AN ALARMING DISCOVERY
Dave’s first impression of the trading-post remained by him upon a
further inspection, indeed, the youth liked the locality more and more
every day. Putty and the other men, as well as his father and Sam
Barringford, took him around, and also up and down the river, and up
Indian Brook, which flowed into the Kinotah just below the stockade.
They went hunting, trapping and fishing, and the days seemed to fairly
fly on the wings of the wind. Before the snow amounted to anything,
Dave knew every trail and watercourse for fifteen miles around.
The men all liked Dave and he also liked them, but he was true to
Sam Barringford, and many were the times that the two went forth, to
fill their game bags, or try for something more important. It was
Barringford who taught Dave the latest devices in trapping, and it was
the old hunter who, aided by Dave, set a bear trap and caught one of
the largest beasts captured in that vicinity. Occasionally Mr. Morris
went out with the pair, but the Indians and backwoodsmen were now
bringing in their pelts, so the trader could not remain with them long.
The coming of winter found our friends well provided for, and business
brisk. Mr. Morris always got his pick of hides from the red men, who
would then take the second best to Jean Bevoir, the French trader. This
made Bevoir very angry, yet he could not help himself and rather than
get nothing he took what was offered. But he vowed that sooner or later
he would make the hated English trader get out.
The winter held off well, but when it did come, it let down in all its
fury. For three days and nights it snowed without ceasing. During the
last night the wind arose to a gale and this drove the snow in a drift
along the river bank, covering a section of the stockade completely,
and also the front end of the log cabin.
“Now we can stay in and suck our thumbs,” said Putty, the following
morning. “Even the wild beasts must be snow-bound.”
The old backwoodsman was right so far as staying in went, for going
abroad was totally out of the question. The most the men could do was
to shovel a path to the stables and take care of the horses and cattle.
After that the winter, to Dave, passed slowly. At times it cleared a
little, and then he and the others went out to track game, or fish
through holes in the ice. By this means he brought in all the fish
that were needed, and also several deer, and helped Barringford and an
Indian named Tobacco Jack bring down another bear. He also shot a large
quantity of rabbits and several woodchucks and opossums. To Dave all
this was play, but he did not shirk his work, when it came to splitting
wood for the fire and caring for the animals about the place.
“Got to take one thing with another,” he would say. “Can’t do nothing
but have fun all the time.”
“Thet’s the way to look at it,” Barringford had answered. “Got to work
if ye want to eat.”
The month of February was the most severe of the whole winter, and
again they were snowed in and could not get out for a week. But after
that it thawed rapidly and the only danger was that the river and the
brook would overflow their banks and sweep the trading-post away. The
overflow did come, ten days later, but the only damage done was to the
stockade, and this was easily repaired.
During the cold weather some of the men around the post had cleared a
patch of ground lying up the creek, and as soon as weather permitted,
James Morris set Dave to work to plant the spot with garden vegetables
and corn. Some of the tree stumps were burned out, but others were left
standing, and plowing, consequently, was not easy. But Dave stuck to
his task like a man, and soon the patch was growing nicely.
Thus the spring and summer passed and Dave was always kept busy, if
not at one thing then at another. But he loved the forest, and his
rifle, and went out with Barringford or Putty at every opportunity. The
constant use of the firearm made him an expert marksman, and in a trial
at skill one afternoon between everybody at the place, he came off
fourth best, which was certainly more than good when it is remembered
that he had so many older shots against him.
Late in the summer one of the trappers announced his intention of
leaving the neighborhood and paying a visit to Georgetown, where he
had a sister and an aged mother living. At this time James Morris was
anxious to see his brother about making improvements at the post and
investing additional capital in the trading business. He accordingly
consulted with Dave and Barringford, and the upshot of the talk was
that he concluded to go eastward with the trapper, leaving Dave and the
old hunter in charge during his absence.
For the eastward expedition James Morris called in several of the
Indians belonging to White Buffalo’s tribe, the chief himself being off
on a grand hunt, and when he started he took with him eight horses
loaded down with pelts of all sorts, which were worth a good many
hundreds of dollars.
“Don’t try to do anything out of the ordinary while I am gone,” he
said, on parting with Dave and Barringford. “Treat the friendly Indians
well and beware of any Indians or trappers Bevoir sends up. If the
French try to dictate to you, tell them they must wait until I return.”
For the first few days after his parent was gone, the trading-post
seemed lonely to Dave. He felt a responsibility which was new to him,
and he often consulted with Barringford. “We mustn’t make any false
moves,” he said. “If the Indians or the French are up to any tricks
they’ll surely try them on while father is absent.”
