BUILDING THE NEW TRADING-POST
Four days later found the entire party encamped on the bank of the Ohio
River, about twenty miles from the district which had suffered from the
terrible ravages of fire.
They had, indeed, found a spot as beautiful as that which had once chained
James Morris to the Kinotah. There was a tiny bluff overlooking the broad
stream, and back of this a long, low hill, covered with a forest of
exceptionally good timber. Around the hill wound a pleasing brook, gurgling
gently in its passage over the stones. The brook was lined with various
kinds of bushes and flowering plants, and not far off was a series of
rocks, where a spring of pure, cold water gushed forth. The soil along the
river bank was rich in the extreme, and James Morris saw at once that
anything planted in it would grow with but little care.
"After all, I think we have done well to come thus far," said he to Dave
and Henry. "The Ohio is a larger stream than the Kinotah, hence I think the
chances to do some trading will be better." And without loss of time he
staked out a plot of ground, and, in his own way, proclaimed himself
proprietor. He knew that, later on, he would have to prove his claim to the
Land Company claiming the whole tract, but he felt that this, with proper
influence, would be easy. The Land Companies were glad to have the backing
of honest traders, for to survey their possessions and dispose of certain
plots was by no means easy.
The spot for the location of the new trading-post having been found, many
hard days of toil followed for all of the white men, and for Dave and
Henry. The Indians could not be persuaded to work, but spent their time in
hunting and fishing, and thus supplied the entire party with food.
The first work was to build a rude, but substantial palisade, of logs about
twelve feet long, and sharpened at the upper end. This palisade extended
from the river front to where the brook made a turn, almost parallel to the
Ohio, with the north side flanked by a small rise of rocks. The gateway was
at the south end, ten feet wide, and later on, fitted with a strong pair of
gates, secured by a top and a bottom crossbar.
Fortunately, as already stated, good timber was close at hand, and while
Dave, Henry, and Sam Barringford cut the logs, the others had the horses
haul them to where they were wanted and set them up as desired. James
Morris was an old hand at this sort of employment, and so the work went
forth rapidly.
"This is really working for a living," said Dave, one day, after having
brought down a tall, straight tree, from which, at least, four logs could
be cut. "We are truly earning our bread by the sweat of our face."
"But it's healthy labor, and I don't mind it," answered his cousin.
"Do you really mean that, Henry?" asked Dave, resting for a moment and
gazing sharply at the other.
Henry colored slightly. "I suppose you think I'd rather be out hunting with
White Buffalo's crowd," he said slowly.
"Wouldn't you? Tell the plain truth?"
"Perhaps I would. But I don't let myself think about it, Dave. This work
has got to be done, and I mean to do my full share of it. I reckon
everybody has to do things he don't just like in this life."
"I think you are right there--I know I often have to do 'em."
"And it don't do to growl either. The best thing to do is to pitch in and
get through as fast as possible," went on Henry, and then set to chopping
with renewed vigor.
"Do you remember the time we first started to chop down trees?" continued
Dave. "How our hands got blistered, and how we wouldn't give up because the
men were looking on?"
"Indeed I do. What a lot has happened since that time! The war, and our
going to Fort Niagara, and then down the Lakes and the St. Lawrence to
Quebec and Montreal, and all the fighting! In one way, Dave, we have seen
quite something of life."
"So we have. But I want no more war."
"Neither do I," answered Henry. Neither dreamed of the terrors of the
Indian uprising, or of the grim horrors of the Revolution which would come
later. The molding of this great nation into what it is to-day was to be no
easy matter.
Inside of two months the greater part of the work on the palisade was
complete. There were many things still to accomplish, but James Morris
decided to let these rest until later. He and the others set to work to
clear the grounds within, called the stockade, and then a long, low log
house was started at one side, and a low storehouse and horse stable at the
other.
So far, but few hunters and trappers had appeared to do any trading.
Strange as it may seem, the Ohio at this point had but few Indians upon it,
the red men confining their operations very largely to the smaller streams.
But those who did appear were treated liberally by James Morris, and soon
they spread the news, with the result that quite a fair trade was
established by the time snow was flying once more.
