With Washington in the west;
Date: 2023-03-03T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: War stories; United States -- History -- French and Indian War; 1754-1763 -- Juvenile fiction; Washington; George; 1732-1799 -- Juvenile fiction; Braddock; Edward; 1695?-1755 -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: With Washington in the west;
or, A soldier boy's battles in the wilderness

Author: Edward Stratemeyer

Illustrator: A. B. Shute

Release date: March 3, 2023 [eBook #70193]

Language: English

Original publication: United States: Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co, 1901

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/70193

Credits: David Edwards, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST; ***

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Col. Washington was in the thickest of the fight.—Page 278.

Colonial Series

WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST

OR

A SOLDIER BOY’S BATTLES IN THE
WILDERNESS

BY
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
Author of “On to Pekin,” “Between Boer and Briton,” “Old Glory
Series,” “Colonial Series,” “Pan-American Series,” “Great
American Industries Series,” “American Boys’
Life of William McKinley,” etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE

BOSTON:
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Copyright, 1901, by Lee and Shepard

All rights reserved

With Washington in the West

Norwood Press
Berwick & Smith
Norwood, Mass.
U.S.A.

PREFACE

“With Washington in the West” is a complete story in itself, but forms the first of several volumes to be known by the general title of “Colonial Series.”

The main character of the book is David Morris, the son of a hardy pioneer who first settles near Will’s Creek (now the town of Cumberland, Virginia), and later on establishes a trading-post on one of the numerous tributaries of the Ohio River.

As a boy David becomes acquainted with George Washington, then but a young man of seventeen. Washington is at work, surveying tracts of land in the beautiful Shenandoah valley, and David is glad enough to go with him as an assistant. Together they ford the rivers and creeks, and climb the mountains, and they do not separate until the ill health of Lawrence Washington compels his brother to return home.

The coming of the English traders into the valley of the Ohio was viewed with suspicion by the French, and it was not long before these traders were served with notices to quit. A notice reaching Mr. Morris, he turned it over to his son, who was to take it to the Virginia authorities and learn whether or not it must be respected. On his way eastward David falls in with the Virginia Rangers, who are under the command of Washington, and learns that there is practically a state of war between the English and French in America. Several trading-posts have been attacked and this being so the youth becomes anxious to return to his father, and throws in his fortunes with Washington as a young soldier. Then follows the march to Great Meadows, the defence of Fort Necessity, and the news that Mr. Morris’ post has been captured by the French and the trader taken prisoner.

Chafing to learn what has become of his parent, David remains at the home of his uncle until the next Spring, when General Braddock arrives with his troops from England. Another campaign against the French is now opened and once again the youth becomes a soldier boy, to witness Braddock’s bitter defeat and Washington’s masterly effort to save the remnant of the army from annihilation.

In the preparation of the historical portions of this work numerous authorities have been consulted, including the Writings of Washington, biographies by a great number of more or less well-known authors, and several colonial histories and books of record. For this reason the author trusts that it is free from any error sufficient to hurt its usefulness. As a story the writer hopes it will find equal favor with the many which have preceded it from his pen.

Edward Stratemeyer.

Newark, N. J.,
May 20, 1901.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER | PAGE
I. | The Homestead in the Clearing | 1
II. | White Buffalo Brings News | 10
III. | In the Forest | 21
IV. | Deer Shooting by Moonlight | 31
V. | An Unexpected Meeting | 41
VI. | George Washington the Surveyor | 54
VII. | The Camp in the Mountain Gap | 64
VIII. | On to Annapolis | 74
IX. | A Storm in the Mountains | 83
X. | An Unsuccessful Mission | 93
XI. | Dave Becomes Washington’s Assistant | 102
XII. | Surveying Along the Shenandoah | 111
XIII. | A Bear Hunt | 119
XIV. | Home Coming in the Snow | 129
XV. | The Situation Between the English, French, and Indians | 138
XVI. | Dave’s Departure for the West | 146
XVII. | Carried Down the River | 154
XVIII. | Dave Visits an Indian Village | 163
XIX. | The Trading-Post on the Kinotah | 172
XX. | An Alarming Discovery | 181
XXI. | The Defence of the Trading-Post | 191
XXII. | Washington’s Mission to French Creek | 201
XXIII. | An Indian’s Treachery | 210
XXIV. | Washington at Will’s Creek | 219
XXV. | Soldiers of the Wilderness | 229
XXVI. | The Retreat to Fort Necessity | 239
XXVII. | Battle at Great Meadows | 249
XXVIII. | The Fall of the Trading-Post | 259
XXIX. | Braddock’s Defeat and Fall | 268
XXX. | Fighting in the Forest | 278
XXXI. | Father and Son | 286
XXXII. | Back to the Homestead—Conclusion | 295

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Col. Washington was in the thickest of the fight (278) | Frontispiece
PAGE
Like a flash Turtle Foot was yanked backward | 42
“Looking for a chance to ship, lad?” | 86
An instant later the bear discovered them | 127
“The white men are welcome to Nancoke” | 169
“Stop, do not murder him!” | 215
“Got it pretty bad,” said the surgeon | 252
“Father!” was all Dave could say | 293

CHAPTER I
THE HOMESTEAD IN THE CLEARING

“Uncle Joe, an Indian is coming this way, down the Creek trail.”

“An Indian, Dave! Can you make out who it is?”

“Not yet. He’s in the shadow of the hemlocks.” The youth pointed along the brushwood bordering the watercourse. “There! do you see him?”

“I do. He is trailing a gun, too, and wears white feathers. It must be White Buffalo.”

“White Buffalo! Oh, Uncle Joe, do you think he’d be able to get back so soon?—over the mountains and rivers, and all?”

“These redskins can travel swift enough when they want to, Dave, and like as not your father told him to bring the word back as quick as he could.” Joseph Morris continued to keep his eyes fixed on the trail, which wound in and out under the low-drooping trees. “Yes, it’s White Buffalo, and he’s coming straight for our cabin.”

“I hope he brings good news,” went on Dave Morris. “Shall I go and tell Aunt Lucy? More than likely he’ll want something to eat—they all do when they come here.”

“Yes, tell her to fix up a good supper for the redskin, and tell her, too, to get that new dress goods I bought at Winchester last week out of the way. If she doesn’t White Buffalo will surely want some of it for himself or his squaw—he can’t hold back on bright colors—although he’s not half so much of a beggar as some of them.”

“I will. But, Uncle Joe, you’ll bring him right up to the cabin, won’t you? I’m so impatient to hear from father.”

“Yes, I’ll bring him right up.”

“It seems an age since father went away,” added Dave Morris.

With these words the boy turned away from the bank of the creek and, axe in hand—for he had been helping his uncle cut down some scrub timber on the edge of a small clearing—moved quickly through a patch of corn and then into a belt of timberland composed of beautiful walnut, hickory, and mountain ash. Beyond the belt was a second clearing, long and narrow, spread out upon both banks of a brook flowing into the creek previously mentioned. In the midst of this was a rude but comfortable log cabin, long, low, and narrow, the eaves at one end coming down in a porch-like roof to shelter the kitchen door. There were four rooms in this home in the wilderness and all upon the ground floor, the upper floor under the roof tree being little more than a loft in which to store certain winter supplies.

David Morris was a youth of fourteen, tall, strong, and by no means ill looking. His manner was open and frank, and this disposition made for him ready friends wherever he went. Since earliest childhood he had been used to a life in the open, and this made him appear somewhat older than his years. He could plow a field or cut down a tree almost as well as a man, and he was far from being ignorant of the use of firearms. Indeed, the winter before, he had gone out hunting with old Sam Barringford, one of the best of the hunters and trappers in the Virginia valley, and had acquitted himself in a manner to earn the ardent praise of that individual. As a matter of fact, Dave would rather have gone hunting and fishing any time than stick to the work on the farm, but he knew his duty to his uncle and his aunt and did not seek to evade it.

Dave’s taste for woods and waters—for hunting, trapping and fishing—came to the lad naturally. His grandfather had been of New Jersey stock, and had drifted into Pennsylvania with the thrifty German pioneers who afterward did so much to make that great state what it is to-day. But old Ezra Morris could not remain in sight of the farms and plantations and had gone on south-westward, into what was then termed the great Virginia valley, between the Shenandoah and the upper Potomac Rivers. Here he had built himself a cabin, and it was here that James Morris, the father of Dave, was born and raised. The surroundings were wild, and the majority of neighbors—if those living half a mile or more away could be called such—were Indians.