“Wall, Dave, don’t git alarmed,” answered the old hunter. “I know the
crowd putty well, and I allow they know me and they know I won’t stand
any nonsense. Jest be careful, and we’ll pull through in fine feather.”
For a week nothing out of the ordinary happened. Barringford went out
hunting every day, but Dave remained around the post and always kept
one or more of the men with him. He did some trading, and when the
Indians visited him treated them kindly.
One day a Shunrum warrior came in to dispose of several skins, and
after the deal was over, and Dave had made him a present of some
trinkets in addition, the warrior called him aside.
“White boy beware,” he said, in a low voice. “Red Bird here two days
ago.”
“Yes, I know that,” answered Dave. “But what of it?”
“Red Bird friend to French--Red Bird does not like the English. Red
Bird tell the French all he sees and hears.”
“You are sure of this?”
“Yes, Swiftwater is sure,” grunted the warrior.
“Where is Red Bird now?”
“Yesterday he went to the post of Jean Bevoir. He did not come back.”
This was all the warrior had to tell, but it was enough, for Dave now
remembered how sneakingly Red Bird had acted, and how he had asked many
questions out of the ordinary, about the furs on hand, and about when
James Morris was expected back.
“I don’t like this thing,” he said to Sam Barringford, that evening.
“If I remember rightly this Red Bird and Fox Head belong to the same
tribe, and Fox Head is father’s enemy and always has been.”
“Thet’s true, Dave,” was the old hunter’s answer.
“I think we ought to keep a closer watch than ever, especially at
night.”
“We’ll do it. I’ll organize the men into a reg’lar guard.”
Barringford was as good as his word, and, realizing the danger, the
men around the post readily agreed to take turns at watching. Dave, of
course, joined the guard, and stood his three hours every other night
with the rest. This was the best that could be done with the number of
men on hand at the time.
The second night that the youth was out was muggy and rainy, and he
wore an oiled skin cape to protect himself from the downpour. He had
relieved a man named Pothers, and was to guard from eleven o’clock to
two, when Sam Barringford would come to his relief.
The guard had formed a beaten path, leading around the stockade, up and
down both the river and the creek, and in and around the stables and
the log house itself. The distance covered was over a mile and each
guard was supposed to cover the ground at least once an hour.
As Dave tramped slowly around the stockade, with the water streaming
steadily from his cape, he could not help but think what a disagreeable
night it was, and how much nicer it would be in bed than out there
in the rain. “The Indians don’t like rain any better than I do,” he
reasoned. “Nobody will come to-night.”
Yet though he reasoned thus, he did not relax his vigilance and when
he moved up and down the river and the creek he kept his eyes and ears
wide open.
It was almost two o’clock, and he was wondering when Barringford would
come to relieve him, when struck by a sudden impulse, he resolved to
take another walk down the river. The rain was now beginning to let up,
and a rising wind was sending the dark clouds scuttling swiftly across
the face of the sky.
Reaching the end of the walk below the trading-post, he came to a halt
close to the edge of the stream, which was already rising on account
of the rain. Here he stood in the deep shadow of the trees looking and
listening, as he had done three times before during that watch.
He was about to turn away, having beheld nothing out of the ordinary,
when an unexpected movement on the stream caught his trained eye. He
saw something moving in the darkness. It was coming slowly up the
river, and was followed by four similar objects.
“They must be canoes,” he told himself. “Nothing else could come up
the stream in that fashion. And if they are canoes, they must be filled
with Indians!”
With strained eyes he watched the objects and at last became satisfied
that they were canoes, and filled with men, either whites or Indians.
Soon the canoes turned shoreward and were lost to sight in the bushes.
On the instant Dave turned and sped for the post with all possible
speed.
“Hi, Dave, what’s up?” came from Barringford, who met him at the
entrance to the stockade. “Have ye spotted anything?”
“I have, Sam. Five canoes just came up the river and they were filled
with men. They turned in at the blasted oak.”
“Injuns!” returned the old hunter. “Didn’t think they’d be out
to-night.”
“Neither did I. But they are out. What shall we do?”
“Call all hands, shut up this gate, and stand on guard. We’ve got one
thing in our favor. Everything is wet through and they’ll have their
hands full if they attempt to set anything afire,” concluded the old
hunter.
While Barringford closed the huge gate and barred it, and also went to
make the other entrances safe, Dave ran off to awaken the others in the
post. All told the garrison, if such it may be called, numbered six
whites, two half-breeds, and three full-blooded Indians. The latter had
been in James Morris’ service since the trader had come west, and were
fully trustworthy.