mrs. Morris lit the lantern and hung it outside of the
doorway, that they might see their way back, and also placed a candle in
the window. The fire was stirred up, so that the one in trouble might be
warmed up and given something hot to drink.
With the snow swirling in all directions around them, it was no easy matter
for Joseph Morris and his brother to move forward to the spot from whence
the cry for help had proceeded. In spots the snow lay three and four feet
deep, and to pass through some of the drifts was out of the question.
"Sam, is it you?" called out James Morris presently.
"Yes!" was the feeble answer.
"Where are you?"
"Here, by the old split hickory. Jest about lost my wind, too."
"We'll soon be with you," answered James Morris.
There was a row of brushwood to the south of the split hickory tree, and in
the shelter of this the Morrises moved forward as rapidly as possible. The
keen wind cut like a knife, and they knew that it was this which had
exhausted the old frontiersman they were trying to succor.
Almost blinded, and nearly out of wind themselves, they at last reached the
split tree, to find Sam Barringford crouched behind a mass of the
snow-laden branches. He had a large pack on his back and also a bundle in
his arms.
Sam Barringford was a backwoodsman of a type that has long since vanished
from our midst. He was between fifty and sixty years of age, tall, thin,
and as straight as an arrow. He wore his hair and his beard long, and his
heavy eyebrows sheltered a pair of small black eyes that were as
penetrating as those of any wild beast. He was a skilled marksman, and at
following a trail had an instinct almost equal to that of the red men with
whom he had so often come in contact. He was dressed in a long hunting
shirt and furs, and wore a coonskin cap, with the tail of the animal
hanging over his shoulder.
"Winded, eh?" remarked Joseph Morris laconically.
"Why didn't you throw down your packs and leave 'em?"
"Couldn't leave this 'ere pack nohow," returned Barringford, nodding at the
bundle in his arms.
"Why not? Nobody is going to steal it tonight, I reckon."
"Taint that, Joe; the bundle's alive."
"What!"
"Babies--two on 'em, too."
"I vow!" put in James Morris. "Babies! Give them to me and I'll carry 'em
to the house. Joe, you give Sam a lift, if he needs it."
James Morris took the precious bundle, while his brother relieved the old
frontiersman of the pack on his back and took the latter's arm. The return
to the cabin was made without delay, James Morris getting there some
minutes before Joseph managed to arrive with Barringford clinging to his
arm.
"Sam has brought a couple of babies, Lucy!" said James Morris, as he rushed
up to the fireside and proceeded to open the bundle in his arms.
"I do declare!" gasped Mrs. Morris. "Babies! Where did he get them?"
"I don't know, but--Oh!"
The bundle had burst open, and there to the astonished gaze of all gathered
around were presented to view two little fat and chubby boy babies, each
about a year of age.
"Oh, the dear little things!" cried Mrs. Morris, snatching up one of them
and hugging it to her breast. "Are you alive?"
For answer the baby boy set up a faint cry and this was immediately
answered by a similar cry from the other baby. Then arose a grand chorus
which left no doubt of the facts that the babies were alive and that each
possessed a good pair of lungs and full knowledge of how to use them.
"Warm them up, James, while I get them some pap," said Mrs. Morris.
"Oh, the nice little babies!" put in little Nell, crowding close to touch
the soft and somewhat cold cheeks. "And such pretty eyes, too, and such
soft hair! Mamma, I think they are just too beautiful for anything!"
While Mrs. Morris was preparing some pap and some warm milk Joseph Morris
arrived with Sam Barringford, and proceeded to make the old frontiersman
comfortable. The water was already boiling in the big iron pot, and
Barringford was given a glass of hot liquor which soon made him feel like
himself once more. Later still he was served with a hearty meal, which he
ate as if famished.
"Great babies, ain't they?" he said. "Beats all creation how I found 'em,
too."
"So you found them?" put in Rodney. "Where?"
"On the road about three miles from this place--close to where the
Chelingworth cabin used to stand."
"Did you find them in the snow?" queried Dave, with deep interest.
"I did an' I didn't. Ye see, they was wrapped in the bundle an' the bundle
was tied up to a tree limb."