Although Ezra Morris always sought to be fair with the red men, others in that district cheated the Indians in numerous ways, and as a result the Indians arose one wintry night and slew nearly all the settlers for miles around. Among the victims were Ezra Morris and his wife; and the son James, then a boy of twelve, barely escaped by hiding in a snow-bank behind the cabin. He was found in the woods two days later, nearly frozen to death, and was taken to Winchester by parties living there. At Winchester was his brother Joseph, several years older, who was visiting at the time, and thus escaped the horrors of the massacre.

For several years after this Joseph and James Morris remained in and around Winchester, then a frontier post of considerable importance, and during that time the elder brother married Lucy Smiley, who had just come over from England with her brother, who was in the employ of William Fairfax of Belvoir. Several years later James Morris also married, and both families settled near what was called Will’s Creek, not a great distance from the present city of Cumberland. It was here that Dave was born and also his cousins, Rodney, Henry, and little Nell.

At first all went well with both families, but one day Rodney Morris had a bad fall from a tree which injured his leg and rendered him lame. This was a great misfortune, for the young man had been a much needed help to his father and his uncle, but a greater trial followed in the sudden and unexpected death of James Morris’ wife, who was taken with a chill one Saturday noon and expired on the following Sunday morning.

This blow almost stunned both the husband and the son, and it may truly be said that the former never got over it. As soon after the funeral as possible the father placed his son in his brother’s care and took to the woods, and none of his folks saw him for nearly a year. When he returned his pale and haggard face showed plainly that even in the depths of the wilderness beyond the Blue Ridge he had not been able to get away from his great grief.

During his wanderings James Morris had gone West as far as a stream of water called by the Indians Kinotah. He described the river as very lovely and one upon which a trader with a little means might set up a trading-post to great advantage. One particular spot, which he named Ella Dell, in memory of his wife, continually haunted him, and he told his brother and his son that some day he intended to go back to it. He reported that the Indians were now very friendly and that many of those who had conducted the massacre of years gone by were dead.

Neither of the brothers was blessed with much money, and the opportunities for making any were small, so the idea of opening a trading-post had, for the time being, to be abandoned. All the Morrises, with the exception of Rodney the cripple, worked hard on the farm, and even Rodney did what he could to keep himself employed. During this time Henry Morris made a trip as far East as Annapolis, and on returning told of a stop-off at Lawrence Washington’s magnificent estate at Mount Vernon, so called in honor of Admiral Vernon, under whom Lawrence Washington had served in West Indian waters.

“They are a fine people, those Washingtons,” Henry Morris had declared. “Mr. Lawrence Washington is a thorough gentleman, and his brother George is as nice a boy as any in these parts. And, oh, what a plantation they’ve got! Nearly a thousand slaves, and so many horses I couldn’t count them. I can tell you a place like that is something worth while.”

“The Washingtons have always been rich,” had been Joseph Morris’ answer. “And Lawrence Washington lost nothing by marrying William Fairfax’s daughter. Those families own more land than they know what to do with.”

“Old Lord Fairfax was there,” Henry had continued. “He takes a great interest in George Washington. George is learning surveying at school, and Lord Fairfax said he might give him the work of surveying his estate some day.” And so the talk had run on, for in those days Lord Fairfax was a personage of great importance in that neighborhood, and the Washingtons were also well known.

One day there came a sudden and unexpected windfall to the Morrises. A distant relative who lived in New Jersey died and left to each brother the sum of twelve hundred pounds—about six thousand dollars—and also a quantity of household goods, cattle and horses. At once James Morris journeyed to New Jersey after the fortune, going both for himself and as his brother’s legally appointed agent. This trip in those days was a long one, and had to be made on horseback for the greater part of the distance. The mission took four months, and when Dave’s father returned he brought with him a train of sixteen pack-saddle horses, some carrying furniture which had originally come from England and which could not be duplicated in the colonies.

As soon as the furniture and other effects had been left at the cabin near Will’s Creek, James Morris had announced his intention of using his part of the inheritance in establishing a trading business with the Indians on the Kinotah. “I know there is money to be made in it,” was the way he reasoned to his brother. “A good deal more money than is to be made here at farming.”

The idea pleased Joseph Morris, but he was loath to go further into the wilderness with his wife and his little daughter, and with a son who was a cripple, and after a long conference it was decided that James Morris should start out alone, using a thousand pounds belonging to both, and also the pack horses, and leaving Dave with his uncle.

It grieved Dave to be left behind, yet, as his father thought it best, he did not complain, only begging that he might be permitted to join his parent at the trading-post at some time not too far in the future. To this the father had promised that the lad might make the trip during the year following, if all went well.

The hopeful pioneer had fitted out his trading expedition at Winchester, with goods brought from Annapolis, and with his pack horses loaded with trinkets, bright colored blankets and cloths, and other things dear to the heart and eye of the red men, had set off for the great “Western Country” as some people of that time called the western portion of Pennsylvania. Here the virgin forests were almost trackless, the only trails being those of the Indians and the deer and other wild animals. Bridges there were none, and every river had to be either forded or swum, and the journey through the vast mountain gaps was perilous in the extreme. The party consisted of James Morris, two old hunters known as Tony and Putty, and half a dozen Indians under the leadership of White Buffalo. It was agreed that as soon as the Kinotah was reached and the trading-post established White Buffalo should be sent back with the news.

CHAPTER II
WHITE BUFFALO BRINGS NEWS

When Dave entered the cabin homestead he found his Aunt Lucy and his cousin Rodney, the cripple, hard at work making tallow candles, the only kind of light used about the place after sundown. Over a fire in the dooryard hung a kettle full of soft tallow and on the kitchen floor rested the metal moulds for forming the candles after the wicks had been placed in from end to end. The best of the candles were made in this manner, but Rodney was making a commoner sort by simply dipping wicks into the fat and hanging them up to harden, repeating this process until the prospective lights were of the desired thickness.

“Why, Dave, what brings you back so soon?” cried Mrs. Morris, somewhat startled at his unexpected appearance. “I didn’t blow the horn for supper.”

“White Buffalo is coming, and Uncle Joe told me to tell you that he would probably be hungry, and for you to get those new dress goods out of the way before the redskin saw ’em. If you don’t he’ll most likely tell you he dreamed you gave them to him for his squaw, or something like that.”

“Mercy on us, White Buffalo! Yes, I will get them out of sight, every one! He is a good-enough Indian, but, oh, every one of ’em is such a beggar! What did he say of your father, Dave?”

“I didn’t see him to talk to, Aunt Lucy—I came away before he came up. But Uncle Joe said he would bring him right up to the cabin. Shall I help clear the kitchen floor?”

“Yes, we are about done for to-day, and Rodney is more than tired, I can see that plainly. Rodney, you just go and rest yourself on the bed, Dave and I can get this mess out of the way in a jiffy.”

“I’m willing enough,” answered Rodney, with a deep drawn sigh, and rising from his rush-seated chair he hobbled out of the kitchen to the next room.

“Do you want me to kill anything for supper—a couple of chickens or ducks?” queried Dave, as he began gathering up the still warm candle moulds.

“No; Henry shot a deer right after dinner—down by the old salt lick—dropped him, so he said, without the least bit of trouble. He’s down at the shed now dressing it. We can have that,—and I’ll make some corn cakes—the kind those Indians like. You had better bring me in some more wood. I’ll take care of the rest of the candles. And tell Henry to fetch along a nice piece of that deer meat, and a jug of that yellow apple cider.” And so speaking Mrs. Morris bustled around at a lively rate, that she might have the kitchen in order when her husband appeared with their Indian guest.

At the cattle shed, a rude affair of rough logs and tree branches, Dave found his cousin Henry tacking up the deer-skin to dry and tan in the sun. Henry was a short, stout youth and a good deal of the same turn of mind as his mother.

“I’ll bring up a good-enough piece of meat for any redskin,” he said, after listening to Dave. “I’m glad White Buffalo has come, although I didn’t expect to see him for a fortnight, or until the next new moon. Everything must have gone along swimmingly with your father.”

“I hope so, Henry.”

In a few minutes Henry brought up the venison, and Dave followed with the extra wood, and soon Mrs. Morris had a roaring fire with which to prepare the evening repast. There was, of course, no stove, only a rude brick oven, and the meat was placed on a spit to broil, the oven being used for the corn cakes and for other things the lady of the cabin wished to bake. From chains overhead hung a pot and an iron kettle with water, and also a smaller kettle in which Mrs. Morris brewed herself some tea. As the cooking progressed most of the smoke went up the broad chimney but some came into the kitchen, and the ceiling, where hung numerous things to dry, was covered with soot in consequence.

