Books: On the Trail of Pontiac
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Edward Stratemeyer >> On the Trail of Pontiac
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"Something has gone wrong, or they would be here by this time," put in
Sanderson.
Glotte viewed the coming of Sam Barringford with great astonishment. "How
you geet avay?" he asked.
"That is my business, Glotte," answered the old frontiersman. "I reckon you
thought I couldn't do it, eh?" And he chuckled to himself.
"Zat fellow ees a sharp one," was the Frenchman's comment. "He ees like ze
flea to slip avay, _oui!_"
Throughout the remainder of the night the guard remained as watchful as
ever. But it was labor lost, for neither French nor Indians showed
themselves.
At daybreak White Buffalo said he would go out on another scouting tour,
taking with him two of his braves. They moved off by the way of the river
bank and then made a large semicircle, returning to the post from a
diametrically opposite direction.
"Wanderers and bad Frenchmen all gone," announced the chief, on coming
back. "They came, but did not fight."
"Do you mean to say that they have been here?" cried James Morris.
White Buffalo nodded several times. "Five canoes come down the river, land
by the four big trees. The trail is in the mud and the wet grass--so many
Frenchmen"--he held up five fingers--"and so many Indians"--holding up
both hands twice and then four fingers, a total of twenty-four.
"Where did they go to?" asked Henry.
"Go into the woods and stand. Two walk around to the hill--one canoe land
on other side of river and Indians go up past the post--then come back.
Then all gone once more. Afraid to fight! The Frenchmen and the Wanderers
are cowards!" And the face of the Delaware showed his deep disdain.
"It must be true," put in Sanderson. "They most likely met the Indian who
came here first, and then the fellow with Glotte, and both told 'em it
would be of no use--that we were too strong for them."
"Well, if they are gone, I hope they don't come back again," said Dave, and
a number standing around echoed the sentiment.
CHAPTER XXII
THE ROCK BY THE RIVER
The Indians did not return, and in forty-eight hours the scare was over,
and the hunters and trappers sallied forth from the trading-post as before,
confident that Sanderson had been right,--that the enemy had thought the
little garrison too strong for them.
But this was a mistake. Jean Bevoir and Flat Nose had been eager for the
fight, but word had come in at the last moment that the attack must be put
off, and such was the power of Pontiac and other great chiefs of that
vicinity that Flat Nose obeyed. As it was impossible for the handful of
Frenchmen under Bevoir to do anything alone the whole scheme fell through,
and then Bevoir lost no time in getting back to where he had left the loot
from the pack-train, claiming that which had been allotted to him and his
men, and getting away further to the northwestward, where he felt tolerably
safe from pursuit.
How far the conspiracy to fall upon the English on the frontier in the
summer of 1762 was concocted by Pontiac will perhaps never be known. Some
historians have contended that he was responsible for it in its entirety,
while others have told us that the real Pontiac conspiracy was confined to
the awful uprising which took place just one year later. But be that as it
may, it is undoubtedly true that Pontiac hated the English intensely and
that it galled him exceedingly to see them pushing further and further to
the north and the west. His own lands around the Great Lakes were being
invaded, and when his tribe went to the English for redress they got but
scant attention.
The summer of 1762 proved to be one of anxiety and uncertainty for all on
or near the frontier. To the northward the Iroquois, or Mingoes as they
were commonly called, were held in check by Sir William Johnson, but in
western New York and western Pennsylvania the Wyandots, the Shawanoes, and
certain tribes of the Delawares did what they could to harass the pioneers,
burning cabins and sheds at night, stealing crops and cattle, and
occasionally murdering men, women, and children, or carrying the latter off
into captivity. There were no battles, but the pioneers and frontiersmen
retaliated, and as winter came on the feeling of bitterness increased. No
one felt safe, and all wondered what new outrage would happen next.
The Delawares have been mentioned as taking part in these evil doings, and
as White Buffalo and his followers were Delawares, it is but right that
their standing should be explained. In years gone by the Delawares had been
a mighty tribe, numbering over a hundred villages of importance. But
internal strife had done its work, and now the villages were widely
scattered, so that Delawares could be found from Virginia in the South to
the Great Lakes in the North and as far west as the Mississippi. Those who
remained near the eastern coast generally sided with the English, while the
others either strove to remain neutral or threw in their fortunes with the
French.