"And left there all alone?" cried Mrs. Morris, who was busy feeding the
little ones.
"It was a case of necessity, ma'am. The man who had had the children had
done his best by 'em, an' he couldn't do no more," returned Sam Barringford
gravely.
"Tell us the particulars, Sam," said James Morris.
"I will. I was coming along the trail, fightin' my way as best I could in
the teeth of the wind, an' feelin' bitter cold a-doin' of it, when I came
to a spot where there had been a fight between a man, a horse, and some
wild beasts--wolves, most likely. I couldn't git the straight of it at
fust, but at last I figured out that the horse had gone into a hole, broke
his leg, and pitched the man out on his head on the rocks. The man had had
the babies in a bundle, and to keep 'em from gettin' too cold had put 'em
in the tree instead of on the ground, or else he did it to save the babies
from the wild beasts.
"The wild beasts had done their bloody work well, and man an' horse had
been torn limb from limb. The man's skull was crushed, and it and part of
the horse lay in a nasty hole, an' that's what makes me think both had the
accident. The man had emptied his two pistols and used his knife, but it
wasn't no use. The fight was ag'in him from the start."
"Horrible!" murmured Mrs. Morris, while little Nell and some of the others
shuddered.
"I didn't notice the bundle in the tree at fust, but while I was takin' in
the awful sights afore me I heard a strange sound. 'Sam Barringford, thet's
a wildcat,' sez I to myself and swung my gun around putty quick. But it
wasn't no wildcat at all, but them babies beginning to set up a howl. Maybe
I wasn't taken back. It war the greatest amazement ever overtook me,
barrin' none!" added the old frontiersman emphatically.
"Was there anybody else around?" asked James Morris.
"Not a soul. I looked everywhere, an' tried to git a shot at some of the
wild beasts, but they had gone clean an' clear. Then I made up my mind the
best to do war to get them babies to some shelter, or they'd freeze to
deth. I didn't know ef other folks around here war to hum, so I made for
this place. When I got to the split hickory I war so tuckered out I set up
the yell you heard."
"Did the man have anything with him besides the babies?" asked Rodney.
"No bundle. But he had his pistols, the knife, a gold watch, some gold and
silver, and some other things which I didn't pick up because of the snow
an' the wind. Here are the things I did bring along," and Sam Barringford
brought them forth from a bag he had carried and laid them in a pile on the
table.
CHAPTER IV
SEARCHING FOR CLEWS
The others gathered around and surveyed the articles Barringford had
brought along with keen interest. The money amounted to two pounds and six
shillings, some in Spanish coin, but mostly in English. The pistols were
English weapons, but the knife was such as could be bought at any frontier
town in the colonies. The watch was a large, open-faced affair, and on the
dial was marked, Richard Gardell, Maker, London, 1742.
"Hard to tell if he was an Englishman or a colonist," mused James Morris.
"What of his clothing, Sam?"
"Almost torn to ribbons by the wild beasts."
"We'll have to go back to the spot as soon as the storm clears away," said
Joseph Morris.
"You didn't find anything with the man's name on it?" came from Dave.
"Nary a thing, lad. But my search wasn't any too good, remember," answered
Barringford.
"As soon as I saw the babies I started for here with 'em."
"Each has a locket around its neck," came from Mrs. Morris suddenly.
"Perhaps they will give some clew."
"I trust they do," answered her husband. "That man may have been their
father or otherwise only a servant sent to take them to some place. But, be
that as it may, we must discover where the little ones belong."
"Oh, let us keep them!" burst in little Nell "I want some little brothers
to play with!"
"Hush, dear!" came from the mother. "Mayhap the mother of these little ones
is this moment mourning for them and wondering where they can be."
The lockets were small, oval affairs, rather hard to open until a thin
knife blade was inserted between the two parts of each. One contained a
miniature of an old lady in court dress and the other a portrait of an
elderly gentleman, with powdered wig and gold-rimmed spectacles. The face
of each was full of kindness and nobleness.
"Two fine old folks, I'll warrant," came from Joseph Morris.
"More than likely the grandparents of the little ones," returned his
brother.