The table was bare of linen or oilcloth, but scrubbed to a snowy whiteness. Plates were laid for all, but at the place to be occupied by White Buffalo a short bench was drawn up, that the Indian chief might eat from the level of his lap should he prefer to do so. The knives and forks, the latter quite new, were of iron, and Joseph Morris, like many other old pioneers, preferred to use his pocket-knife when cutting food. Napkins there were none, but a bucket of water stood in a corner and above it was a towel hung on a cow-horn, for the use of anyone who wished to keep his fingers or mouth clean. And yet this cabin was furnished as well as those of thousands of other pioneers.

The supper was well under way when Joseph Morris appeared at the edge of the homestead clearing side by side with White Buffalo, who slackened his pace to a dignified walk when approaching the cabin. The Indian was of the tribe of Delawares, tall, thin, and as straight as an arrow. His eyes were black and bright, and his mouth showed a set of teeth as clean and polished as those of a wolf. His headgear consisted principally of white feathers, tipped with yellow to imitate gold, and over his shoulder he carried a small blanket of buffalo hide, dyed white with yellow spots, the spots being somewhat in the shape of wolves’ heads. This signified, in the Indian language, that he was White Buffalo, son of Yellow Wolf, a former powerful chief of the Delawares.

As the Indian came up Dave ran out to meet him and shake his hand. “I am very glad to see White Buffalo,” he said. “I hope you bring good news of my father,” and he pressed the red man’s hand warmly.

“How-how!” answered the Indian in return, meaning, “how do you do?” Then he looked at Dave steadily for a few seconds. “The white boy’s father was well when I left him, eight sleeps ago. He must still be well,” he went on.

“I am glad to hear that, White Buffalo. Did he find the spot he visited before?”

At this question a proud look came into the Indian’s face. “Yes, he found the spot, but not alone. White Buffalo was told how the place looked, and he hunted it up for the white boy’s father.”

“White Buffalo has brought a long letter from your father,” put in Joseph Morris. “I know you are impatient to read it, so you may do so before we have supper,” and he handed the communication to his nephew. Then he led the Indian into the cabin, where Mrs. Morris and the others greeted him as warmly as had Dave, for all but little Nell knew the old chief well and liked him.

The letter from James Morris was straight to the point and characteristic of the man, and ran, in part, as follows:

“The journey to this spot was a hard one. We had great difficulty in crossing the rivers, and at one of the fords Bess, a good black mare, lost her footing and was drowned before we could catch her and take off her packs.

“Two days before we reached the Kinotah we came upon a band of very dirty Indians under the leadership of Fox Head, a Miami. They begged for many things and we had at last to drive them off. I got two of White Buffalo’s braves to trail them for several miles, and they brought back word that Fox Head was very bitter against me. Fearing an attack that night I moved our camp to the south of the regular trail, but the Miamis have not appeared since.

“In consequence of moving from the trail I lost the lay of the land for twenty-four hours, and had to call on White Buffalo to aid me in locating the Kinotah. This he did with great ease, and by high noon the day following we reached the point I have named Ella Dell, and before night were hard at work establishing our trading camp.

“At present our post consists of a strong log cabin built in the shape of a cross, and is located in the angle formed by the Kinotah and a creek I have called Indian Brook, for the Indians use it greatly when in quest of fish. Game is plentiful and I have arranged it so that Tony and Putty can go out and shoot. The Indians are already bringing in their hides and furs, but a good deal of what they have is old and I have given them to understand that I want only that which is new and of the best. I believe that by next year the trade will be a well paying one.

“I am sorely in need of a number of things, and on another sheet have made out a list. If you will buy them at Winchester or Annapolis and pack them well on two horses, White Buffalo has agreed to bring them to me without delay. To the list you can add anything new which you may see and which you think would be attractive for trading purposes.

“Give my best wish and love to all, and tell Dave that I think of him constantly and that I trust all goes well until we meet. Perhaps when White Buffalo makes another trip I will write him personally, but just now my hands are too full, and I am writing this while the others are sleeping.

“Before closing, I must mention that the French are pushing into this territory fast, and that I heard from two of the Indians that they consider this land as belonging to them. I always considered that it belonged to our colonies. As yet I have not met any of the French traders, but have been told that a number of them are located further west, on the Ohio River. Unless this question of whose land it really is, is settled soon, it may bring serious difficulties in the future.”

Dave read the letter with deep interest, not once but several times. Communications of this sort were not common in those days, and each letter received was treasured for a long while afterward. He wished his father had written to him personally, but understanding the situation, did not complain.

When he entered the kitchen he found the family and White Buffalo assembled around the table. Placing the letter on a shelf he slipped into his own seat. A moment of silence followed, and then Joseph Morris offered a humble prayer and gave thanks to God for the food of which they were about to partake. During this White Buffalo sat as motionless as a statue, nor did he speak a word while the food was handed around. He ate from the bench, and if he wanted a thing took it, otherwise he simply motioned it away.

The meal over, Joseph Morris brought forth some of his best tobacco and filled a new clay pipe, one of the red variety with a long stem. He took a few puffs, then handed the pipe to White Buffalo who did the same. Then the Indian produced his own pipe and went through the same performance. After this both smoked freely, and the tongue of White Buffalo loosened readily.

“I have seen many places which were fair to look upon, but none more fair than Ella Dell,” said he. “In days to come the spot will bring many doubloons to the pockets of the Morrises. The game love the spot, the deer and the fish cannot stay away from it, and the river makes sweet music as it passes it by.”

“Yes, my brother told us of it before,” answered Joseph Morris. “It was continually in his mind. I sincerely trust we can make our title good to it. But what do you know of the French around there?”

At this the brow of White Buffalo clouded. “The French are not my friends, nor are they the friends of the English who have gone toward the setting sun. The French would keep that fair land for themselves, and send away both the English and the Indians. Sooner or later there will be war because of this.”

“War!” cried Dave.

The Indian nodded gravely. “The French and the English are at peace, but when they buried the hatchet many moons ago none of the great warriors spoke of the lands between here and the Father of Waters,” he went on, meaning by Father of Waters the Mississippi River. “I have heard the story from White Thunder, and also from Tanacharisson, the Half-king. The French have sailed upon the Father of Waters and claim all the lands which drain therein; the English claim this land because of a treaty made many winters ago with the Iroquois. And the Indian who lives upon the land, what of him, with his squaw and his pappoose? If the French or the English take the land he will have nothing, and he and his squaw and his pappoose can starve. Yes, the hatchet will be dug up again.”

“It sounds reasonable, White Buffalo,” answered Joseph Morris, after a thoughtful pause. “But if war should come because of this, I think the Indians ought to stand in with the English.”

“White Buffalo will stand with his white friends. But he cannot speak for those of other tribes. Many will fight with those who promise the most, for we are but children when it comes to dealing with the white man. I have lived with you long and I know you better than do most of my people. The Indian is wise, but his wisdom is of the woods and not of books. The white man can cheat him if he will, and the Indian will be none the wiser.”

Here the conversation changed and Joseph Morris went over the list his brother had sent him. Before retiring that night it was decided that he should depart for Winchester and Annapolis the next day, leaving White Buffalo to remain at the cabin until his return.

“Can’t I go with you and help buy those things?” asked Dave of his uncle.

“Would you like to go very much, Dave?”

“I would.”

“Then you shall go. And now let us off to bed, for it is growing late.”

A few minutes later the occupants of the cabin retired, leaving White Buffalo to make himself comfortable, as suited him, on the kitchen floor in front of the dying fire.

CHAPTER III
IN THE FOREST

Dave and his cousin Henry occupied a small bedroom at the north end of the cabin. Like the other apartments, this was unplastered excepting for some clay stuck in the chinks to keep out the wind. The room boasted of one window, a foot and a half square, and fitted with a heavy wooden shutter, to be closed in winter, or when there was danger of an attack.

Three-quarters of the floor space was taken up by the heavy four-posted bedstead, built of black walnut and hickory and almost as hard and as heavy as iron. The bed was corded with rawhide, on which rested a mattress of straw and a long pillow filled with chicken feathers. In front of the bed, and directly under the window, ran a bench the length of the room, and above was a row of pegs upon which the boys could hang their clothing. The ceiling was so low that the boys could jump up and touch it with ease.

By the time the boys had said their prayers and retired, a deep silence had fallen on the cabin and its surroundings, broken only by the faint gurgling of the brook as it tumbled along over the rocks and the soft fall breeze as it swept through the forest beyond the clearing, sending the golden leaves down in showers. Presently the moon shone over the top of the distant mountains, tipping the brook here and there with silver. The shining of the orb of night seemed to displease the wolves, and soon one and another let up a lonely howl, ending in a chorus which was truly dismal. But those in the cabin were used to such sounds and were not disturbed. White Buffalo uttered a long sigh and then began to snore, as if in answer to the beasts outside.

