WINTER QUARTERS
FOR the instant after Dave disappeared under the water of the river he
gave himself up for lost. The fearful chill struck him to the very
heart, and he could think of nothing to do to save himself.
As mentioned, the snake came down after him, dragging a good part of the
line, until the upper end was stopped by Barringford. Then, by a chance
turn, the reptile loosened itself and lost no time in sinking away to
parts unknown.
Dave gave a gasp and the icy water filled his mouth and some entered his
lungs. Then his presence of mind returned and he floundered around,
trying to reach the surface once more.
He came up, but not at the hole. Instead his head bumped with
considerable force against the under side of the icy covering of the
stream.
“I am lost! I shall die for the want of a breath!” was the horrible
thought that crossed his mind. And then he prayed that his life might be
spared to him.
It was by the merest chance that his hand came in contact with part of
the fishing line. The sharp hook pricked his thumb and he at once
recognized what it was.
“The line,” he thought. “I must follow that back to the hole!” And as
well as he could he felt along the line foot by foot, swimming and
holding on at the same time.
His senses were fast leaving him and he was still some distance from the
hole when he felt a jerk on the line. He gave a jerk in return and then
half a dozen in quick succession. Then, as in a dream, he wound the line
around his wrist.
Dave could never tell, afterwards, what happened directly after this. He
felt himself drawn along, and felt the ice scratch his nose and his
chin. Then a hand grabbed him by the hair and by the arm, and he was
lifted up, dripping like a drowned rat, and too weak to open his eyes or
make a move.
“Got him, thanks to Heaven!” burst from Sam Barringford’s lips. “An’ he
aint dead nuther! But I’ll have to hustle back to camp or he’ll be
frozen stiff!”
Leaving the lines and the catches where they lay, he took Dave by the
heels and held him up head downward. A little water ran from the young
soldier’s mouth and he gave a gasp and a shiver.
“Breathin’ yet,” muttered the old frontiersman. “Wot he wants now is a
hot blanket an’ a hot drink, and he shall have it too, in jig time.”
With Dave slung over his shoulder, he set off on a run through the woods
for the fort, a distance of nearly half a mile. The way was rough and
the jouncing helped to keep up the youth’s feeble circulation.
Soon Barringford came within sight of some of the soldiers. They wanted
to know what was wrong, but he would not stop.
“Who has got the hottest fire here?” he demanded, as he rushed into the
camp, and being directed to the spot, he requested some soldiers to heat
up a pair of the thickest blankets to be found. He also asked for some
steaming coffee, knowing Dave would not touch liquor.
A short time later found Dave stripped and between the hot blankets, and
with jugs of hot water placed at his feet and over his heart. He had
also been given some of the smoking coffee, and these various
applications soon put him into a perspiration.
“Sam, you are very, very good,” he managed to whisper, for he was almost
too weak to speak. “If it hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t have come——”
“Never mind now, Dave,” interrupted the backwoodsman. “Jest you keep
quiet an’ git back your strength. Yes, I know it was a close shave.”
Barringford’s quick work saved Dave from serious sickness, and the young
soldier suffered nothing more than a slight cold and a few pains in the
knee that had been wrenched. The frontiersman went back the next day for
the lines and the fish that had been caught, and by Dave’s advice the
fish were distributed among those who had given their aid to him.
After this the winter passed without special incident. During the heavy
snows the fort and the camp were cut off for several weeks at a time
from communication with other points. Time often hung heavily on the
soldiers’ hands and they did what they could to amuse themselves. One
favorite sport was to shoot at a target, and as the commander was
anxious to have all his soldiers good shots he allowed his men to use
more powder and bullets than would otherwise have been the case.
Dave was interested in the shooting, and went into one of the contests,
the captain of the company having put up three prizes—a new pair of
boots, a silk neckerchief, and a jackknife.
“I don’t suppose I’ll win a prize,” said the young soldier. “But I am
going to make all the points I can.”
Each man was allowed three shots, and each shot could count on the
target from 1 to 5 points. On his first shot the young soldier made 4
points.
“Not bad, lad,” said Barringford. “Be a leetle more careful the next
time and you’ll make it a 5.”
When Dave’s turn came again he did make it a 5. This was followed by
another 4—giving him a total of 13 points out of a possible 15 points.
The best shots of the company took their turns last, among them Raymond
and Barringford. Each of these scored 15 points, and so did two other
old riflemen. Two scores of 14 were made, three of 13, including Dave’s,
and the others ranged from 12 down to 6.
“Thirteen isn’t bad, Dave,” said Barringford encouragingly. “There are
twice as many that are worse than those that are better.”
