SUGAR MAKING, AND HUNTING
It was a moment of extreme peril for White Buffalo. The settlers and
soldiers surrounding him were worked up to a high pitch of anger and
excitement, and it looked as if he would be shot down without further
parley.
But at that moment Dave sprang to the front and stationed himself
before the aged Indian.
"Don't shoot!" he cried. "Don't do it, I beg of you. I am certain this
Indian is innocent. I have known him for years and there is not a
better red man in all Virginia than he."
Dave spoke so positively that the guns were lowered and there followed
an awkward pause.
"I, too, know this man," said the settler named Thompson. "I certainly
thought him a friend to the English."
"This young woman accuses him of the murder," asserted a soldier,
doggedly.
"Don't let him go, because of what young Morris says," came from
another. "He don't know Injuns as well as some of us older heads do."
"Perhaps not, but I know White Buffalo," answered Dave, bravely. "More
than once he has aided my father and my uncle, and our folks. I'd trust
him as quickly as I'd trust a brother."
"Dave is my friend," said the aged chief, gratefully. "White Buffalo
will ever remember him for his kind words."
"I go in fer shootin' him!" cried one of the frontiersmen, a fellow
known around Fort Cumberland for his loose habits. "The only Injun
worth havin' around is a dead one. Shoot him!"
A spirited discussion took place, and it was soon evident that fully
half of those present were in favor of taking White Buffalo's life. The
Indian listened calmly to what was said. He showed not a trace of fear.
"I'll not stand for this," whispered Dave to the aged chief. "You must
get away, somehow, White Buffalo. See, here is my horse. Take him and
ride for your life."
"White Buffalo is not afraid to die."
"I know that. But I want you to live. Here, take the horse and go. I
know you can make----"
Dave did not finish, for just then a wild yelling came from a distance,
followed by several shots. The soldiers and settlers turned their faces
in that direction, to learn what the new alarm could mean. It was the
opportunity that White Buffalo needed and he realized it as fully as
did Dave.
"Quick, the horse!" whispered the youth, and turned the steed around.
In a twinkling White Buffalo was up in the saddle. The animal gave a
bound, and like a flash disappeared around a bend of the forest trail.
"The Injun is escaping!" roared one of the settlers, and fired his
rifle at the retreating red man. But his aim was poor and the bullet
merely clipped through the branches of the trees.
One or two wished to follow White Buffalo, but it was realized that to
do so on foot would be useless.
"You're out your horse," said one settler to Dave, and winked his eye
suggestively. He had been in favor of giving White Buffalo a chance for
his life.
"I don't care," answered Dave, calmly. "I'm sure he was not guilty and
I am glad he got away."
"You wouldn't say that if some of your own folks had been massacred,"
grumbled the man who had lost his son.
There was no time to say more, for the yelling at a distance was
increasing. The party moved off in that direction, taking Grace Chowith
with them. Later on the poor young woman was removed to the home of
some relatives in Philadelphia, and placed under the care of a medical
expert, when her reason gradually returned to her.
It was learned that the yelling was due to a party of Indians who were
somewhat intoxicated, having stolen a keg of rum from a trading-post
half a mile away. The Indians attempted to fight the settlers and
soldiers when they appeared, and as a result six were shot down, two
dying at once and one on the day following.
This was the end of the excitement for the time being. The report that
there was a general uprising was premature, and in a few days the
vicinity of Will's Creek became as quiet as before. The Indians lost no
time in disappearing, so that not a single red man could be found in
that locally.
"They know enough to keep their distance," said Rodney. "If they show
themselves now they'll be shot down like so many dogs."
"Oh, if only this conflict would come to an end!" sighed Mrs. Morris.
"Shall we never have peace and quiet again? It is simply dreadful to
live in this unsettled fashion all the time." And she hugged Nell to
her breast as she thought of what might happen to her little daughter
in case the homestead was attacked.
Dave had told his uncle of what he had done for White Buffalo and
Joseph Morris warmly approved of his action.
"It would have been an outrage to shoot White Buffalo," declared Joseph
Morris. "He is one of the best Indians that ever lived. He is welcome
to the horse as far as I am concerned."
"He'll return that horse some day," answered Dave, confidently.
Day after day went by and the Morrises looked anxiously for more news
from the trading-post. But not a word came in, and at last Dave felt
greatly worried.
"I must get out there as soon as spring comes," said he, to his uncle.
"I want to know what father and Henry are doing."
"I am equally anxious," answered Joseph Morris. "But we can do nothing
until the weather gets settled."
The snow was fast disappearing and soon it was gone altogether. Now was
the time for sugar making, and the Morrises and two of their neighbors
prepared to go out into the forest where there were some maple trees
and start a camp.