It must not be supposed that James Morris allowed matters to rest after it
became known that no attack would be made upon the trading-post. He wished
to recover the stolen goods and also the fifty pounds which had been taken
from Sam Barringford by Jean Bevoir at the time the old frontiersman was a
prisoner at the Wanderers' village.
An expedition was organized, consisting of the trader and seven whites and
Indians, and they remained out the best part of a week, hunting for the
Wanderers and for Bevoir and his companions. But the Wanderers had moved
and Bevoir had likewise disappeared, and the trail was lost at the river
bank.
"I suppose I can say good-by to both money and goods," said James Morris
soberly. "I declare, it's too bad!"
"I'll try to make it right with ye about the money," said Barringford.
"No, Sam, I don't want you to do that. You did your best and it's not your
fault that the money is gone, nor the goods either. But I'd give a few
pounds to get hold of Bevoir and his crowd."
As the days went by it was decided by James Morris not to send to the East
for more goods until late in the fall, the goods to be brought to the
trading-post early in the spring. Louis Glotte was allowed his liberty and
immediately disappeared.
Both Dave and Henry were very anxious to go out on a regular hunt with
Barringford, and this was arranged for several weeks after it became
positively known that all hostile whites and red men had left the
neighborhood of the trading-post. The hunting tour was to last a week or
ten days, and the young pioneers made their preparations accordingly.
"Sam, we must get a buffalo this trip," said Henry. "Nothing less will
satisfy me."
"Easier said nor done, lad," answered the old frontiersman. "The hunters
an' trappers have scart 'em putty far to the westward. Howsome-ever, we can
try our best to lay one low."
"I want to get a bear," said Dave.
All were feeling in fine spirits when the start was made, and James Morris
came out of the post to see them off. All were on horseback, for
Barringford had said that a buffalo hunt was generally in the open where
riding was fairly good.
"Now don't you get into any more trouble," were Mr. Morris' parting words.
"We've had trouble enough to last us a lifetime."
"We'll do our best to steer clear of it," answered his son.
The evening of the first day found them in a territory that was entirely
new to both Dave and Henry, although Barringford had been over the ground
several times. Only some small game had been seen, not worth powder and
shot, as the old frontiersman put it, and they made their evening meal from
some fish which Henry managed to catch. While Barringford was preparing the
fish, both of the young pioneers took a swim in the river, where the water
was cool and refreshing.
"This is something like!" cried Dave, as he splashed around.
"You're right there," answered Henry. "Only I don't want any more wildcats
tumbling down on my head from the trees," he continued, referring to an
adventure which has already been told in "Marching on Niagara."
"I don't believe there are any wildcats around here, Henry. The place seems
utterly deserted. I reckon we'll have to travel a day longer before we
strike game. The old hunters have been over the ground too thoroughly."
"It's not half as bad as it will be, when more settlers come here."
"That is true."
The young pioneers felt in fine spirits, and as Barringford was slow in
getting the evening meal prepared, Henry proposed a swimming match.
"I'll race you to yonder big rock and back!" he cried, pointing to a round
stone resting on the opposite bank, under a thick, overhanging tree. "The
best piece of fish in the pan to the one who wins!"
"Done!" returned Dave. "Are you ready to start?"
"Yes. But wait, let us call Sam, and he can start us." And he yelled to the
old frontiersman.
"Want to race, eh?" said Barringford. "All right, if ye ain't too tired
after sech a ride as we've had. All ready? Then go it, both on ye! Go!"
Away they went, side by side, each cutting the clear water with a firm,
broad stroke, for both could swim well.
"It's goin' to be nip an' tuck, I reckon!" went on Barringford, as
interested as if the youths were matched for a heavy purse. "I must say I
don't know who to shout for! Do your best, both on ye! Now, Dave, that
won't do!"
For Dave had fallen behind a few strokes. But Henry could not keep the
speed at which he had started, and slowly but surely his cousin reached his
side once more and then went a foot and more ahead.
"Henry, this won't do!" sang out the old frontiersman. "Don't you let Dave
git the best on ye! Strike out an' make it a tie!"
Thus encouraged, and laughing to himself, Henry put on another spurt, and
while Dave was still four yards from the big rock came up alongside as
before.
"Now ye have it!" roared Barringford. "Keep the pace, both on ye! The
feller to lose gits walloped, an' the winner gits the King's Cross an' a
purse of a thousand pounds! Tech the rock fair an' squar', or I'll call the
race off!" And Barringford slapped his thigh in high glee. To see such a
contest took him back to his boyhood days, and he half wished he was in the
race himself.