"The lockets seem new," said Rodney. "Perhaps they were christening
presents, or given to the babies on their first birthday."
"The babies look very much alike and seem of an age," said Mrs. Morris, who
had by this time fed them all they cared to eat. "I doubt not but that they
are twins."
"Just what I was thinking," said Henry. "You had better remember which
locket belongs to each, or you may get 'em mixed up."
"Mercy on us! I never thought of that!" exclaimed his mother. "Let me
see,--yes, the first locket came from this one," and she hastened to
replace it.
"There is a slight difference in their looks," said Dave, after a close
survey of the two tiny faces. "One has a rounder chin than the other and a
flatter nose."
"Dave is right," answered his aunt. "But the difference is not very great."
"Will you keep the babies for the present?" questioned Sam Barringford. "I
don't know what to do with 'em, I'm sartin."
"To be sure we will," said Mrs. Morris. "Poor dears! if it was their father
who was killed, it may go hard with them."
The matter was talked over during the meal and for two hours afterward, but
none could reach any conclusion regarding the identity of the little
strangers. All agreed that the best thing to do would be to look for more
clews as soon as the weather permitted.
There was a large Indian basket in the cabin, in which Dave and Henry
usually brought in kindling for the fire. This was emptied and cleaned and
in it was made a comfortable bed for the babies to sleep on. Having
satisfied their hunger and become thoroughly warm both slept soundly, nor
did they awaken until early morning.
By sunrise the storm was practically over, although a few hard particles of
snow still whirled down in the high wind. Joseph Morris said they had
better wait an hour or two longer for the wind to go down, and this was
done.
"Can I go along?" asked Dave eagerly. "I'm sure I won't mind the walk at
all."
"I'd like to go, too," added Henry; and when the party started it consisted
of the two youths, their fathers, and Sam Barringford.
The men took turns at leading the way and breaking open the trail, no mean
task when in some spots the snow lay to a depth of four and five feet. They
kept as much as possible in the shelter of the trees and bushes, where the
drifts were not so high. The sun, shining clearly, made the scene on all
sides a dazzling one. Not a sound broke the stillness, birds and beasts
being equally silent.
It took over an hour to reach the ruins of the Chelingworth cabin--one of
the first erected in that territory and burnt four times before it was
finally abandoned. As they passed the ruins Sam Barringford came to a halt.
"Listen!" he said briefly.
All did so, and at a distance heard a sudden yelping, which gradually
increased.
"Wolves!" cried Henry.
"You are right," answered the old frontiersman. "Reckon they have come back
to finish their work."
"Let us drive them off," put in Dave, with a shudder. "If there is anything
left of the man, we ought to give him a decent burial."
"Yes, lad, I agree; but there ain't much left but bones."
All pushed forward and soon reached the spot where Sam Barringford had made
his strange discovery. Five wolves were close by, sniffing eagerly through
the snow, and more were in the rear.
"I've my shot-gun," said Dave. "Shall I give 'em a dose?"
"Yes," answered Barringford, and taking aim at two of the foremost wolves,
the youth pulled the trigger of his weapon. The report was followed by a
mad yelp of pain, and both wolves went down, one dead and the other badly
wounded. The other wolves then ran off with all possible speed.
[Illustration: The report was followed by a mad yelp of pain]
"A fair shot, Dave!" cried the old frontiersman, and striding forward he
dispatched the wounded wolf with his hunting knife. "Doin' almost as well
as Henry now, ain't ye?"
"Not quite as well as that," was Dave's modest answer.
The new fall of snow had covered all traces of the tragedy recently enacted
at the spot, but the Morrises had brought along a pair of shovels and a
broom, and soon the party was at work, clearing away the snow as Sam
Barringford directed.
The remains of man and horse were at last uncovered, and then began an
earnest search for some clew which might lead to the identity of the
unfortunate person.
"Here is a gold ring," said Henry presently, and held it up.
Joseph Morris took the ring and examined it with care. There was an
inscription inside, but it was so worn he could not decipher it.
They also brought to light several pieces of clothing, torn to tatters as
Barringford had said. The horse's saddle was likewise there and the reins
and curb, but absolutely nothing which gave either name or address.
