BACK TO THE FORT
Henry was so taken by surprise that it was not until he found himself
over his head in the river he realized what had occurred. His shoulder
struck a rock, but the blow was of small moment. He came up, spluttering
and still holding the paddle.
“Whe—where are you, Dave?” was his first question, as he dashed the
water from his eyes.
There was no answer, and in the mist and darkness he could see nothing.
He struck out, and soon reached a spot where he could stand on the rocky
bottom of the watercourse. He was under some tree-limbs, and knew that
the shore must be close at hand.
“I say, Dave!” he called again. “Dave!”
“Henry!” was the feeble reply.
The voice was sufficient for Henry to locate the canoe, and he hastened
toward it. Feeling around in the utter darkness he caught hold of his
cousin’s knee and then his arm.
“What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”
“I—I don’t know,” faltered Dave. “A tree-limb struck me on the head.” He
put up his hand. “Phew! I’ve got a lump on my forehead like a walnut!”
Henry could feel that the canoe was filling with water, and so lifted up
the guns and the powder and bullet horns. Dave was slowly recovering
from the shock received. Both stood up and leaned against a thick limb
above the canoe.
“Let us follow the limb to shore,” said Henry, and this was done, they
taking everything that had been in the canoe with them.
Among the jagged rocks the water swirled swiftly, and they had to pick
their way with care. Close to the tree-trunk was a deep hole, and they
had to circle this. At last they stood on the shore, where the rocks
were backed up by brushwood and tall timber.
“I fancy the canoe is done for,” announced Dave. “It went up on those
rocks good and hard.”
“Well, let us be thankful that it carried us as far as it did,” answered
Henry, trying to be cheerful. “We must be four or five miles from that
Indian camp.”
“You are wet to the skin, Henry. You’ll have to dry your clothes or
you’ll take cold.”
“I’ll wring them out and make that do, Dave. We won’t dare to light a
campfire.”
“Not if we can find a hollow? The mist will hide a good deal, remember.”
“Well, we’ll see about it.”
Henry did not relish remaining in the wet and darkness any more than did
his cousin, and both searched around until they found a spot with high
rocks on two sides and a thick group of trees opposite. To get some dry
wood was the next task, and then came the problem of starting the blaze.
But this was solved by Henry, who poured some loose powder on a dry
rock, mixed it with some tinder, and then hammered the rock with the
ramrod of his gun. Soon came a flash and a hiss, and the tinder glowed,
and presently the fire flared up pleasantly enough. Around it they piled
some flat stones, shutting in the light as much as possible.
“Do you think we ought to pull in the canoe?” asked Dave. “The Indians
may come along and see it.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad plan,” answered Henry.
They soon had the battered craft out of the river. They turned it upside
down, resting each end on a rock, and thus it formed for them something
of a shelter in front of the fire.
With the brightness of the blaze, matters appeared to take on a more
cheerful turn. Henry took off the most of his garments and dried them,
and Dave did likewise, and the former also cared for his hurt ankle. The
youths calculated that it was about midnight. They did not know where
they were, nor what new dangers might confront them. Each looked to his
firearm, to see that it could be used if necessary, and one kept the
hunting knife and the other the tomahawk in readiness.
“I think we had better take turns watching,” said Henry. “There is no
use in both keeping awake.”
He took the first vigil, allowing Dave to sleep until about three
o’clock. Then he turned in for a solid sleep lasting several hours.
In the morning the mist and the rain cleared away. The day, however, was
still gloomy, and although Dave climbed one of the tall trees at hand,
he could see little or nothing by which to locate himself.
“I think the fort is in that direction,” he said, pointing with his
hand. “But I am by no means sure.”
“Well, we may as well journey in that direction as any other,” was
Henry’s reply. “I think you are right. The canoe is not fit for use, so
we cannot go down the river, and may as well throw the paddles away or
burn them up.”
At early dawn Dave had discovered a squirrel on a branch near by, and
laid the game low with an arrow. This had made him do a little hunting
with the bow, and he had ended by obtaining four squirrels. These,
broiled over the fire, gave them a good breakfast, washed down as it was
by a drink from the river. They looked up the watercourse as far as they
could, but saw no signs of the Indians.
They were soon on the tramp. Knowing that Henry’s ankle must still pain
him, Dave let his cousin set the pace. This was somewhat slow for the
frontier youths, but would have proved stiff walking for anybody not
used to it. The route was comparatively easy to travel, and by high
noon, when they sat down to rest, they calculated that they had covered
at least eight miles.
“The sun is breaking through the clouds, and I am going to take another
look around,” said Dave, and this time Henry climbed a tree with him. A
grand panorama of woods, hills, and waters was spread around them, and
at a distance they saw where Fort Pitt was located, at the junction of
the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers.