Both reached the rock at precisely the same time, and rested heavily on it
for a second, so that Barringford might see that it was really and truly
"teched," as he expressed it. It was somewhat over their heads, and in the
water at their feet they could feel the sprawling roots of the tree behind
it.
Then, exactly how it happened would be hard to tell, but without warning
the great rock suddenly slipped from the river bank and went into the water
with a loud splash, carrying the two swimmers down under it!
Barringford saw the catastrophe and for the instant he stood spellbound. It
was as if the light of day had suddenly given way to the darkness of night.
Both of his young friends were gone, carried to the bottom by that huge
rock which had seemed such a safe point for the turn in the race.
The old frontiersman waited a few seconds--to him they seemed an
eternity--and then, as neither Henry nor Dave reappeared, he plunged
hastily into the river and swam in their direction with all his might and
main. He was a good swimmer, and now desperation lent strength to his
muscles.
He was in midstream when he saw a head bob up, and an instant later he
recognized Henry. The youth was panting for breath.
"Henry!" he called out. "Henry! Whar is Dave!"
"I--I--don't know!" came with a gulp and a gasp. "That rock was--was almost
the de--death of me!"
"Dave must be under it!" groaned the old frontiersman. "We must help him,
or he'll be drowned!"
"Yes! yes!" Henry tried to catch his breath. "Oh, Sam, what shall we do?"
He tried to look down into the water, but the falling of the rock had
dislodged a quantity of dirt also, and what had before been so clear was
now muddy, so that little or nothing could be seen excepting the top of the
stone, which now lay about six inches below the surface.
"Can't you see him at all?" queried Barringford, after a painful pause.
"I can't see anything. Oh, this is awful!"
"Dive an' take a look!" ordered the old frontiersman, and taking as good a
breath as his condition would allow, Henry went down, to catch hold of the
sprawling roots with his hands and try his best to locate the body of his
cousin. But the muddy water made his eyes smart, and seeing was practically
out of the question. More than this, the great rock was slowly sliding
outward, to the deeper part of the stream, so he had to watch out for fear
of being caught once more.
"Didn't see him?" asked Barringford, as he came closer.
"No, it's too rily."
"I'll go down myself."
Barringford was as good as his word, and went down without an effort, his
water-soaked clothing aiding him to sink. He caught hold of the rock and
the roots and strained his eyes in all directions. Then the rock began to
move once more, and he had to get out of the way just as Henry had done.
"I'm afraid it's all up with the poor lad," he said, when he could speak.
"If he's down there, he's drowned by this time."
"Don't let us give up, Sam," pleaded Henry, and started to go down once
more, when the rock turned completely over, and a long tree root flew up
close to the surface of the stream.
"There he is!" shouted Barringford, and swam forward. He was right, the
tree root had brought up the body of Dave, and the young pioneer lay before
them, his eyes closed and nothing giving any indication that he was still
alive. Both swam to it, and in a second more they had it in their arms and
were making for the shore with their burden.
CHAPTER XXIII
DAVE AND THE FAWN
"Sam, do you think he will live?"
Over and over Henry asked the question as he and the old frontiersman
worked over the inanimate form they had brought to shore from the waters of
the river.
"Hope so, Henry, but I can't tell yet," was Barringford's answer. "We'll do
all we can, and trust the rest to God."
Both worked with a will, doing whatever they thought was best. Barringford
held Dave up by the ankles and allowed much of the water to run from the
unfortunate's mouth, and then they rolled the youth and worked his arms and
rubbed him.
At first it looked as if all their efforts would be in vain, and tears
gathered in Henry's eyes. But then they saw Dave give a faint shudder,
followed by a tiny gasp.
"He's comin' around!" shouted Barringford, in a strangely unnatural voice.
"Praise Heaven for it!"
But there was still much to do before Dave could breath with any kind of
regularity, and they continued to rub him and slap him, while Barringford
forced him to gulp down a small quantity of stimulants brought along in
case of emergency. Then a fire was started up, and later on Henry brought
over the youth's clothes, for to take Dave across the stream was out of the
question.
For over an hour Dave felt so weak that neither of the others attempted to
question him. Both helped him into his clothes, and gave him something hot
to drink, and made him comfortable on a couch of twigs and leaves.