The moon still hung low in the heavens, as if loath to give place to the rising sun, when Joseph Morris arose, followed by his wife, and set about preparing the morning meal. White Buffalo was already up and sat on the doorstep, cutting out a wooden trinket with his knife. With this trinket he intended to make friends with little Nell, who so far, had proved rather afraid of him.

“White Buffalo make little Nell a wooden pappoose,” he said, when the six-year-old came from her bedroom and shyly approached to see what he was doing. “Little Nell can dress the pappoose and make much play.”

“Oh, a doll!” cried the girl, and much of her shyness vanished. She looked it over. “Why, it hasn’t any arms!”

“White Buffalo make arms by-me-by, and feet, too. Make arms and feet fast with sticks, so little Nell can move them and make head fast with stick, too, so pappoose can look over shoulder and all around. Heap big pappoose then, much proud!”

“That will be nice,” answered Nell and smiled frankly into the Indian’s face. Then the two consulted about the length of the legs and arms to be put on the doll, and before breakfast was ready they were firm friends. When finished the doll was decidedly crude and had a strong Indian expression on its straight-nosed face, but this Nell did not seem to mind. She possessed but few toys and this was her first doll, and she cherished it accordingly.

Joseph Morris felt that he would have to go direct to Annapolis for the majority of the things his brother wished, so preparations for such a journey were made. Such a trip was quite an event, and Henry Morris was sent around to several of the neighbors, who might desire some commission executed in town. Annapolis was rapidly becoming a place of considerable importance, with a growing trade in tobacco, hemp, and other commodities.

It was a cool, crisp day when Joseph Morris and Dave set out on their journey. They were on horseback, and several neighbors came to see them off and incidentally to load them with further commissions, which had been forgotten until the last moment.

“Take care of yourself, Joseph,” said Mrs. Morris, on parting. “And you be careful, too, Dave,” and then she kissed both her husband and her nephew affectionately. Little Nell also came in for a hug and a kiss, and the others for a handshake.

The distance to the trading-post at Will’s Creek was three miles, and the distance from the post to Winchester, then nothing but another frontier post, was about forty-five miles. But the wagon road from one place to the other had not yet been cut through, and the trail ran in and out along the river and through the forest, making the distance to be traversed at least sixty miles. The mountain pass was a difficult one and at one point ran around the edge of a cliff forty to fifty feet high. Here a tumble for man or beast to the jagged rocks below would have meant instant death.

But Dave thought of none of these perils as he rode beside his uncle or directly behind him. He had a good mount and a good rifle, and his aunt had fairly stuffed their saddle bags with good things to be eaten on the way. The lad saw nothing but a grand outing ahead and whistled cheerily in consequence.

Mr. Morris was more thoughtful and so pre-occupied that he scarcely noticed Dave’s rendering of “The Pirate’s Lady, Oh!” and of “Lucy Locket Lost Her Pocket,” afterward known universally as “Yankee Doodle.” The tunes were whistled half a dozen times, and then of a sudden the lad turned to his relative.

“Uncle Joe, what are you so silent about? You haven’t spoken since we passed the old fish hole.”

“Is that so, Dave?” was the answer. “Well, to tell the truth I was thinking of many things—of the articles we are to buy and where I could probably get them cheapest, and of the talk we had with White Buffalo about the trouble with the French.”

“Do you think we will have trouble with the French?”

“I cannot see how it can be avoided. As I understand it, when the treaty of peace was signed at Aix-la-Chapelle nothing was said about the English and French possessions in western America. Now the French discoverers have sailed down the Ohio and the Mississippi, and consequently they may claim the land by right of discovery, especially when they realize the value for trading-posts and for cattle and farm lands.”

“But can they claim the land when they sail only on the water?”

“They hold that a discoverer sailing along an unknown river can lay claim to all lands drained by that river, or by creeks flowing into it. But this is absurd when it comes to such a stream as the Mississippi which is the basin for miles and miles of territory, or even with such a river as the Ohio.”

“When did they discover the Mississippi?”

“About seventy-five years ago one Padre Marquette sailed down the stream for several hundred miles, in company with a friend named Joliet. They were French subjects and took possession, so-styled, in the name of the King of France.”

“But what about our claim?”

“Well, to tell the truth, our claim isn’t much better than that of the French. In 1741 the commissioners from Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania met a number of head chiefs of the Six Nations, and the Indians, for four hundred pounds, gave up all their claims to the land lying this side of the Mississippi.”

“Well, that claim ought to be all right, it seems to me.”

“It is all right for the land this side of the Alleghany Mountains, but as for the other I doubt if the Six Nations had any right to deed it away. They never lived on it and the story that they once conquered it is only a tradition.”

“Well, who does the land belong to?”

“To the Indians first, and then to the white people who establish themselves on it. As to what nation shall rule, our country and France will have to settle that between them.”

“Then war must surely come?”

“Probably; although the folks in Europe may have enough of fighting for the present. Very few have forgotten the hardships of the last struggle or the distress which followed. For myself, I do not wish to live to see another war, either with the Indians or the French.”

“Have the French any regular settlement on the Ohio and the Mississippi?”

“I don’t know of any settlement on the Mississippi, but their fur traders are on the upper Ohio, Sam Barringford met several of them when he was on a hunt with White Buffalo. He said they were a lawless set, some of them half-breeds, and they would get the Indians drunk on rum and then literally rob them of their pelts. I shouldn’t be surprised if the Indians rose up some time and wiped them all out in revenge.”

“If the French traders are that sort do you think they will bring trouble to father?”

“They are not all that sort. Here and there you will find a good-enough fellow. As to bringing trouble, though, that’s another question. You know when an Indian goes on the warpath he is apt to get excited and then perhaps one trader will look just as black to him as another. But your father didn’t go to trade in rum, and he expected to give the redskins honest value for their hides, so they may remain his friends even if they do rise.”

“I think war is a dreadful thing, Uncle Joe, and I can’t see why civilized nations should fight each other. It’s bad enough for the redskins to do that.”

“True enough, Dave, but I imagine there will be fighting to the end of time. It’s a sort of court of last resort, you know; first folks argue, then they make demands, and at last they fight, and there doesn’t seem to be any help for it. But it’s truly a pity England and France can’t agree—they’ve pitched into each other so many times.”

The pair had now reached the end of the trail beside the creek and for the time being the conversation came to an end. There was a small brook to ford and then the side of a hill to climb. Here the giant trees sent their roots sprawling in all directions and they had to proceed with care lest one of the steeds might stumble and break a leg. The forest was dense, for a woodman’s axe had never yet entered it, and in some spots the gloom was intense while at others the faint rays of sunshine piercing the boughs above served only to intensify the darkness. In spots the trail was very damp and the trees covered with fungi, in other places there were patches of green moss as soft as the most delicate carpet. Here and there the boughs hung so low they had to lift them to get past.

“What a solitude!” remarked Joseph Morris, as they came to a halt in a glade surrounded by stately walnuts. They held up their heads to listen. Not a sound broke the stillness close around them. From afar came the songs of birds and the chant of some swamp frogs. Around them floated butterflies of various hues, and presently came a cluster of honey bees, heading for an old tree they had just passed. At once all else was forgotten by Joseph Morris but the bees.

“A bee tree, Dave!” he cried. “See, we are in luck for once!”

“A bee tree, true enough!” echoed the youth. “It ought to be pretty well filled with honey by this time, too. Of course you’ll mark it, Uncle Joe.”

“To be sure, although I shouldn’t forget it very easily—being so close to this opening and so near to the trail. But we’ll mark it, so that nobody else can claim it between now and the time we come for the honey.”

Approaching the tree with caution Joseph Morris noticed the bees go into an opening just above the lower branches. His experienced eye told him that there was here a hive of considerable size with a good many pounds of honey in it. He marked the tree with care, so that it now became his property by right of discovery.

“We’ll gather in that honey just as soon as we return from Annapolis,” he said. “It will please mother I’m sure, for we are short on sweets for this winter.”

And then they proceeded once more on their way.

CHAPTER IV
DEER SHOOTING BY MOONLIGHT

Night found Dave and his uncle at the cabin of a settler named Risley, an Englishman who had come to the neighborhood a year before. Visitors were far from frequent in those days and the newcomers were made heartily welcome by the farmer and his wife. The former insisted on helping them care for their horses, while the latter bustled about to prepare a substantial meal for their benefit.

“It does one good to set eyes on another face,” remarked Uriah Risley, when they were gathered around his rough-hewn table, partaking of a stew in an iron pot set in their midst. “It is so different here from life in Sussex, where we came from. The good wife thought she should die of loneliness when we first settled. But now she is somewhat used to it. Is that not so, Catherine?”