“There is the fort!” cried Dave, light-heartedly. “Henry we are almost
on the direct road!”
“And not an Indian in sight, so far as I can see,” was the answer, as
Henry’s trained eye moved slowly from one direction to another.
“Let us go on again. I want to get back before night—if it can be done.
But, of course, you’ll have to set the pace,” added Dave, considerately.
As they journeyed along they talked over the situation, and wondered if
the Indians had taken possession of the dead bear and her cubs.
“I don’t think they took the whole bear,” said Henry. “Maybe they took
the hide and the choicest of the meat.”
“I didn’t dare to watch them too closely, for fear of being caught,”
said Dave.
They took an almost direct course for the fort, and by the middle of the
afternoon calculated that they were but two or three miles away. Nothing
had come to alarm them outside of the appearance of a rattlesnake that
glided from under a rock over which they were stepping. They lost no
time in giving the reptile a wide berth, and on his part the rattlesnake
did not attempt to molest them.
“I think we’ll reach Fort Pitt by sundown,” said Henry. “We might do it
in less time, but there is no use in hurrying.”
“Does the ankle still hurt?”
“It doesn’t hurt very much, but it feels weak. I think I’ll rest all day
to-morrow.”
“We’ll have earned a rest, I’m thinking,” returned Dave, with a grim
smile. “Won’t they open their eyes at the fort when they hear the story
we have to tell!”
Another mile was covered, and they had to pass around a hollow filled
with thick brushwood. Henry was in advance, when he came to a sudden
halt.
“Here is our chance, Dave!” he whispered. “We won’t have to go back
empty-handed.”
Dave pressed to the front and took a look ahead. There, among the
bushes, was a beautiful doe with a fair-sized fawn beside her.
“Good!” whispered Dave, raising his rifle. “The best kind of deer meat.
Which will you take, Henry?”
“I’ll take the doe.”
“All right, I’ll take the fawn. It’s a pity to kill such a beautiful
creature, but it can’t be helped. We need the meat.”
Both moved a little closer, to a spot where they could get a better
chance at the doe and her fawn. Just as they raised their rifles the
mother deer looked up and gave a sniff. The fawn followed, and both
started to bound away.
Bang! bang! Both guns rang out in quick succession. The fawn fell in a
heap in the bushes and lay still. The doe struggled on, mortally wounded
in the breast. But hardly had she gone ten feet, with Henry and Dave
after her, than an old frontiersman stepped from behind a tree, ran up,
and plunged a hunting knife into her throat, bringing her career to an
end.
“Sam Barringford!” cried Dave and Henry in a breath.
“Right ye air, boys,” answered the old frontiersman. “I wasn’t quite
quick enough fer ye, was I? Thought as how thet meat war mine fer
sartin.”
“Were you after the doe and her fawn?” asked Henry.
“Yes—been a-followin’ ’em fer the last hour. They war in sight o’ the
fort, an’ I thought I’d add to the provender by bringin’ ’em low.”
“Well, you’ve had your hand in the killing,” said Dave. He examined the
fawn. “There’s meat fit for the table of a king.”
“Yes, and I wish mother had it,” added Henry.
Sam Barringford was alone and carried only his long rifle, his horn of
powder and ball, and his hunting knife. As of old he was attired in a
hunting shirt, with leggings, and wore his coonskin cap, with the tail
trailing behind. He was surprised to learn that they had no game with
them, but still more surprised when he heard the tale they had to tell.
“We’ll want to git back to the fort without delay,” he said. “The
commandant there must know about this.”
The doe was hung on a long pole, and Dave and Henry carried the game
between them. The fawn Sam Barringford slung across the back of his
neck, with the front hoofs in one hand and the rear hoofs in the other.
Thus they walked as swiftly as possible to the fort, where their coming
was noted from a distance.
“Not so bad,” said James Morris, as he eyed the game. “But you have made
a long stay of it.”
“Yes, and we might have had a bear, two cubs, and a buffalo had it not
been for the Indians,” replied Dave.
“The Indians!” burst out his parent. “Do you mean to say you ran into
the Indians again?”
“We certainly did,—and I have been a prisoner, too,” said Henry. “I
might be a prisoner yet if it hadn’t been for Dave.”
“Well, this is certainly news,” said Rodney. “I thought all the Indians
had cleared out.”
“I said all along they’d be skulkin’ around,” said Sam Barringford.
“Don’t ye remember as how I warned ye to keep your eyes peeled? Some o’
them redskins ain’t a goin’ to git out until they actually have to, mark
me!”
The news that Dave and Henry had encountered the Indians quickly spread,
and Captain Ecuyer, who was in charge of the stronghold, sent for them,
that he might learn the details. They knew the captain well, and readily
told him all.
“I shall have to look into this,” said the commandant of Fort Pitt. “The
Indians must be cleared out of this district entirely.”