AT FORT CUMBERLAND
"Did you hear what he said?" asked Dave of Sam Barringford.
"I did, lad, and ye can reckon as how he tells the truth," returned the
old frontiersman. "The best thing we can do is to follow his advice an'
git back to the cabin without delay."
"We can't leave him here, Sam. It wouldn't be fair."
"It's better to leave him here than to take him to the settlement,
Dave. Remember, some think he is guilty of that Digly murder."
"Supposing we put him in the bushes, out of sight of the trail,"
suggested the youth. "We can make him as comfortable as possible. He
doesn't seem to be hurt, only exhausted."
This was agreed upon, and they carried the aged Indian chief to a
secluded spot where he might rest in security. As they placed him on a
bed of moss and leaves, he opened his eyes.
"White Buffalo cannot go on," he said. "Must rest first."
"We were going to place you here," said Dave, "and then go on. You know
why we can't take you to the settlement."
"White Buffalo wants not to go to the settlement," was the slow answer.
"He will stay here. Go back--ere it is too late."
"Let me bring you some water," said Dave, and ran down to a brook near
by. White Buffalo drank eagerly and then fell back on the leaves. He
urged them to go on.
"You can do nothing for me," he said. "Go--it is the one wish of my
heart that my brothers Sam and Dave shall escape this awful massacre."
A few words more followed, and then the pair hurried away. They looked
back and saw that White Buffalo had again sunken into a profound
slumber.
"He was dead tuckered out," was Barringford's comment. "I doubt if he
could have reached the cabin."
"He would have forced himself to do it, even if he had fallen dead on
the doorstep," answered Dave. "I can tell you, Sam, White Buffalo is a
friend, if ever we had one."
"I believe it, lad. But hurry along. We have no time to spare. We must
not only get ready to leave but spread the news as well."
Fifteen minutes of rapid walking brought them back to the homestead.
One look at their faces told Joseph Morris that something was wrong. In
as few words as possible, they told their story.
"Oh, Joseph, if this be true, let us leave at once!" cried Mrs. Morris.
"Do not remain! Remember Nell and the twins!"
The appeal came straight from the woman's heart, and her husband could
no longer resist. He gave orders to pack such belongings as could be
carried on the backs of the two horses, and told Rodney to turn loose
the cattle and start them on the trail to Fort Cumberland. This done,
he hobbled around himself, to help put up the few bundles that could
be carried. There were a few dishes, with one or two highly prized
pieces of silver, some clothing and rugs, several feather pillows, the
spinning wheel, some pots, kettles, and pans, and a few other things.
Dave also made a package of the books, for he thought as much of those
precious volumes as he did of anything in the cabin. Then he satisfied
Nell and the twins by packing the dolls and the few toys they possessed.
In less than an hour they were ready to depart. As Mrs. Morris looked
back at the cabin the tears ran down her cheeks, and seeing this,
little Nell also began to cry. A few things which they prized, but
could not take along, were hidden in various places outside the cabin,
and then the door and the windows were closed and locked.
"I trust it proves a false alarm," said Joseph Morris. "But we cannot
afford to count upon it."
No one else felt like speaking just then, and with a last look at the
cabin, where so many happy days had been spent, they turned down along
the brook and then took to the trail leading to Fort Cumberland. Rodney
was in advance, driving the cattle before him, and Sam Barringford
brought up the rear, keeping a careful watch that they might not be
surprised from that direction.
Night was now upon them and soon the twins fell asleep. As lame as
he was, Joseph Morris carried one while Dave carried the other. Nell
was also sleepy, but insisted upon walking by her mother's side for
a distance of two miles. Then she could go no further, and was glad
enough to perch herself on Barringford's shoulder for the rest of the
distance.
"I hear somebody approaching!" cried Dave, when they were still a mile
from the fort.
They came to a halt and the horses were driven behind some brushwood
that bordered the trail. Then they heard a shout in English, and there
followed the appearance of three cows, driven by a tall, gawky youth
of sixteen or seventeen, dressed in homespun.
"Hello there, Si Lee!" cried Dave. "Bound for the fort?"
Being addressed so suddenly made the boy jump. He had a shotgun with
him, and this he swung around in awkward fashion.
"Who's thet a-callin' o' me?" he bawled. "Speak, or I'll fire on ye,
sure ez taters is taters!"
"Don't get excited, Si," went on Dave, with a smile. "It's only Dave
Morris. Our whole family is bound for the fort."
"Oh!" Si Lee looked much relieved. "Got the alarm then, eh? Ain't it
terribul, now! They say the Injuns is a-goin' to murder every white man
in these parts! Wish I was in Philadelphy, don't you?"
"Where are your folks, Si?" asked Mr. Morris.