“Truly it is, Uriah,” answered the spouse. “In dear Lenfield Glen we had neighbors by the score, and the smoke of a hundred chimneys went up of a sunrise; here we have nothing but trees and water and blue sky until I am weary of gazing upon it all.”

“It won’t be so for many years,” put in Joseph Morris. “The settlers are coming in more and more every year.”

“I’ve heard some talk of a company being started to take up the lands in the West,” said Uriah Risley. “I believe Lord Fairfax and others are behind the scheme.”

“To get ahead of the French?”

“Aye. I’d like to see the thing go through, too—’twould bring more faces to this district.”

“I cannot say that I object to the solitude, so long as the Indians do not molest us,” said Joseph Morris. “I love the woods and the lonely rivers—I have grown so used to them that they seem part of my life.”

Uriah Risley nodded to show he understood. “I believe you. But Catherine and I are used to having friends around. Why, the poor wife nearly cried her eyes out the first night we were here—nay, nay, do not deny it, for it’s nothing to be ashamed of, Caddy. She said the mountains and the tall, black-looking trees seemed to fairly press in on her.”

“And they do that—at times,” answered Joseph Morris. “I know the feeling. But it will pass away, Mistress Risley, and you will get to love the trees as you love the furniture of your house—and know them just as well.”

The supper was not a dainty affair, but the riders were hungry and ate long and heartily. After the meal Dave insisted upon helping Mrs. Risley get in the wood and water, while his uncle and the owner of the cabin sat by the doorstep smoking and talking.

The moon was rising over the distant trees when of a sudden Joseph Morris leaped up and reached for his rifle, which he had placed behind the kitchen door, “A deer—down at the end of the clearing, where the brook makes a turn!” he whispered. “If you don’t make a noise perhaps I can bring him down.”

“It’s a long shot,” returned Uriah Risley, who was no marksman at all, measured by the proficiency of the old pioneers. “I can scarcely see the animal.”

“I see him,” put in Dave. “There, he is turning up the brook!”

By this time Joseph Morris had his rifle and was examining the flint-lock. The weapon was in good condition for use, and he tiptoed his way out of the cabin, and crouching low, made for a stump standing fifty feet closer to the brook.

“Let us keep in the shadow,” whispered Dave, who wished to give his uncle all the advantage possible, and the Englishman, his wife, and the boy huddled up in the sheltered doorway. A silence of several minutes followed. Joseph Morris had gained the stump and was on his knees behind it, with his rifle barrel leveled across the top.

“I don’t see the deer anymore,” came in a husky tone from Uriah Risley. “He must have got frightened and run away.”

“No, he is there, behind the brush,” answered Dave. “Hist! here he comes!”

All became silent, and Mrs. Risley breathed hard in anticipation of hearing the rifle go off. Step by step the deer came out of the shadow of the forest until the brookside was gained. For a moment it disappeared, behind some brush, then came into view at the other end. Its head was down and only its back could be seen.

Dave looked at his uncle. Joseph Morris still rested behind the stump as motionless as a statue. Presently he let out a short, sharp, hissing whistle. Instantly the head of the deer came up, and the animal was all attention, staring in the direction from whence the sound had come.

Bang! The shot from the rifle echoed and re-echoed through the night air and across the distant mountain. The deer gave a mighty leap into the air, then fell with a splash into the brook and lay kicking convulsively.

“Good! You’ve got him!” shouted Dave, and ran down the clearing with his uncle behind him and the Risleys bringing up the rear. By the time they reached the game the deer had ceased to kick and was calmly breathing its last, with eyes wide open in painful wonder. They hauled the animal out of the brook, and Joseph Morris speedily put it out of its misery by cutting its throat.

“A fine shot!” remarked Dave. “Straight through the neck. It’s something to be proud of—especially in this uncertain light.”

“A remarkable shot!” cried Uriah Risley. “I couldn’t do that if I practised a thousand years! And you took your time, too.”

“The brush hid him a bit and I wanted him to raise his head,” explained Mr. Morris. “Yes, it was a good shot, but I’ve seen plenty equal to it. You can have venison for a week now, and longer.”

“Don’t you want the meat?”

“No, I’ll take the skin and leave the meat to you for your hospitality to Dave and me. Perhaps we’ll stop again on our return from Annapolis.”

“Do, and we’ll do our best by you,” put in Mrs. Risley. “I’ve been longing for some fresh venison these three weeks back, but Uriah was not equal to bringing a deer down.”

“You should practice more with your rifle,” said Joseph Morris, to the cabin owner. “A pound or two spent on powder and ball is often well invested. Dave, here, I am proud to say, can shoot almost as well as myself, and so can my own boys at home.”

“I will take the advice,” answered Uriah Risley. “For such deer meat as this is certainly worth some shillings, not to speak of the worth of the hide.”

The game was brought up to the house, and by the light of a pitch pine torch, the Morrises skinned it and then turned the carcass over to the Risleys.

“Don’t leave it outside,” said Joseph Morris. “This is the night for wolves to be around, and they will make short work of the meat if once they get at it.” And the meat was hung up at the roof of a cattle shed adjoining the cabin.

The Risley homestead boasted of but two rooms, the living apartment and a small bedroom. Under such conditions there was nothing for Dave and his uncle to do but to wrap themselves in their blankets and make themselves comfortable before the kitchen fire. But this was no new experience for them and Dave slept as soundly as though in his corded bed at home. Once during the night he heard the wolves at the cattle shed, but they soon went off disappointed, and did not return.

The Morrises expected to make an early start, but Mrs. Risley would not hear of their leaving without a substantial breakfast and they had to sit down while she made them some pancakes and broiled a fish her husband had caught in the brook the day before. To these were added some blackberry jam and some coffee. The Englishman apologized that he could not offer his visitors any ale.

“I miss my measure for meals sadly,” he observed. “But we have none in the wood and no pot-house handy, so I have to rest content without it.”

“Water is good enough for me,” answered Joseph Morris. “I care for no liquor, saving it be a hot toddy when I have been in the wet and cold and am afraid of taking sick.”

The day was bright and the weather warmer than it had been, and Mr. Morris and Dave rode off in the best of spirits, the Risleys watching them until a bend in the trail hid them from view. To the Risleys the visit was an event to be remembered. Perhaps no other white person would visit the lonely cabin for weeks and perhaps not even a red man would cross the threshold.

As the Morrises approached Winchester the cabins of the pioneers increased, until several could be seen at a time, far up on the mountain sides, or set snug in the valley below. Winchester was a fairly large trading-post, and here, at certain times in the year the hunters, trappers and farmers did considerable business.

When they entered the place they found that a band of Indians had come in several hours before. The red men had brought in the fruits of their summer hunt, which they were exchanging for metal and glass ornaments, highly colored but cheap blankets and cloths, and liquor and sugar. The two latter articles were in active demand, and many of the Indians insisted on carrying the rum on the inside instead of in bottles, and this made them exceedingly noisy. Here and there a brave partly under the influence of drink would become quarrelsome, but the majority indulged in nothing more dangerous than singing, whooping and dancing.

“Much drink, much good jolly time,” said one red man, as he rolled up to Dave and caught the youth by both shoulders. Then he insisted upon rubbing his nose against Dave’s, a not unusual Indian token of friendship.

“You’d be better to leave the drink alone,” returned Dave, in disgust, as he tried to release himself.

“White man’s fire-water heap good,” grunted the Indian. “Make Turtle Foot feel young again.”

“You may think so, but I don’t. Now let me go.”

“White boy no go yet. White boy drink with Turtle Foot. Feel like big brave. See!”

As the Indian concluded he pulled from under his blanket a large bottle still half full of rum. Holding tight to Dave with one hand, he held the bottle in the other and pulled the cork with his teeth. Then he shoved the liquor to the lad.

“Take drink—heap good fire-water,” he grunted. “Turtle Foot treat—Indian big heart.”

“Thank you, but I don’t wish to drink,” said Dave, as calmly as he could. He was alone with the red man, his uncle having gone inside the post, leaving him in care of the horses. Near at hand were half a dozen other Indians all whooping as if trying to split somebody’s ears.

“White boy must drink with Turtle Foot,” insisted the red man in an ugly manner.

“I won’t—and that’s an end on it!” cried Dave, his temper rising. “Now let me go I tell you!” And he gave the Indian a shove that sent him sprawling flat on his back. At once the other Indians stopped whooping and set up a roar at the expense of their fallen companion.

“Turtle Foot has lost his legs,” said one, in the Miami tongue. “He is as a pappoose in the hands of the white boy.”