The white men, and especially Dave and Henry, were glad enough to shift
from the outside camp to the log house as soon as one end of the building
was completed. All was still in a crude state, but sleeping under any sort
of roof was preferable to the open. The entire house could not be completed
that season, so only two rooms were made weather proof, one for trading,
and the other for living and sleeping purposes.
"Not as nice as at home," observed Dave, as he gazed at the rough logs,
filled in with mud, and the dirt flooring. "But it will be warm this
winter, and that's something."
It had been decided that Barrington and Henry should return to the Morris
homestead before winter set in. They were to take six of the horses, and,
if everything went well, were to return to the trading-post as early as
possible in the spring, bringing with them a long list of articles wanted
by James Morris. Both were now quite anxious to return to the East, Henry
to learn how his folks were faring, and Barringford to see the twins and
find out if their identity had yet been disclosed.
"If they ain't found out nuthin' about them twins, I'm going to make 'em my
own," said the old frontiersman. "I ain't got no chick nor child, an' I
might as well be a-doin' somethin' for somebody in this world."
"But you must leave them at our house," returned Henry. "Mother and little
Nell are so attached to them."
The departure of Henry and Barringford was an event, and all quit working
to see them off. Dave was sorry to part with his cousin, and wrung his hand
several times.
"You take good care of yourself," he said. "Don't tumble over any more
cliffs."
"And you take good care of yourself during the winter," returned Henry. "It
snows heavily out here, so they tell me. Don't you get lost in a snowstorm,
like you did when you and Sam were journeying to Fort Oswego."
Dave and James Morris accompanied the pair as far as the burn-over and then
watched them as they disappeared over a distant ridge. As they were lost to
sight, the youth could not repress a sigh, which reached his parent's quick
ears.
"Sorry to see Henry go, I suppose, Dave."
"Yes, father. We have been together so much, you know. Henry seems like a
brother to me."
"I don't doubt it, for he is to me almost like a son. I trust he and Sam
reach Will's Creek in safety."
Both father and son had thought to return to the new trading post as soon
as they left the others, but now neither was in the humor for working, for
what little was left of the day, and James Morris asked Dave if he wished
to go on a short hunt.
"We may not stir up much, but I think the change will do us good."
"I'll go gladly!" cried Dave, and they set off on horseback, up the
Kinotah, and then followed a small creek, along which both had hunted in
days gone by.
The day was an ideal one, and though game in that vicinity was scarce, the
Indians having gone over the ground half a dozen times, each enjoyed the
outing thoroughly. Dave managed to bring down some birds and two squirrels,
and his father a pair of grouse, and with this they rested content.
"Supposing we take another look at the ruins of the old post?" suggested
Dave, when they were on the return. "It is not so very late yet, and we may
pick up something which we missed before."
"Very well, Dave."
Along the creek the wild flowers grew in reckless profusion, and the youth
often stopped to admire them, and once he picked a handful to take back
with him.
"You love flowers," said his father.
"I do, father. Don't you?"
"Somewhat. Your taste comes from your mother. She thought much of them, and
when we planted the garden she always planted flower seeds, too." And the
trader gave a long sigh as he thought of the good woman who had died so
many years before.
Presently they came once more to the burn-over and then made their way
straight to the ruins of the old trading-post. The spot looked more forlorn
than ever, for the storms of the summer had washed some mud over part of
the ground, and grass and weeds flourished amid the blackness.
"That shows what nature can do," observed James Morris. "Give this a few
years more and it will be impossible to tell that a post ever stood here.
In the same fashion, entire villages have been wiped out, so that
historians, going there later, cannot locate even the first sign of the
ruins."
An old shovel had been left at the place, and working with this James
Morris began to turn over some of the burnt sticks at a spot where he
thought he might possibly come upon something of value. In the meantime
Dave poked around to suit himself, and presently found two jugs and an iron
pot.
"I think these are still good to use," he said, and started down to the
creek, to wash them off and inspect them more closely.
He had just reached the creek when a sound in the brushwood beyond caught
his ears. He looked up, to see three Frenchmen on horseback riding toward
him. The man in advance looked familiar to him, and as this individual drew
closer, Dave recognized Jean Bevoir.