JEAN BEVOIR APPEARS
"Uncle Jim, are you--you----" began Henry. He could not finish.
Crack! It was the rifle of one of the frontiersmen that rang out, and
Rain Cloud, rushing back toward the forest, gave a shudder, whirled
around and fell on his back, stone dead.
"My uncle has been wounded in the head," cried Henry. His heart was in
his throat. What if his relative was dead? The thought was a horrible
one. He saw that the blood was streaming down over the man's face.
There was a wound running over the temple toward the left ear.
Laying his uncle down in the snow, Henry knelt beside him. He heard
several shots fired but paid no attention. He took up some snow and
soaked away the blood with it.
"Oh!" murmured the wounded man, and opened his eyes with a quiver. Then
he started up. "The rascals! What a dastardly thing to do!"
"Uncle Jim! Then you are not killed!" ejaculated Henry. "Oh, thank God
for that!"
Now that the blood was away he saw that James Morris had suffered
nothing more than a scratch, ugly enough, it is true, but not at all
serious.
"It was a close shave," said one of the frontiersmen. "A little closer
and he would have been killed on the spot."
"I nailed Rain Cloud for it," came from the other guard. "He has gone
to his happy hunting ground."
"I don't know if he was to blame, exactly," began Henry, and shuddered.
"Sure he was to blame. No doubt but that the Injuns had it fixed to
fire on your uncle if he wouldn't surrender."
A fierce war-whoop now rang out, drowning all other sounds, and for the
first time since coming to the post, the Indians let drive a volley
of bullets and arrows. Fortunately not one took effect, although one
arrow, sailing up in the air, dropped directly over Henry's shoulder,
and another hit the fringe of a frontiersman's jacket.
As soon as he could recover from the shock received, James Morris
caught up a rifle and joined in the defense, and Henry did the same.
The Indians were now coming forward in a body, and the whooping was
incessant. After the first volley shots were fired irregularly,
and those inside the post returned the fire whenever a favorable
opportunity showed itself.
"They are at the gates!" was the cry, in a few minutes, and there
followed a crash. The red men had come up with a big log, which they
used as a battering ram. Just as the gates were struck, the defenders
of the post sent in a volley and two red men fell lifeless beside the
log.
"That's the way to serve them!" cried James Morris. The blood fairly
covered his face, making him hideous in the extreme, but he paid no
attention. A number of rocks were at hand, which those inside the post
seized and hurled on the heads of the red men without. This was too
much for the Indians, and once more they retreated, leaving the log and
their dead behind them.
"Listen! I hear shots from a distance!" exclaimed Henry, during the
lull that followed.
He was right, the shots could be plainly heard, and they kept coming
nearer. The war-whoops of the Indians sounded out, and then a yell
which they knew must come from the throats of white men.
"Jadwin has found the others, and they are having a fight back there
with the redskins," cried James Morris. "We must be prepared to let our
friends in if they reach here."
The shouts and shots continued, first working around to the side of
the post, and then coming again to the front.
"I see one of our men!" cried Henry at last. "Here they come!"
As he spoke, seven white men and an equal number of friendly Indians
were coming along through the snow of the wilderness. At a distance
were the enemy, headed by Black Ear. All were fighting desperately and
a number had been wounded on both sides.
James Morris was at the gates, and at the proper moment he threw one
open and some friendly Indians came rushing in, carrying a wounded
comrade between them. Then followed the whites, Tony Jadwin being the
last. Three of the latter were wounded, but none fatally. As soon as
all were inside, the gates were closed and barred as before.
A howl of rage and disappointment filled the air, coming from the
wilderness. Black Ear and his warriors had fought well, but the whites
and the Indians of White Buffalo's tribe had outmatched them. With
their dead and wounded they withdrew to a considerable distance, to
hold a council and decide upon what was to be done next.
"Had a hard time of it getting back," Tony Jadwin admitted, when he
could get his breath. "The redskins are worked up to the last degree,
on account of the killing of Rain Cloud. I believe they will send off
for reinforcement."
"If it hadn't been for Tony we should have been surrounded and shot
down in cold blood," remarked one of the hunters. "He reached us in the
nick of time, just as we were having breakfast. The redskins could have
dropped us like pullets in a barnyard."
"I ran every foot of the way," said Jadwin. "Once I went into a hole up
to my waist. But I knew it was for me to do what I did, so I done it."
"Friend Tony, big warrior," said one of the Indians. "No forget him.
Tony save us all, yes," and he nodded to emphasize his words.
A count was made, and it was found that nine whites and four Indians
were in fit condition to go on guard. Two of the others had been
wounded in the legs, but they declared that they would sit by and load
the guns, if another attack should come. All realized that they must do
their utmost, or run the risk of being killed and scalped.