“Turtle Foot cannot drink fire-water like we can,” said another. “And he cannot make the white boy drink. He had better return to the squaws and sell his fire-water for a bracelet,” and then another roar went up.

With a snort like that of an angry beast, Turtle Foot turned over on the ground and scrambled to his feet. Fearing trouble, Dave started for the doorway to the trading-post. Then he thought of the horses tied some distance away and hesitated, fearing to leave them unwatched. In another moment Turtle Foot staggered up to him and caught him again by the arm.

“White boy shall pay!” he cried, in a rage, and now one hand slid under his blanket and came forth again clutching a long hunting knife.

CHAPTER V
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

It must be confessed that Dave was both startled and dismayed by the sudden turn affairs had taken. He had not wished to quarrel with Turtle Foot from the start, but the half drunken Indian was one of those persistent fellows who could not be avoided.

“Put down that knife!” he said, in as steady a voice as he could command. “Put it down!” And then he caught hold of the red man’s wrist and held on with all his strength. At once the fellow began to struggle, and Indian and boy swayed back and forth in front of the trading-post. The other Indians looked on in expectancy, but nobody tried to stop Turtle Foot in his evil intention to injure the youth.

Strange as it may appear, Dave did not think to cry out until it was too late, and even if he had done so, it is doubtful if he would have been heard above the general uproar the Indians were making. He felt himself pressed back against a stockade and then his foot slipped in a puddle of water and he went down on his knees. Instantly the Indian’s hand left his arm and glided to his throat and the red man held the knife aloft in front of his eyes.

“Consarn you!”

The exclamation came very much in the nature of an explosion, and was followed by the leap of a white man directly behind the Indian. Like a flash Turtle Foot was yanked backward by his hair and his hunting knife twisted from his grasp. Then the newcomer raised the Indian bodily over his head, rushed across the roadway, and threw the fellow into a ditch, where he went to the bottom with a loud splash.

“Thar, you miserable critter, lie thar and cool off! If you ever dare to tech this lad ag’in I’ll split your wizen fer you! The idee of you a-coming to the post to git rum and then cutting up sech a shindy as this! Clar out with you afore I kick you so full of holes your own squaw won’t know you! And you other redskins, you behave yourselves, or I’ll cut loose, and thar will be some tall shooting and knifing going on, I’ll warrant you!” And the speaker ended with a fist shaking that made the Indians retreat in all directions. They knew the man who spoke and knew he meant all that he said.

“Sam Barringford!” ejaculated Dave, joyfully, as he arose to his feet. “I’m mighty glad you came.”

Like a flash Turtle Foot was yanked backward.—Page 42.

“I’m glad myself, Dave,” returned the old hunter. “But tell me, what made him so sot ag’in you?”

“He got mad because I wouldn’t drink with him.”

“Did, hey? Wall, Turtle Foot always was a fool, and he’s a heap wuss when he’s in liquor.” Sam Barringford looked over to where the Indian was extricating himself from the mud. “Mind what I told you!” he shouted. “Git right away from here! You can come back for your knife to-morrow. I’ll leave it with Seth Crosby!” And not daring to remonstrate Turtle Foot limped down the trail away from the trading-post.

Sam Barringford was a typical hunter and trapper of that period, and well known throughout the whole of the Virginia valley, both to the whites and the red men. He was a man of fifty, tall, broad-shouldered, and with muscles of iron. His hair was long, as was his beard, and from under a shaggy pair of eyebrows peered a pair of black eyes as sharp as those of some wild beast. The look of his face was one of decision, yet not unpleasant, and his voice had a peculiar drawl to it that was whimsical in the extreme.

The hunter was dressed in buckskin, with a wide fringe to his leggings. On his feet he wore a pair of Indian moccasins, and on his head rested a coonskin cap with the tail falling over his back. Around his waist was a broad belt containing a hunting knife and a horn of powder, shot and ball, and across his back was slung a rifle which he had nicknamed Old Trusty, as good a piece of firearm as to be found anywhere.

“The Injuns are as foolish as some white folks when it comes to rum,” was Barringford’s comment, as he and Dave walked to where the horses were tied up. “They know it hurts ’em, and yet they won’t leave it alone. Ain’t here alone, are you?”

“No, Uncle Joe is inside the post. He left me to watch the horses. We are on our way to Annapolis to buy some things for father.”

“Then he’s settled on the Kinotah? I’m glad to hear of that, lad. He ought to do well. I shall hunt him up the next time I git out to that region. Took Tony and Putty with him, I understand.”

“Yes.”

“Them twins is all right and rattlin’ good shots to boot. He’ll do well if he treats the Injuns half right—and I know he will.”

“But what do you think of the French, Sam?”

The old hunter shook his head slowly. “Ain’t no telling what them garlic eaters will do—their mind ain’t the same two days. I’ve heard tell they claim the whole Ohio valley. But they might as well claim the whole airth and done with it.”

“I’ve been talking with Uncle Joe about it and he is afraid the peace won’t last. Nothing was said about Lake Erie or the Ohio valley in the treaty.”

“Then the French will make trouble, if they can git the Injuns to side with them—and I suppose they can, or, at least, they can git some of them—those up around the lakes. You see the Frenchman is the slickest talker on airth and he can make the redskin believe a whole lot what ain’t so.”

The old hunter and Dave continued to discuss the subject for a while longer, and then Joseph Morris came out of the trading-post in a hurry, having just heard that an Indian had attacked his nephew.

“What was it all about?” he questioned, and when told showed how much he was disturbed. “The rascal! He ought not to be allowed near the post! He might have killed you had not Sam come up. Sam, I owe you one for that,” he went on, warmly, catching the trapper by the hands.

“I suppose Turtle Foot will remember me, if ever we meet again,” said Dave.

“No doubt on that, lad,” answered Barringford. “But when you do meet him put on a bold front, and my word on it, he’ll sneak in double-quick order.”

The frolics of the Indians had now been resumed, and a number of backwoodsmen had come in to have a good time also. Some of these fellows were half-breeds and many wore the dress of their red brethren. They were a wild, lawless crowd and, on the whole, more to be feared than the Indians themselves. Soon the liquor was flowing freely, the Indians were dancing and whooping madly, and the backwoodsmen were shouting themselves hoarse and shooting their firearms into the night air. This orgy kept up until two o’clock in the morning, when it died away gradually, the Indians slinking off into the woods and the backwoodsmen dropping wherever it was convenient in drunken slumber.

Joseph Morris had secured accommodations for himself and Dave at a cabin close to the post, and hither they retired, leaving their horses in care of Sam Barringford, who tethered them to a tree in the woods and went to sleep beside them as innocently and as free from care as a child. When the carousal in the village broke up some of the Indians came toward Barringford, but as soon as they recognized the old hunter they took great pains to leave him undisturbed.

Dave slept but little that night previous to the end of the noise, and he sat for a long while at the cabin window looking at what was going on in the moonlight. He had witnessed such a scene before, when a white man and an Indian had been seriously hurt, and he anticipated similar results now. But this anticipation was not fulfilled, for with all the shooting, leaping, shoving and wrestling nobody was injured, and the most that anybody suffered was the tearing of his clothing. One backwoodsman who had refused to pay for liquor for his friends was ridden on a sharp rail, but this act was carried out more in fun than as a punishment.

When Dave came out in the morning and walked toward the trading-post and around it he felt somewhat astonished at the turn affairs had taken. One backwoodsman had aroused another, and all had stolen off as meekly and quietly as had the red men several hours before. The post was almost deserted in consequence and appeared more lonely than ever.

“It’s a way those fellows have,” said one of the traders to Dave. “They go out into the woods for weeks at a time and you never see hide nor hair of ’em. Then of a sudden the Indians come in and the half-breeds and the rest follow, and they kick up such a shindy as you saw. It seems they have got to break loose—they jest can’t help themselves. And they don’t mean no harm by it neither—at least the most of ’em don’t. That Turtle Foot is an exception, and if he don’t look out he’ll get a knife in his back some day.”

Sam Barringford was bound for the home of Lord Fairfax, but had business at Winchester which would keep him at the post for a day longer, so he had to part with the Morrises when they resumed their journey, much as he would like to have accompanied them, for he was strongly attached to Dave.

“Lord Fairfax is a great hunter, you know,” he explained. “But his style is the English one—behind the hounds. Now he wants to git right out in the woods after big game, and he’s offered me a pistole a day for my services, and I’ve closed with him for a month. It’s not bad pay in these times, and he says he may make it more, if I show him something worth bringing down, and I think I can.” And Joseph Morris agreed that it was a good offer, for a pistole in those days was worth about three dollars and sixty cents.