"This looks as if we were stumped," said Henry, pausing in his labor of
digging away the snow.
"Right ye are," came from Barringford. "Too bad! I'd like to know who them
twins belong to."
"Reckon they'll belong to you, Sam," said James Morris, with a faint smile.
"Me! Well, I vum! An old man like me, all alone in the world, with twins!
What'll I do with 'em? Answered me thet, will ye?" And he scratched his
head in perplexity.
"We can keep them for the present," answered Joseph Morris. "Indeed, I
don't think my wife will care to give them up in a hurry. She said this
morning the youngsters had taken a tight hold of her heart."
"Ef I had a hum of my own--" began Barringford. "But no, 'tain't right--I
ought to find out whar they belong."
"Perhaps you can find out all about them at Bedford, or Fort Loudan, or
Annapolis, or Philadelphia," put in James Morris. "Certain it is they
belong somewhere."
They had now come to the end of their search and, as there seemed nothing
more to do, prepared to return home. The ground was too hard to permit of
the burial of the remains of the stranger, and they were placed between
some rocks, with other rocks over them, to keep off the wild beasts. Then
Joseph Morris marked the nearest tree with a large cross and a question
mark--a common sign of those days, showing that somebody unknown had met
death in that vicinity.
When the Morris cabin was again reached they found the babies wide awake
and cooing contentedly. Mrs. Morris had dressed them up as best she could,
and she was holding one while Rodney held the other. Little Nell was
dancing around the floor in wild delight.
"Oh, I just love those babies so much!" cried the little miss. "I want
mamma to keep them, if nobody comes to take them away."
"Don't want to send them to the poorhouse, then?" questioned her father
quizzically.
"To the poorhouse?" she repeated scornfully. "No, indeed!"
"What a fate for such darlings!" murmured Mrs. Morris. "No, Joseph, hard as
times may be, I cannot consent to send these little ones away to live on
charity, even if the authorities were willing to take them--which I doubt."
"Never fear, Lucy, I do not intend to be hard on the twins. And you must
remember, Sam here has a claim on them."
"Oh, Uncle Sam," began little Nell--she often called him uncle--"won't you
please let me keep the babies?"
The question was so gravely put the old frontiersman had to laugh outright.
"A great question truly," he made answer. "And I don't know if they are
mine yet."
"But if nobody calls for them--"
Barringford scratched his head.
"In thet case, I reckon as how I'll have to adopt 'em. Don't see nuthin'
else to do."
"One thing is certain, they shall stay here for the present," said Mrs.
Morris, and that important question settled, she turned over the baby she
held to Dave, while she bustled about to prepare a late dinner.
CHAPTER V
A LIVELY ELK HUNT
The storm just passed proved to be the last one for some time to come, and
in a week the trails leading from Will's Creek to the eastward became more
or less broken. The trail to Fort Bedford was likewise opened, and Sam
Barringford made a journey hither and was gone eight days.
The others awaited his return with great interest, but one look at his face
when he arrived convinced all that he had failed in his mission.
"Can't find out anything about them twins," he said, getting down to what
was in their minds without delay. "The man was seen around Fort Bedford for
two days, but he didn't tell his business, and nobody that I talked to had
seen the babies nor had they seen him a-talkin' to any wimmen folks."
"Where did he stop overnight?"
"Thet's something I couldn't find out, nuther."
"He must have been an odd sort," observed James Morris.
"Perhaps the twins didn't belong to him at all," suggested Henry. "If they
did, why was he ashamed to show 'em?"
Sam Barringford shrugged his shoulders and drew a long breath. "Don't ask
me, Henry; it's a clar mystery, thet's wot it is."
Settling himself before the roaring fire, Barringford told his story in
detail. He repeated all that the inhabitants at Bedford had told him, but
this threw no light on the mystery. Nobody had seen the stranger come into
the place and nobody had seen him depart.
"Wonder where he did come from," mused Dave. "He certainly must have come
from somewhere."
After that the winter days passed slowly. Sam Barringford remained at the
Morris home, occasionally going out alone or with some of the others in
quest of game. He was always glad to have Dave and Henry with him, and they
were likewise delighted to go, for, as my old readers will remember, Sam
Barringford was a famous hunter and rarely came back empty-handed.