But for the time being the followers of Black Ear had had enough of the
struggle. They had not anticipated so desperate a resistance, and a few
were in favor of marching away altogether.
"The trading-post is too strong--it cannot be taken," said one. "The
white men are better shots than Little Wolf thought. They have eyes
like eagles."
While the red men were in conference an Indian who had been acting as
a guard came running in with the news that fifteen Indians and three
white men were approaching from the north.
"One of the white men is a French trader," said the warrior who brought
the news. "He once had a trading-post here."
At this news Black Ear's face brightened.
"It must be Jean Bevoir," he said. "He was to join us long ago, but
could not get here."
"Will he aid those at the post?" questioned another.
"Not he. James Morris and Jean Bevoir are as the wolf and the wildcat.
They hate each other."
After a few words more, Black Ear went out to meet Jean Bevoir, who was
coming through the forest accompanied by two Frenchmen named Planette
and Delot. The latter two were wild, harum-scarum fellows, out for any
deed of daring which might promise a rich reward.
As my old readers know, Jean Bevoir was a crafty rascal who in the
past had given the Morris family endless trouble. Years before he had
claimed the spot upon which James Morris's first trading-post was
built, and ever since he had argued that the profits of the Morris
trading-post belonged to him. During the war he had done much to harm
the Morrises, and during the uprising of the past year he had done
his best to make Dave a prisoner. But he had been driven off and had
received wounds which if not serious were decidedly annoying.
Jean Bevoir was now an outcast, so far as the better class of French
trappers and traders were concerned, and the English traders wanted
absolutely nothing to do with him. Under such circumstances the
Frenchman had gathered around him a number of Indians belonging to
the Wanderers, the Sacs, and the Ottawas, and the two wild fellow
countrymen just mentioned, and with these he proposed to plunder
whatever place gave him the chance. He did not know yet if it would
pay to attack the Morris post, but had resolved to investigate before
pushing further to the southward. He knew he could do nothing at
the north, for he had learned privately that all the attacks in the
vicinity of the Great Lakes were to be under the directions of Pontiac
and he and the great Indian chief were no longer on good terms.
"My white brother is welcome," said Black Ear, on meeting Jean Bevoir.
He spoke in his native tongue, for the Frenchman understood the Indian
language very well. It was said that the rascally trader had Indian
blood in his veins.
"What have you been doing?" asked Bevoir.
Knowing that he could trust the man before him, Black Ear related what
had occurred. Jean Bevoir listened with close attention. It pleased him
to know that James Morris had been shot.
"I trust that you killed him," he said, cold-bloodedly. "And how many
do you think are now at the post?"
This was a question Black Ear either could not or would not answer
correctly, and he said he thought about nine or ten, of whom several
were wounded.
"You know how to fight these white men," said he, in a flattering tone.
"Make an attack, and Black Ear will aid all he can." He knew that he
could no longer get his own warriors to lead in the onslaught.
Jean Bevoir was only too willing to attack James Morris's post, but
said that he and his followers must first have time to rest and get
something to eat. A deer had been shot while on the march, and this was
cut up and prepared as the Frenchman and the Indians desired. The party
also carried a cask of rum, and each person was given a small horn of
this. The liquor set the Indians wild and they uttered whoop after
whoop as they danced around the camp, tomahawks in hand, shouting out
how they were going to capture the post and slay every man in it.
In the meantime, after the Indians had withdrawn from the vicinity of
the trading-post, Henry begged his uncle to allow him to go outside and
learn, if possible, what the enemy intended to do next.
"I can go out by way of the tunnel," said the youth. "And if it is
dangerous I won't go any further than the hollow tree."
At first James Morris demurred, but as he also was anxious to know what
was being done outside, he at length consented.
"But you must be careful, Henry," he said. "Those Indians may be up to
some of their tricks."
The youth promised to be on his guard, and with a pistol in hand, and
hunting knife in his belt, he slipped into the inner end of the tunnel,
and worked his way slowly and cautiously along, under the palisade, and
in the direction of the hollow tree.
The tunnel was just large enough for the youth to crawl along on hands
and knees. The walls were composed largely of rocks, with here and
there a patch of dirt, through which numerous tree roots protruded.
Some rabbits had made their home in the tunnel, but they had been
scared away by Tony Jadwin.
At last Henry gained the foot of the hollow tree. Here he had to
squeeze his way between several thick roots. Close at hand was a small
opening and through this he gazed, to learn if any of the enemy were
at hand.
Not an Indian was in sight, and with increased caution, he drew himself
up into the hollow tree until he reached an opening among the branches.
Then he stuck his head out and looked around the forest fronting the
trading-post.
"Well, I vow!" he muttered to himself. "Jean Bevoir, as sure as I am in
this tree! How in the world did he get here, and what is he going to
do?"