“Is Lord Fairfax going alone?” asked Dave.

“No, he is going to take Lawrence Washington and several others with him. I am calculating on a fine time, for my lord is a good liver and has the finest horses in this section of the country.”

“I know he has a fine estate,” put in Joseph Morris.

“Nothing finer. I read some of the reports that young George Washington brought in—you know he surveyed the tract for Lord Fairfax. He noted down all about the soil and the timber, and the water power and all. I can tell you that young fellow is a smart one. I don’t wonder that they have made him a public surveyor. Lord Fairfax is sure a surveyor from England couldn’t have been more accurate.”

“I should like to see a surveyor at work,” said Dave. “It’s always been a good deal of a mystery to me how they measured land, especially from one hill or mountain to another.”

“Perhaps you’ll meet Washington on your way to Annapolis, lad; he’s out somewhere in the neighborhood of the Shenandoah, surveying a grant of land for a man named Burger. The north end of the grant lies at Heckwell’s Creek.”

“We intended to cross near Heckwell’s,” said Joseph Morris. “How is the river?”

“Very low now and you’ll have no trouble;” and after a few words more the friends parted, and the Morrises continued on their journey.

The route was now directly eastward, across the broad and fertile valley of the beautiful Shenandoah, the name of which, in the Indian tongue, means, “Daughter of the Stars.” Here the forests were still immense, but broken by wide patches of luxuriant grass and “islands” of wild flowers, some of which were still in bloom. The scene was truly entrancing, and often Joseph Morris would call a halt and point out one object or another of special interest.

“How people can box themselves up in a city when they might come forth to enjoy something like this is past my understanding,” he said once. “Was ever air purer or sweeter, or music more full of melody than that which yonder birds are giving us? And listen to the murmur of that brook as it trickles along through the brush and over the rocks; it is a psalm in itself.”

“It certainly is grand, Uncle Joe. If only a painter could set it all down on canvas and show it to the folks that live in such a city as London!”

“Aye, but he couldn’t, for the breath of the life that is here would be missing. To me every tree and bush, and patch of grass, can talk as well as can yonder brook and the birds. And what painter could put that talk in his picture, or that feeling that comes over one as he stands here under such a blue sky? No, it’s not possible, and painters must know it, unless they be truly conceited.”

At midday they came to a halt under the wide-spreading branches of a gigantic oak, a veritable monarch of the forest, standing like a sentinel on a grassy knoll overlooking a wide creek flowing into the Shenandoah several miles beyond. For the last hour the trail had been uncertain, with many wet and slippery spots to avoid, and they had moved forward slowly and with care.

Both felt like eating something warm, and while Mr. Morris got out the provisions, Dave stirred round with a hatchet with which to cut some firewood. There was little on the knoll and he descended and walked over an opening to where grew some brush. Here lay a fallen tree with several dry branches well suited to his purpose.

Dave was hard at work chopping off one of the branches when a noise coming from the woods beyond the brush attracted his attention. There was a cry and then a thrashing around of a human being.

“Hullo, what’s up there?” he called out, and leaving the fallen tree, started in the direction from whence the sounds proceeded. Running through a strip of the woods, he reached a series of rocks where there was another open patch with a spring.

Just as Dave came to the opening a gun went off, and as the smoke cleared away the first thing he saw was a snake twirling and twisting on the ground in its death agonies. Several other snakes were close by, and in their midst was a young man who was doing his best to get away from the reptiles.

Dave had often encountered snakes on the farm, so he was not as frightened as he might otherwise have been. As the young man started to club one of the reptiles with the stock of his gun, Dave aimed a blow with his hatchet at another, and in a few seconds two more of the snakes were put in a condition where they could do no further harm. Then the young man and the boy attacked the remaining snakes, but these glided away between the rocks, and in less than five minutes after it had begun the battle was over and the snakes had departed to return no more.

“That was warm work,” remarked Dave, as he wiped the bloody hatchet on the grass. “Did that first snake bite you?”

“He struck at my boot, but the leather was too thick for him,” was the answer, delivered in quite a cool tone considering the excitement which had just passed. “I must thank you for coming to my assistance.”

“You were lucky to escape so easily. I know a man who got in a nest of snakes like that and was bitten three times.”

“I was somewhat on my guard, as it happens. I imagined there might be snakes around these rocks. But I had to come here.”

“Had to come here?”

“Yes. You see, I am surveying this tract of land.”

“Oh, then you are Mr. George Washington, the public surveyor?” cried Dave.

“I am.”

CHAPTER VI
GEORGE WASHINGTON THE SURVEYOR

At the time Dave Morris first met George Washington, the future President of the United States and “Father of His Country,” as he has affectionately been called, was about nineteen years of age. He was tall, well proportioned, muscular and athletic and showed well the advantages of his temperate mode of living. His eyes were blue and penetrating, and his face, while not severe, showed a quiet reserve and a dignity that made him what he soon after became—a natural leader of men.

It was on the 22d day of February, 1732, that George Washington first saw the light of day, in an old family homestead on Bridges Creek, near where that stream empties into the Potomac river. The homestead was an old-fashioned affair, with sloping roofs coming almost to the ground and with a wide and substantial chimney at each end. It had come into the possession of Colonel John Washington, the future President’s great grandfather years before, and upon the colonel’s death had been left in the family. It was a beautiful spot, but in later years was allowed to go to decay.

The father of the future President was named Augustine, and he was married twice. By his first marriage he had a son Lawrence, of whom we shall hear more later, and several other children. His second marriage was to Mary, the daughter of Colonel Ball, and by this he had George and three other sons and two daughters. Thus it will be seen that the Washington family was quite an extensive one.

George was still a small boy when his father gave up the homestead at Bridges Creek, and moved to a place opposite Fredericksburg, on a bit of rising ground bordering the Rappahannock. The family were well to do, and, as was the custom of many rich folk, Lawrence, the oldest son, was sent to England to be educated. But George had no such advantage, and his first schooling was obtained at a modest country school of the neighborhood, kept by a Mr. Hobby, who was both schoolmaster and parish sexton.

At school George proved a quick and diligent scholar, and there are still preserved some of his copy and other books in which he wrote and ciphered, showing a neatness and orderliness which followed him all through life. He even wrote out for himself a series of Rules of Conduct, which are to-day models of etiquette. He was a champion runner, jumper and swimmer, and many anecdotes have been told showing how he won contests, and how he brought to grief the bully of the school. In those days the wars with the Indians were fresh in the public mind, and Washington with his school fellows played Indians and soldiers, with wooden guns and rude bows and arrows of their own making. Once such play ended in a grand fight that became real, and then Washington did his best to separate the contestants. After the fight was over the schoolmaster called the boys together and asked for an explanation. Each of the boys took his own part, declaring the others in the wrong. In despair the teacher called on Washington, and asked what he knew of the matter. At once Washington stood up and spoke like a lawyer in court, giving the details with great clearness and showing how one was about as much to blame as another, and pleading that the boys be forgiven all around, as they had not meant to make the fight real when they started. The school teacher agreed to let the matter drop if the boys would promise to fight no more, and this the lads did, and separated with a cheer for Washington and with their general good feeling restored.

When Lawrence Washington returned from England, a well educated and highly polished young man of twenty-one, the mother country was having a great deal of trouble with Spain, who had interfered with her commerce on the high seas. This led to the raising of some troops for a campaign in the West Indies, and George’s elder brother obtained a captain’s commission and served under Admiral Vernon and General Wentworth for nearly two years. This service filled George, who was but eight years old, with military fervor, and he forthwith organized the schoolboys into a military company and drilled them on the green—the foundation stone of his great military leadership of the future.

When George was eleven years of age his father died, leaving him to the tender care of his mother and his two older half-brothers. The youth had now outgrown the advantages of the school kept by Mr. Hobby, and consequently was sent to live at Bridges Creek, with his half-brother Augustine, who was married and had settled there. Here George attended a school kept by a Mr. Williams, and was as diligent as ever in his studies, although always preferring those of the more practical kind, reading, writing, arithmetic, geography, history and the making out of bills, accounts and the like. He also studied surveying, and often went out for practice in this art, so that he might master it thoroughly. In the meantime, he did not forget his athletic exercises and his horsemanship, and it was said that he could ride as well and throw a stone as far as anybody of his age.

Shortly after his father’s death, Lawrence Washington had married the daughter of William Fairfax, who was then living in Virginia, and managing the large estates of his cousin, Lord Fairfax,—estates which lay upon both sides of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Lawrence had settled at Mount Vernon, named, as told before, after his old commander, and he was now an influential member of the community, belonging to the House of Burgesses, and acting as adjutant-general of the district. Here George was a frequent visitor, and here he became at one time possessed with a desire to join the navy, his brother’s visitors filling him with stories of the glories of such a life. A midshipman’s warrant was obtained for him, his baggage was packed, and all was made ready for his departure. But at the last moment Mrs. Washington broke down and begged her son to remain at home.