"I thought my time had come when I went under," he said, when he could
talk. "The rock pinned me down between the tree-roots, and if it hadn't
been for the roots, I suppose I should have been crushed to death. I held
my breath as long as I could, and then I gulped in some water and lost my
senses."
"It was truly a narrow escape," was Barringford's comment. "I didn't expect
no sech accident when I let ye go into the swimmin' match."
"Did you go under, Henry?"
"Yes, but I soon got myself loose," was the reply. "I was almost scared
stiff when you didn't come up, Dave. After this we'll have to be more
careful than ever."
"It was wuss nor thet wildcat, I reckon," came from Barringford.
"I should say so," returned Henry promptly. "It almost makes me vow never
to go in swimming again."
As Dave continued to feel weak it was decided to remain where they were all
of the next day. Henry procured a log and some brushwood, and on these
ferried over their things, and he likewise tied up the horses, so that they
might not stray away.
By morning Dave felt more like himself, and he would have gone ahead on the
hunt, but Barringford would not permit it.
"We have plenty of time," said the old frontiersman. "You jest lay around
in the sun, an' you'll feel better for it."
"Well, then, you and Henry can go out," insisted Dave. "There is no reason
why you should suck your thumbs waiting for me."
At this the others demurred, but about noon, having had a lunch,
Barringford and Henry set out, promising to return before sundown. They had
not expected to hunt on this side of the river, but, now they were there,
the old frontiersman said they might see what they could stir up.
The camp had been pitched behind some bushes that fringed the river bank.
Close at hand was a clump of trees, and back of these was the edge of the
mighty forest, yet unspoiled by the ax of the pioneer. Not far from the
camp was a small brook where the water rushed over a series of sharp rocks,
making a murmur pleasing to hear.
Having straightened out the camp, Dave took Barringford's advice and lay
down in the warm sunshine to rest. The little work that he had done had
tired him more than he was willing to admit, and, having closed his eyes to
do some thinking, he quickly fell into a sound slumber which lasted for
several hours.
When he awoke all was still around him, and he rubbed his eyes, wondering
what had aroused him. Then he caught sight of a tiny squirrel sitting bolt
upright at the foot of the nearest tree, gazing curiously at him.
"Hullo, you little rascal!" said Dave, good-naturedly. "So you ran across
me, did you? What kind of an animal did you take me for?"
The squirrel continued to gaze at him, but at his first movement to arise,
the frisky animal gave a swish of his brush and was gone up the tree in a
twinkling.
"Don't believe in making friends, that's sure." went on the young pioneer
as he stretched himself. "Heigh-ho, but I must have slept pretty soundly,
and for three hours at least! Well, it was as good a way as any to put in
the time."
The sunshine had made Dave thirsty, and presently he walked to the brook to
get a drink. As he was in no hurry he took his time, and, consequently,
made little or no noise.
He had parted some low bushes, and was just looking for some favorable spot
at which to bend down, when something caused him to look up the brook.
There, to his astonishment and delight, he beheld a beautiful fawn,
standing in several inches of water, watching some birds which circled
close by.
"Oh, what a shot!" was Dave's thought, and as quietly as a mouse he fell
back out of sight and then ran to where he had left his gun. The weapon was
ready for use, and soon he was at the brook once more.
There was no breeze blowing, and the only sound that broke the stillness
was the rushing of the little watercourse and the songs of half a dozen
birds in the vicinity. The fawn was still there, but seemed to be on the
point of running away; why, Dave could not tell.
Not to let such a chance to bag tender meat escape him, the young pioneer
took hasty aim and fired. The bullet sped true, and, with a convulsive leap
into the air, the fawn fell into the shallow brook dead.
While the smoke was still pouring from his gunbarrel, Dave caught sight of
a larger deer, previously hidden from view by some brushwood. Scarcely had
he laid the fawn low when another gunshot rang out, and this deer also went
down, kicking convulsively.
"Hullo, Sam and Henry must be near!" he thought, and ran forward to make
certain that the second animal should not get away. At the same time he set
up a shout, so that neither of the others might fire on him by mistake.
But the second shot bad been almost as true as the first, and by the time
he came up the large deer was breathing its last.
"Hullo!" he shouted. "We must have spotted these deer at exactly the same
time."
No answer came back to this call, and now Dave looked around with surprise.
