DAVE’S JOURNEY TO QUEBEC
IT was not long after he was lost in the snow, that Dave heard news from
Quebec that disheartened him greatly. This was that Henry had been
arrested for stealing and was likely to be hanged for the offense.
The news came in through several messengers who arrived at Fort Ontario
on important business for General Murray. One of the messengers knew Sam
Barringford well, and it was this man who gave the news, first to the
old frontiersman and then to Dave.
“Henry arrested for stealing!” exclaimed the young soldier. He could
scarcely believe that he heard aright.
“Sorry for you, young man, but it’s the truth,” was the reply of the
messenger, and he gave what few particulars he knew. He had left Quebec
before Henry ran away, so knew nothing of this new turn of affairs.
It was to Barringford that the messenger told how Henry was in danger of
hanging. “General Murray is bound that looting shall stop,” said he. “So
some time ago he had notices posted up giving warning that a thief
caught in the act would be hanged.”
“I’ll wager my life on it, Henry aint no thief,” said Barringford
warmly. “Thet boy is as honest as the day is long.”
“I know nothing of that. He is now in prison, or, for all I know, he may
be dead.”
Barringford considered it his duty to tell Dave of the fate that
overhung his cousin, and the two talked the matter over for the best
part of a night.
“If I could get to Quebec I’d go,” declared Dave. “Perhaps I could do
something—if—if——” He wanted to say if it was not too late but the words
stuck in his throat.
“Say the word an’ I’ll go with ye, Dave,” responded Barringford. “Thar
don’t seem to be no ust o’ stayin’ here.”
“Can we make it, Sam? Quebec is a long distance from here.”
“I aint afraid to try it, Dave. I allow as we are goin’ to have a spell
o’ good weather.”
“But the Indians?”
“The Injuns don’t stir much in the winter. An’ if we have our muskets
an’ a pistol or two I reckon we kin hold our own ag’in ’em.”
The upshot of this conversation was that both Dave and the old hunter
went to lay the case before their commander the next morning. The
general listened patiently to what they had to say.
“To me such an undertaking is foolhardy at this season of the year,”
said the general. “But if you feel that you really want to go, you have
my permission, and I will give you each a paper to that effect. But if
you lose your lives in the attempt your friends must not blame me.”
Dave and Barringford set off the very next day, in company with two of
the messengers, named Grassbrook and Heppy. Both of the messengers were
old hunters who knew the trails well, and it was said that Heppy had a
trace of Indian blood in him.
The party was two days on its way when they came to the Indian village
of Kanankee, presided over by an old chief named Leaping Elk. The
Indians were friendly, and the travelers were glad enough to remain with
them over night.
In the morning an agreeable surprise awaited Dave. During the night six
warriors of the Delawares had come in, under the command of White
Buffalo.
“White Buffalo!” cried the young soldier. “Where did you come from?”
“From the southward,” answered White Buffalo. “And where goes White
Buffalo’s young friend David?”
“To Quebec—if we can get that far.”
“It will take many days to make the journey.”
“I suppose so—but that cannot be helped.”
Dave then told the Indian chief why he was making the journey. White
Buffalo listened attentively and his eyes flashed fire when he heard
that Henry had been arrested as a thief.
“The English chief at Quebec is a fool,” he said. “My white brother
Henry is no thief. I will tell the English chief that to his face. He is
a fool.”
“I want to save Henry if I possibly can,” answered Dave.
“What will David do?”
“I don’t know yet. But I have some letters that tell of Henry’s bravery
in battle, and those may help him.”
White Buffalo was silent after this and had but little to say while
supper was being prepared and eaten. But before he retired for the night
he came to Dave again.
“Would my white brother like White Buffalo to go with him to Quebec?” he
asked.
“Oh, White Buffalo, that is asking a good deal of you!”
“Then White Buffalo may go?”
“If you want to go, certainly. But—but—haven’t you anything else to do?”
At this the Indian chief shook his head sadly.
“No, White Buffalo has nothing much left. His tribe is split and broken.
Some have gone to the French, many are dead, or wounded, or sick. Six
warriors only remain, but they are of the best, and they have sworn by
the Great Spirit to stay with their chief to the finish. Let us go with
you, and if we meet unfriendly Indians, or the French, we will do what
we can to defend you.”
“Now ye air talkin’ right from the heart!” cried Sam Barringford, as he
caught White Buffalo’s hand. “Come on by all means. Ye air the whitest
Injun I ever seed!” And his face glowed with satisfaction, which pleased
White Buffalo greatly.
The journey was resumed as soon as the sun was fairly up. White Buffalo
now took the lead, in company with Heppy, and the others followed on
behind in close order.
White Buffalo had been over this ground but a short time before, and
knew even a better trail than did the messengers from General Murray. He
also knew where the snow was lightest, and took them along a ridge where
the walking was by no means bad.
For several days the journey proceeded without interruption. Not a sign
of Indians or French was seen, and the landscape at times looked utterly
deserted. Occasionally when they passed through a patch of woods, or
through the forest, they would stir up some wild animal, and they were
never without game for a meal all the time they were on the trip.
Half the journey to Quebec was accomplished when there came a light fall
of snow, followed by a wind that for twenty-four hours constantly
increased in violence. For several hours they kept on in this wind, but
as last both the whites and the Indians called a halt.
“White Buffalo knows of shelter close to this spot,” said the Indian
chief. “We had best go there, and wait until the mighty wind has
fallen.”
All willingly followed White Buffalo to the shelter, which was the under
side of a hollowed-out cliff, fronted by some heavy brush and a row of
saplings. Here all set to work to clear out a space for themselves and
another for a camp-fire, for the wind made the air seem much colder.
Several of the men were taking it easy on some boughs they had cut,
while the others were huddled around the camp-fire, warming up, and
preparing something to eat, when the wind arose with greater violence
than ever. It was a winter “fall,” as it is called in that territory and
it whistled and shrieked with a fury that caused more than one in the
party to spring to his feet in alarm.
“By gum! This aint no June zephyr!” declared Barringford, as he gazed
from the shelter with an anxious look on his bronzed face. “It’s a
reg’lar fall, thet’s wot it is!”
“High wind, truly,” put in White Buffalo. “Great Spirit knock down many
trees that are proud.”
The Indian chief had scarcely spoken when there came another whirl,
which caused the camp-fire to fly in several directions. Then, before
anybody could run away, there followed a crash on top of the cliff and
then one in front of it.
“The trees are coming down!” yelled Dave.
“We must git out—we’ll be buried under the cliff!” came from
Barringford.
As both spoke they tried to leave their dangerous quarters. But the
movement came too late. With a thud the tree that had stood above them
came down in front of the opening, and an instant later another tree
before the cliff landed on top of the first.
A huge branch caught both Dave and Barringford and hurled them flat.
Then came another crash, and Dave found himself buried under small
stones and dirt, and for the moment he felt as if the end of the world
had come.
------------------------------------------------------------------------