Sugar and syrup making always interested Nell, and she begged to be
allowed to go out to the camp.
"All right, I'll take you," said Rodney, who was going. "But you must
promise to behave yourself."
"As if I didn't always do that," answered the young miss, with a pretty
pout.
"And you mustn't eat all the sugar, either," said Dave, with a smile.
"No, for I want to bring some home for the twins," returned Nell. "Oh,
but they just love maple sugar--and so do I," she added.
The party was soon on its way, and by the middle of the afternoon the
camp was established. Then the trees were tapped and the little funnels
inserted, and the kettles placed beneath. The sap ran quite freely and
Rodney calculated that they would get all the sugar and syrup they
expected to, and perhaps a little more.
In those days syrup and sugar making was carried on in a primitive way.
There was no costly apparatus--the outfit consisting principally of a
pair of big copper kettles and several pans and ladles. Rodney was a
good hand at making sugar and he attended to that part of it for the
Morris family, while Dave attended to tapping the trees and bringing in
the sap, and also to the needed firewood for boiling.
A rough shelter had been erected in the sugar camp and all slept in
this at night, the women and children on one side and the men on the
other. Because of the Indian attacks one man remained on guard each
night, everybody taking his turn at this duty.
For several days the sugar making went along without interruption. All
in the camp were happy, and little Nell enjoyed herself to the utmost.
There was another little girl in the camp with her, and the two were
company for each other.
On Saturday of the week Dave and Rodney agreed to give up sugar making
for the day and do a little hunting. They had seen some game at a
distance and both were anxious to bring down whatever came in sight.
Nell was left in charge of some friends, and off they started directly
after an early breakfast.
Their course was along the bank of a small stream which, deep in the
woods, formed a fair-sized pond. The spot was a beautiful one, the
large trees shading a good portion of the pond. Around the water
hovered many birds, and with a shotgun Rodney succeeded in bringing
down several of them. He also brought down a pair of squirrels, while
Dave laid low a wild turkey of fine size.
"That spoils our chance of a deer around here," said Rodney. "But that
first shot was too good to be missed."
"We can't look for a deer every time we go out," answered Dave. "Why
even old hunters know better than that. Sam Barringford has gone out
all day, so he tells me, without a sign of anything larger than a
turkey or a rabbit. Game is not as plentiful as it was years ago. Some
day I suppose there won't be anything left to shoot."
A little while after that they came on the track of a deer, and
concluding that it was fresh, they resolved to follow it for a mile
or two. The tracks led directly through a patch of tall timber and
then to a rocky elevation overlooking a part of the settlement at Fort
Cumberland.
"There's the deer!" whispered Rodney, suddenly, and pointed to the top
of the rocks.
"What a fine shot!" returned Dave. "Rodney, you can bring him down with
ease."
"You had better take him, Dave. You found the tracks."
"Never mind, you try for him," answered Dave, for he knew his cousin
was anxious enough to have the shot.
Thus urged, Rodney looked to his rifle, to see that it was ready for
use. Then he knelt down on the ground and rested the barrel of the
weapon on a rock. Taking careful aim he pulled the trigger.
"Good, you have him!" shouted Dave, as the deer leaped high in the air
and then dropped in its tracks. The bullet had done its work well, and
the game was dead before they reached it.
They were soon on the point of rocks and inspecting the prize. It was a
fine young buck and Rodney felt correspondingly elated.
"I declare, you'll soon be as good a hunter as Henry!" cried Dave,
enthusiastically. "That shot was a prime one."
"I had everything in my favor," answered his cousin, modestly. "He
seemed to be making a regular target of himself when I aimed at him."
"That may be true, Rodney, and yet some hunters would have had buck
fever at the last minute and missed him. I've seen lots of 'em get the
fever, and they couldn't hold a gun steady to save their lives."
"We are going to have some fun getting this game down into the camp,
Dave."
"We can sling the carcass on a pole and you can take one end and I'll
take the other. There's a sapling I can cut down for the purpose."
While Dave was cutting the pole Rodney took another look at the young
buck and then at the surrounding country. Far off to the west of Fort
Cumberland he saw a cloud of smoke arising.
"Daddy Farker must be burning some brush," he thought.
The man he mentioned was an old settler well known in that section
of Virginia. He lived alone with his grandson and was rather a queer
character. He played the violin, and was always asked to furnish the
music for any "shin-dig" in the neighborhood. It was said by some that
he had frequently played for old Lord Fairfax at Greenway Court, but
this is a matter of doubt.
"Dave, look here!" cried Rodney, presently. "What do you make of that?"
Dave came upon the rocks and gave a sharp look in the direction pointed
out.
"Why, that is Daddy Farker's cabin that is burning!" he cried. "And
see, there are some Indians running across the clearing! It must be
another uprising!"