If Henry and Barringford were near, why did they not show themselves?
"It's mighty queer," he muttered to himself. "If they--hullo! Hector
Bergerac!"
Dave was right, and an instant later the French hunter and trapper stepped
into the opening. He gazed around sharply to see if the young pioneer had
any companions with him. His clothing was almost in tatters, and his
general manner showed that he had been having a hard time of it.
"Are you alone, Morris?" was his first question.
"Perhaps I had better ask you that question," came just as quickly from the
young pioneer.
"Yes, I am alone," was the answer. "I was making my way to your father's
trading-post when I saw the deer and shot it."
"And I shot the fawn. What were you going to do at the trading-post?"
"I wish to talk to your father on matters of business."
"Did Jean Bevoir send you?"
At the mention of Bevoir, Hector Bergerac's face grew dark and took on a
look full of bitterness.
"No, he did not send me, I came of my own accord. I was a fool to go with
him in the first place, and that is why I wish to see your father."
"Did you have anything to do with the looting of the pack-train?"
"No! no! I am not a robber of the road, like Bevoir and Valette. They
wanted me to go into the thing, but I refused. Then we quarreled, and I
went my own way. But after that Jean Bevoir made me a prisoner--he and Flat
Nose--thinking I was going to tell upon them. I was a prisoner until
yesterday, when I managed to get away, taking this gun with me. For
twenty-four hours I have tasted nothing but one little bird, and I am half
starved."
"You say you want to see my father," went on Dave after a pause. "May I ask
what you wish of him?"
"I want to tell him of some plans Bevoir and Flat Nose have made. They wish
to make trouble."
"Are they near here?"
"No, they are going away for the present. But they will be back, either in
the winter or the spring."
Hector Bergerac was willing enough to go into the camp with Dave, and
between them they dragged the fawn and the large deer to the spot. The fire
was started up and some venison set to broiling, and of this the Frenchman
partook liberally, proving that he was indeed half starved.
"You cannot be alone," he ventured, while eating. "Where are your
companions?"
"They are off on a hunt, but will soon be here," answered Dave; and half an
hour later Barringford and Henry put in an appearance. They were doubly
astonished, first upon seeing Bergerac and then upon seeing the game. Their
own luck had not been very good, and they only had a few birds and a beaver
to their credit.
They listened with interest to what Bergerac had to tell, and when the
Frenchman had warmed up he related the full particulars of how Bevoir,
Valette, and Flat Nose had concocted the plan to loot the Morris'
pack-train, corroborating Glotte's story in all details. He said that all
the Frenchmen with Bevoir knew that it was nothing but an act of thievery,
but that some of the Indians had looked upon it merely as the beginning of
the new uprising against the English, an uprising which he considered had
been started by Pontiac and those under the great chief.
"I am no longer for war," he concluded. "I wish only for peace, and I am
sorry that I did not remain in the St. Lawrence territory. The war has cost
me all that I possessed. It was not much, but it was enough. Now I must
start over again."
"If you will do what is square, my father will be glad to deal with you,
and he will pay you all your skins are worth," returned Dave. "But you must
not play him false."
"He can trust me, take my word upon it," said Hector Bergerac. "I have
thought it over, and I feel certain that French rule in this country is at
an end. England is too strong for us. To fight longer would be like
striking one's head against a stone wall."
"Which shows that you have some sense," put in Barringford. "I must say I'm
sick o' war too. Let us all go to huntin,' I say, an' make money. If the
French an' the English would unite, we'd have nothin' to fear from the
redskins."
"But they will not unite, it is not in their nature. But if they will only
keep the peace, it will help greatly," concluded Bergerac.
He was worn out from traveling and glad enough to remain with the others
over night. He dressed his deer and said he would take the skin to the
trading-post, and also such a part of the meat as he could readily carry.
"He probably means to turn over a new leaf," said Henry, after Bergerac had
departed. "I hope he does."
"He seemed to be mighty anxious to see your uncle," put in Barringford.
"Well, if he can save Uncle James from serious trouble, I hope he does it."
"What a scoundrel Jean Bevoir is!" put in Dave. "Wouldn't you think that,
after all his upsettings, he would be content to rest and do what was
right?"
"Some men are born that way, lad," said the old frontiersman. "It's in
their nature. He won't stop bein' bad until he's killed or dies a natural
death; no two ways on't."
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