"Pap's coming with Dick an' the things jest behind me. Marm, she's to
Annapolis on a visit. Dock Haven brung the news. He had a stiff fight
with some o' the Injuns over to Deer Springs. He heard the Injuns was
a-marchin' on Fort Pitt, an' Venango, an' Detroit, an' all over."
"Did he hear anything about the trading-posts on the Ohio?" asked Dave,
quickly.
"He didn't have no news very straight. He met an old trapper from the
Miami, an' the trapper said that all the forts out in them western
countries had been captured by the redskins, with some French traders
a-helpin' 'em. We didn't have time to talk it over much, fer pap took
to packin' up ez soon ez the news come. He wasn't goin' to be sculped,
not if he could help it. An' I ain't goin' to be sculped nuther!" added
Si Lee, and urged his cows along the trail faster than ever.
"I hope this news about the trading-posts isn't true," said Dave, to
his uncle.
"Dave, we have got to take what comes," answered Joseph Morris,
gloomily. "When we built that new cabin I fancied we should never have
to leave it. But here we are going away, and the Indians may burn it
down before another sunset. Perhaps, in view of all that is taking
place, we can be thankful that our lives have been spared."
Si Lee drove his cows up to the cattle belonging to the Morrises, and
it was not long before Mr. Lee and his son Dick came up, with big
bundles on their backs. The man was a newcomer in that vicinity, and
knowing little or nothing about Indian warfare, was much frightened
over what he had seen and heard.
"You don't catch me goin' out thar ag'in," he said to Joseph Morris.
"I'm goin' back to the James River, whar I come from. It ain't no fun
tryin' to run a farm with the redskins watchin' fer a chance to sculp
you!"
"That is true, Neighbor Lee," answered Mr. Morris. "But if there were
no settlements on the frontier what would prevent the Indians from
striking the places further eastward? The only way to get the best of
the red men is to force them further and further to the west and the
north."
"Well, I ain't goin' to be the one to do it," answered Nathan Lee,
doggedly. He was a coward at heart, and had no desire to fight, no
matter what was to be gained thereby.
When Fort Cumberland was gained, the Morrises found that seven families
from the frontier had already arrived there, and also two children from
a homestead three miles to the north of the fort. The children had lost
their big brother, who had had them in charge, and could not tell what
had become of their father and their mother.
Nearly everybody present had a tale of woe to tell. Some had been
attacked by the Indians, although the majority had taken time by the
forelock and hurried away before the arrival of the enemy. Not one had
brought along all of his or her belongings, and many valuable things
had been left behind. One settler had seen his cabin go up in flames
while he was only a mile away, and another had hidden in the forest
only a few minutes before the arrival of the Indians. This settler
had propped up an old hat on a stick near an open window, and the red
men, on their approach, had riddled the hat and stick with bullets and
arrows.
With so many people coming in, it was utterly impossible to accommodate
them within the stronghold, and many had to camp in the woods outside.
Here the settlers put up a rude barricade, and all the men were formed
into a company to do guard duty. As Dave had been a soldier, he was
placed in charge of a part of this guard, something which pleased him
not a little.
"It's like a touch of old times, when I was fighting under Washington,
and Johnson, and Wolfe," said he, to Barringford.
"I reckon we are going to see more o' sech fighting, lad," answered the
old frontiersman. "Only, maybe, 'twill be wuss," he added, reflectively.
"Sam, I'd give something for definite news from our trading-post."
"I don't doubt but what ye would, lad--I would myself. It's queer your
father didn't send in any more messages after Ira Sanderson brought
thet letter."
"That is just what is worrying me. If everything was all right I'm
almost positive father would let us know."
"Perhaps, if he was driven out, he'll come home."
"That is possible, but I imagine he'd make for Fort Pitt first--in
the hope that Captain Ecuyer would send out a detachment to drive the
redskins away."
"I don't believe the commandant at Fort Pitt could give him any
assistance--he'd have too much on his own hands. This ain't no common
uprisin', not by a long shot. Pontiac means business, an' to my way o'
reckonin' it's going to be a war to a finish."
"Then you really think the Indians will march against Fort Pitt, and
Detroit, and all the other strongholds?"
"Why not, ef they can work together? It's the only way they can hope
for success, for then one fort can't send assistance to another. If
each is surrounded, it will have to work out its own salvation,--or go
under. Pontiac is a mighty wise Injun and he knows that his reputation
is at stake."
"Do you think we could fight our way through and get to the
trading-post?"
"It might be done, although it would be uncommonly risky, Dave. But I
don't advise it, fer if the post has fallen, we'd have all the peril
o' gettin' back ag'in. Besides that, we're needed here, by the look o'
things. As White Buffalo said, it's goin' to be a black night fer all
on us," concluded the old frontiersman.