THE BEGINNING OF THE UPRISING
Dave's surmise was correct, it was indeed Daddy Farker's cabin that
was in flames, and the old settler himself lay on the cabin floor,
tomahawked and scalped. But he had sold his life dearly, for close at
hand lay the bodies of two Indians. The grandson, a boy of nine, had
fled to the woods, and now the red men were doing their best to find
him.
"You are certain it is the cabin?" queried Rodney.
"Why, yes, I can see the chimney in the very midst of the flames.
Rodney, this is some more wicked work of the redskins and nothing else."
"What ought we to do?"
"We'll have to get back home as fast as we can. If those redskins find
that we are at the sugar camp they'll do what they can to surround us."
"Then come on, and never mind the deer. It's a shame to leave such game
behind, but----"
"Let us throw it up in a tree," suggested Dave, and they did so. But it
was the last they ever saw of the game, for coming back for it proved
out of the question.
They started back for the sugar camp with all speed. Rodney was willing
to have Dave go ahead, but the latter declared he would not leave his
cousin alone. He let the former cripple set the pace and, of course,
kept by his side with ease.
Their sudden appearance at the camp caused surprise and there was
consternation when they told what they had seen.
"Yes, we must get back at once--delay is dangerous," said one of the
men in the camp. "Come, let us pack up right now." And he set to work
and the others joined. By three o'clock in the afternoon the return
to Will's Creek was begun, a settler named Buswick going ahead as a
vidette, to see that the way was clear.
The whole party was less than a mile from the first cabin at Will's
Creek when they heard shots and shouts at a distance, and Buswick came
running back with news that half a dozen Indians were in sight.
"They've got their war-paint on," he said. "They mean business this
time."
"Are they coming this way?" asked Dave.
"I can't say as to that--at least, not yet. I thought I had best report
to onct," answered the settler.
Along the side of the trail was a deep gully, and finding the Indians
were coming closer, the whites crawled down into this hollow and hid
among the bushes. The men might have offered battle, but did not wish
to do so because of the women and children.
It was not long after this that the Indians came along the path and
passed close to where the party was in hiding. They were nine in number
and all hideous in their war-paint. Little Nell kept tight hold of her
brother's arm. She was resting directly between Rodney and Dave, and
both silently vowed that they would save her from harm or perish in the
attempt.
But the Indians were in too much of a hurry to look into the gully, and
in less than three minutes the danger of discovery was over.
"They are gone!" murmured Rodney, and gave a sigh of relief.
"Are the bad Indians gone?" questioned Nell, in a trembling voice.
"Yes," said Dave.
"How awful they looked, all smeared with yellow and red," went on the
little miss. "None of them were as good-looking as White Buffalo."
The Indians soon passed out of sight and hearing, and then the journey
to Will's Creek was resumed. They were just in sight of the Morris
homestead when they saw a man riding toward them on horseback. It
was Sam Barringford, and his condition and also that of his steed
proclaimed that he had ridden hard and for a long distance.
"Sam!" cried Rodney.
"Rodney! And Dave an' Nell!" burst out the old frontiersman. "Is the
cabin safe yet?"
"I think it is," answered Dave.
"Thank Heaven for it! Do ye know what's took place? The redskins are
risin' all over the land."
"Is it a general uprising?" queried one of the settlers.
"It is, an' they say the Injuns are burnin' cabins an' killin' all the
settlers everywhere. I just came from McReary's place. It's burnt down,
an' McReary is dead, an' so is his old mother. Higginby's place is
gone, too, and so is Spodd's. But Spodd got away and said he was going
to Winchester."
"Daddy Farker's place is burnt down," said Rodney.
"It's a black day for this section of the country," went on Sam
Barringford. "The Injuns are fairly wild and I was told some of 'em are
acting like mad-men. They hung up one man over to Bedford by the heels
and cut him all to pieces." And this statement, revolting as it was,
was strictly true.
When the Morrises and Barringford reached the homestead they found
Joseph Morris and his wife much agitated over the condition of affairs.
The good woman of the home was glad to see her daughter come back in
safety, and hugged the girl many times. The twins crowed loudly at the
old frontiersman's appearance.
"If matters grow worse we'll have to go to Fort Cumberland," said
Joseph Morris, as he limped to the doorway to look out. "I'd hate to
leave the place, but we can't stay here to be butchered."
"Let us leave while there is yet time, Joseph," said his wife.
"Remember, if we are surrounded, all escape will be cut off."
"I will have Sam go out and see how the land lies first," answered
Joseph Morris. "Things may not be so bad after all. In such excitement
as this, affairs are greatly exaggerated."
Sam Barringford went out half an hour later, when he had somewhat
recovered from his hard ride. Dave went with him, leaving the others to
prepare for flight at a moment's notice.