One day Henry, who had been out after wild turkeys, came back in a state of
mild excitement. He had seen hoofprints which were strange to him, and he
wanted Barringford's opinion on them.
"They looked something like a deer's," he said, "but were larger."
"Must have been an elk," answered the old frontiersman. "But I allow as how
thar ain't many of them critters around this deestrict."
Henry had come back in the evening, so that the tracks he had discovered
were not inspected by Sam Barringford until the following morning. The pair
went out accompanied by Dave, and all were armed, and supplied with
provisions enough to last two days, if necessary.
The way led up a small hill back of the house and then through a patch of
scrub timber--the best having been cut away when the new cabin was built.
Beyond the scrub timber was a small cliff of rocks and further still a
dense forest, leading to the stream upon which the Morris boys had had such
thrilling adventures in the past.
"Here are the tracks," said Henry, when the edge of the forest was gained.
"And see, here is another trail made last night, I'll be bound!"
Barringford took his time at examining the hoof-prints in the snow, and at
a spot where the sun came down warmly and made the ground slightly soft.
"Reckon I was right," he said. "Ef it ain't an elk, it ain't nuthin I ever
seed afore."
"If it is an elk, let us try to bring him down by all means!" cried Henry.
"I'd like a pair of elk horns very much."
"The trouble is, he may be miles an' miles away from here by this time,"
answered Barringford.
"Never mind, let us try it anyway," put in Dave.
All were on snow-shoes--Dave and Henry possessing pairs made for them by
White Buffalo years before, and Barringford a pair he had traded in at one
of the posts, giving some fox skins in exchange.
"I'm willing, lads," said the old frontiersman. "Even if we don't git the
elk, we may stir up something else wuth knocking over."
He led the way directly into the forest, following the tracks of the game
with ease. Dave came behind him, while Henry brought up the rear.
All was almost absolutely silent. Occasionally a winter bird circled
through the air, or a frightened squirrel ran from a tree branch to his
hollow, and twice they caught a fair view of a bunch of rabbits, nibbling
at some tender shoots of brushwood. The young hunters could have shot the
rabbits with ease, but now they were after larger game, and they knew
better than to fire shots which would most likely drive the elk for miles,
were the beast within hearing distance.
"How far do you calculate the elk is from here?" asked Dave, after a good
mile had been covered.
"That's no easy question to answer, Dave," returned Sam Barringford. "He
may have gone two miles and he may have gone ten. We'll have to trust to
luck to catch up to him. I don't calkerlate he went far in this deep snow."
Another mile was covered, and they came to a spot where the snow was kicked
up in several directions. A rough-barked tree was near by, and on this it
was plain to see that the elk had rubbed himself vigorously.
"Thet proves he ain't gone far," said Barringford, almost in a whisper. "He
stopped to scratch himself an' then dropped into a walk. Go slow now and
keep quiet, an' we may come up to him before you know it."
The old frontiersman's advice was followed, and they turned along the
newly-made trail, which now led up to the top of another hill. Here was a
good-sized clearing, and Barringford motioned for the others to keep back
until he could reconnoiter. They stepped behind some brushwood and each
looked to the priming of his musket and to the flint.
Presently Barringford held up his hand and motioned for them to advance,
but with caution.
"Reckon I've spotted him, but I ain't sartin," he whispered. "See thet
hollow yonder? I think he's back of them bushes an' rocks. We had better
spread out a bit."
The others understood, and while Dave went to the right, Henry moved to the
left, leaving Barringford to advance as before. The hollow mentioned was
nearly quarter of a mile away, yet so sharp were the old frontiersman's
eyes that he had noted a peculiar moving of the upper branches of the
brushwood before him, as if some large animal was tramping around, browsing
on such tender shoots as the snow had not covered.
"If the elk don't go off like a streak, Henry shall have the first shot,"
Barringford had said, and it was arranged that, all things being favorable,
Dave should shoot next, if a second bullet was required. Barringford would
hold himself in readiness for the unexpected.
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