“Henry could do better,” answered Dave. “But then he’s a natural-born
marksman and I am not.”
Much interest was displayed in the shooting-off of the tie between the
four who had made a full 15 points. The target was placed at twice the
distance it had before been and each man was allowed two shots.
Raymond was the first to shoot and scored a 4. He was followed by a
sharpshooter named Russell, who also made a 4; and then came an old
hunter named Bauermann, who made a 3.
“Now, Sam, you must make a bull’s-eye,” whispered Dave, and the old
frontiersman did so, hitting the target squarely in the center.
It was now Raymond’s turn to try his second and last shot, and he took
it with great care, making a 5, giving him a total of 9. Then came
Russell with a 2, and Bauermann with a 4.
“Now, Sam, another bull’s-eye,” cried Dave, who was more excited than
was the old frontiersman.
“Not so easy,” answered Barringford, but there was a quiet smile on his
face. Up came his musket, and on the instant there was a crack, and his
second bullet landed directly on top of his first.
“What’s the total score?” was the cry from a dozen throats.
“Total score as follows,” sang out the man at the target. “Barringford
10, Raymond 9, Bauermann 7, and Russell 6. Barringford, Raymond, and
Bauermann take the first, second, and third prizes in the order named.”
“Hurrah for Barringford!” cried Dave, and led in the cheering. Then
there was a call for a speech, and the old frontiersman was hauled
forward and made to mount a flat rock.
“I don’t know what ye want me to say,” he remarked half sheepishly.
“I’ve done my best to win them boots, and I guess I won ’em. They’ll
keep my feet warm, while Raymond, he kin keep his neck warm with the
kerchief, an’ old man Bauermann kin sit by the fire and whittle sticks
to his heart’s content. I thank ye for your kindness, and I vote we all
thank the cap’n for the prizes an’ the good time——”
“Whoop! Huzza!” cried the crowd. And then somebody added: “All in favor
of thankin’ the cap’n will please march up and present arms to him!” And
then the crowd caught up their guns and marched past the officer in a
long line, each presenting arms as he passed. And thus the shooting
match ended very pleasantly.
During the winter Dave and Barringford, and occasionally Raymond, went
out in the forest to hunt. They brought in several small deer and two
bears, as well as a large quantity of rabbits and not a few wild birds.
Others went fishing through holes in the ice, but Dave declared that he
had had enough of such sport.
Only once came a letter from home. This was around New Year’s, and
brought the information that all were doing well, excepting Rodney, who
was worse and who must now submit to another operation by the surgeon.
The folks had heard from Henry and were glad to learn that he had
escaped from the French. In the letter Mr. James Morris said he was
sorry to hear that Jean Bevoir had gotten away.
“He will surely try to make more trouble for us,” he wrote. “You must
beware of him. He is worse than a snake in the grass.”
But Dave was more disturbed about Rodney than he was just then about
Jean Bevoir.
“It is too bad he must submit to another operation,” he told
Barringford. “I am afraid he will get so he can’t walk at all.”
“It hurt him to travel when the old cabin was burnt down,” answered the
frontiersman. “He told me so privately, but he didn’t want to say
nuthin’ afore his folks, cause, ye see, it wouldn’t do no good. That was
a hard journey.”
“I have always suspected as much,” answered Dave. “Rodney is a good deal
of a hero, and I know he won’t let folks know how much he suffers. And
it pains him, too, to think that he must sit still or at the most
shuffle around a little, while Henry and I can come and go as we please.
I can tell you what, Sam, a person’s health is a good deal to him.”
“My lad, health is the greatest blessing ever God give to ye, an’ don’t
ye never forgit it, nuther. Wot’s riches, if ye can’t live to enj’y it?
Onct, when I was down in the mouth because I hadn’t so much as a
farthing in my pocket, I was in Annapolis. There I met a rich old
merchant in his lordly coach, with a driver and footman, an’ I don’t
know what all. Did he look happy? No, siree! He was bent almost double
with gout an’ rheumatism an’ other diseases an’ sufferin’ tortures
uncounted. Sez I to myself, sez I: ‘Sam Barringford, you’re a fool to be
down in the mouth! You’ve got your health an’ strength, an’ you’re
richer ten times over nor thet feller with all his hoard o’ gold. Go
back to the woods an’ scratch fer a livin’ an’ bless God you kin walk
an’ run, an’ jump, and eat an’ drink as ye please, an’ enj’y life.’ An’
back to the woods I come, an’ been happy ever sence. Yes, Dave, health
is the greatest blessin’ a man ever had.”
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