We, who live in the security of these days, cannot realize the
hardships and horrors of the years gone by. The settlers, and
especially the women and children, dwelt almost constantly in the
fear of the red mans war-whoop, with its burning and plundering, its
tomahawking and scalping. Every man dwelt with a gun behind his door,
and when he went to the field to plow, or to hoe corn, he took the
weapon with him. Nearly every cabin had its hiding-place, where the
women and children might huddle in case there was not time to flee.
Some people made free to confess that they did not get a whole night's
sound sleep sometimes for a month, and when they arose in the morning
it was with the thought whether or not the day would bring more trouble
from their red neighbors. So treacherous had some of the Indians been
in the past, that many would no longer trust them, no matter what
professions of friendship they made.
The Morrises had suffered so much in former years that Mrs. Morris was
almost inclined to urge her husband to give up the land claim at Will's
Creek and move further to the eastward. But the claim was a fine one,
and Joseph Morris hated to part with it, just as his brother hated to
part with the trading-post lands on the Ohio.
"This place will be valuable one day, Lucy," Joseph Morris was wont to
say. "We may not see it, but Henry and Rodney and the others will, and
for their sakes we ought to try to hold it." And then Mrs. Morris would
say no more, but utter a sigh that came from the depths of her heart.
As night came on, Rodney stationed himself on the roof of the cabin, to
watch the surroundings as much as possible. Barringford and Dave passed
along the brook and then crossed to the forest trail leading to the old
Braddock Road, built at the time of General Braddock's advance upon
Fort Duquesne.
Both the old frontiersman and the youth who had served in the army knew
the value of silence at such a time, consequently scarcely a word was
spoken by either as they pushed forward, making a grand semi-circle to
the westward of the Morris homestead. All had now become oppressively
silent--the calm before the storm of the uprising should burst in all
of its fury.
"If the Injuns are in this vicinity they are keepin' amazingly quiet
about it," remarked Sam Barringford, at last. "Not a trace on 'em
anywhar, eh, Davy?"
"I haven't discovered anything yet, Sam. But they may be near for all
that."
"Right ye are, lad. Which way do ye allow we'd better go next?"
"Let's walk the old red deer trail. Then, if we don't see anything of
'em, we may as well go home again."
"Jest what I was on the p'int o' suggestin'. Come on," and off the old
frontiersman stalked, with Dave just behind him. As agreed beforehand,
one looked ahead and to the right, while the other looked to the left
and to the rear. Thus they kept all points of the compass covered
constantly.
They were almost at the end of the red deer trail when Barringford came
to a sudden halt. At the same instant Dave caught the sound of distant
footsteps approaching rapidly.
"Whoever he is, he is coming this way, and he is in a hurry," whispered
the youth.
"By the way he runs I calkerlate he's an Injun," came from the old
frontiersman, and he looked at the priming of his flintlock, something
which at once caused Dave to inspect his own weapon. "Git behind yonder
bushes an' we'll see who he is, an' whar he's bound."
They had just disappeared behind the bushes Barringford had pointed
out, when the red man appeared. He caught a brief glimpse of them, but
it was enough, and with the quickness of lightning he leaped into the
forest and disappeared.
"Spotted us!" muttered the old frontiersman, much crestfallen.
"Do you suppose he is alone?" asked Dave.
"Reckon as how he is, lad. But he may be nothin' but a spy, with a
hundred o' the red varmints behind him."
"Shall we try to get behind him and cut him off from going back?"
Before Barringford could answer there arose on the air the loud and
clear note of the night-bird, thrice repeated.
"Listen!" ejaculated Dave. "I think I know that note!"
They listened and presently the sound was repeated. Then Dave put his
little fingers in his mouth and gave a loud and peculiar whistle in
return. This was answered, and the youth whistled a second time.
"It's White Buffalo!" he said.
"Hullo, White Buffalo!" called out Barringford. "If it's you, come out!"
A moment later the Indian chief emerged from the thicket into which he
had plunged so unceremoniously. As he came closer they saw that he was
almost exhausted and that one of his moccasins was missing.
"White Buffalo, what brings you?" questioned Dave, anxiously.
"My good friend Dave!" gasped the aged warrior. "White Buffalo is glad
to see that he still lives." He staggered and clutched the youth's arm.
"Hearken unto the words of White Buffalo. I have run many miles--I
can run no further. Go back to your home and tell all there that
they must flee, or they will be massacred. The red men are rising
everywhere, from the Great Lakes to the Fathers of Waters (meaning the
Mississippi). Many settlements have already been given over to the
flames, and many more will follow. Pontiac has sent forth the word,
and none of my fellow warriors will listen to those who are friendly
to the English. Already some of my own followers have deserted me,
even as they deserted me during the war with the French. It is a black
night for the English, and blacker nights are to follow. Flee to the
eastward--to some fort--ere it is too late. I--I--White Buffalo is
a-wearied--he--must--must--sleep."
And thus speaking the aged Indian chief staggered and would have fallen
to the ground had not Dave's youthful arms supported him.