“But how can I refuse now I have enlisted?” said George.

“If you go you will break your mother’s heart,” was the sobbed-out answer.

At this George stood for several minutes in deep silence. A struggle was going on in his breast. At last he caught his mother around the neck.

“I will stay at home,” he said, softly. “I can’t go away and see you suffer.”

His baggage was brought ashore, the midshipman’s warrant annulled, and George returned to school. Some few called him a coward for this, but he did not care, for his conscience told him that he had done what was right.

When George gave up school and came to stay again at Mount Vernon he was a frequent visitor at Belvoir, the home of the Fairfaxes, but a few miles away. Here he had a companion in George Fairfax, the son of the manager of the estate, and the two were often out hunting or fishing together. In the meantime, Lord Fairfax, a nobleman of sixty, had come on from England. He was a great hunter and often took the two Georges with him behind his hounds. He took a special liking to Washington and treated him very much as a son, and one day, learning that Washington had studied surveying, asked to see some of the young man’s maps. These were brought and inspected, and at the conclusion of the interview Lord Fairfax made Washington an offer that he survey the estates, and offered him from a doubloon to six pistoles per day, according to the work accomplished. George Fairfax was to accompany the young surveyor.

The compact was made and the young surveyor, but sixteen years old, and clad in plain buckskin and hunting shirt, started out, accompanied by George Fairfax. At times they had attendants with them, but not always. It was the month of March and the snow still lay deep in the mountain passes, and the rivers were much swollen. The two traveled for miles along the Shenandoah, making surveys and maps, the accuracy of which are to-day beyond dispute. It was a life to which Washington was unaccustomed, yet he never complained. For the most part they slept in the open, in the “howling wilderness,” with only the canopy of stars above them. Once they stopped at the cabin of a squatter and the vermin in the bed drove George out in the middle of the night; again they were out in their tent when a big storm came up and blew the tent to shreds and sent their traps flying in all directions. Once Washington’s bed caught fire and he would have been sadly burnt had not his companion awakened him. He now met many Indians, and one day witnessed a war dance, which, however, ended in nothing more than a drunk on the part of the red men. They had to hunt a large portion of their food and had to go hungry several times, when fish and game failed to appear. The Indians were always suspicious of them, and viewed the doings of the young surveyor with awe, and inspected the marks set up with exceeding curiosity. “White man make mark what for?” asked one old Indian, and when Washington tried to explain he went on: “Dis red man’s land, white man no need to mark him,” and strode off in disgust and wrath. That night George and his companion lay awake with their guns in their hands, fearing the old Indian might come back to harm them, but the old warrior did not reappear.

When the surveys were completed, Washington returned to Mount Vernon, drew them up into proper shape, and presented them to Lord Fairfax. His lordship was greatly pleased with the work done and listened closely to all George had to tell him about the soil, the timber in the forests, the currents of the streams, and other matters of importance.

“It was a great work for a young man like you, George,” he said. “A great work. You ought to be a public surveyor.”

“I wouldn’t mind having the position,” answered Washington.

“Then you shall have it—if my influence counts for anything,” replied Lord Fairfax.

Shortly after this his lordship called upon Lawrence Washington, and the three talked it over between them. It was agreed that the opening might prove of value to George in the future, for in the heads of older men there was already a scheme for forming a company to develop the region beyond the Blue Ridge.

“I shall give up Belvoir, go across the Blue Ridge and establish myself at Greenway Court,” said Lord Fairfax. “Then when I am settled we can perfect our schemes. George is honest, fearless, and has a sound judgment in all things, and he will be the man we shall need. He ought to become a public surveyor by all means. Then all his transactions will have a legal standing and will go on record.” And so it was settled.

Washington entered on his new duties with as much faithfulness as ever, and soon he was overcrowded with work, for it was known that he was thoroughly reliable, and there were very few surveyors, considering the many grants of land which had to be mapped out. To him the days and the months passed swiftly. When he needed a rest he either visited his brother and mother, or else went to see Lord Fairfax at Greenway Court, which became a noted resort for all sorts of visitors, who hunted and danced to their hearts’ content. At Greenway Court Washington met many in high life some of whom, when the War of the Revolution broke out, remained his warmest friends, while others became his bitterest enemies.

One day a man named Burger came to Washington and asked him to survey a grant of land near Heckwell’s Creek. Burger was a German who had emigrated to Virginia from Pennsylvania, and he had met Washington while the young surveyor was out for Lord Fairfax, and had helped carry the baggage over a much swollen stream.

“I cannot pay you now, Mr. Washington,” said Burger, “but I will pay you when I am settled down, take my word on it.”

“I will trust you willingly, Mr. Burger,” answered the young surveyor. “I haven’t forgotten the service you rendered me a couple of years ago. You can pay me when you can afford it.” And then he left for Heckwell’s Creek, and went to work. He had been out two days, locating some former landmarks which a storm had partly washed away, when he encountered the nest of snakes, and fell in with Dave as just described.

CHAPTER VII
THE CAMP IN THE MOUNTAIN GAP

Joseph Morris was now coming up, gun in hand, to learn the meaning of the shot which had been fired. He looked with surprise at the dead snakes and then at his nephew and the stranger.

“This is Mr. Washington, the surveyor,” said Dave, and then he added: “This is my uncle, Mr. Joseph Morris. I am Dave Morris. We come from back of Will’s Creek.”

“I have heard of the Morrises before,” said Washington, as he shook hands with Joseph Morris.

“And I have heard of you, sir, and have met your brother Lawrence,” answered Dave’s uncle. “You seem to have had a lively time of it,” he continued, and kicked one of the snakes with his foot to make sure that it was dead.

“Yes, I did have. But your nephew came to my aid, and between us we made short work of the reptiles. Master David, I owe you my thanks, and more.”

Washington bowed as he spoke, and Dave bowed in return. “It wasn’t much I did,” said the youth. “You frightened them pretty well when you fired that shot. It’s lucky you had your gun in hand.”

At this the surveyor smiled faintly. “I was out trying to stir up some dinner,” he said. “You see, I left all my traps over at Denton’s and I did not wish to go back until to-morrow. I thought it would be easy to pick up a bird or two, or a pair of squirrels.”

“If that is the case, will you not come and eat with us?” said Mr. Morris. “We were just preparing our midday meal. We have a-plenty and you will be heartily welcome.”

At first Washington demurred, not wishing to intrude, but soon he saw that the invitation was genuine, and he consented to join the Morrises.

“I left some of my surveying outfit behind yonder rocks,” he said. “I will bring them over and then help with your fire,” and this he did, and soon he and Dave were bringing in armfuls of wood. In half an hour the meal was ready and the three sat down to partake of it.

At first there was a reserve upon both sides, as was natural, but as the eating progressed all warmed up and then the talk flowed freely. Washington told of the work he was doing for Mr. Burger and what he had done for some men Mr. Morris knew, and the latter related how Dave’s father had gone west and established a trading-post on the Kinotah, and how he and Dave were now on their way to purchase some goods needed by the trader. From this the conversation branched off to the difficulty with the French and the Indians, and Joseph Morris asked Washington if he knew how matters stood in political circles with regard to these difficulties.

“Matters are not very promising,” answered the surveyor. “I heard some guests at Greenway Court talking strongly of another war. But I sincerely trust it does not come.”

“Will the Indians side with us if war does come?”

“My brother thinks they will and so does Mr. Fairfax, and so do some of the hunters and traders who have been among them. But the Indian is an uncertain creature, often moved more by impulse than reason, and there is no telling how he will stand when it comes to striking a blow.”

The meal over, Washington saw that Dave was curious to learn something of the method of surveying, and so brought forth his outfit and explained the uses of the various instruments. The youth was deeply interested and listened closely to all that was said.

“I wouldn’t mind being a surveyor myself,” he remarked. “That is, if I could make a living at it.”

“You could do that readily enough if you could command the work,” answered Washington. “But it is no child’s play, especially in the mountains. In a week or two I expect to have some work to do which will be exceedingly hazardous.”

“And what will it be?”

“Do you see yonder mountain, over near the split?”

“I do.”

“I must survey along the face of that mountain and through the gap to the north-east, and around the mountain torrent running there. That will mean rough work and dangerous climbing.”

“It would just suit me!” cried Dave. “I wish I could go along. Don’t you want some help?”

“My regular man will be with me. He is now over at Denton’s after another chain, for he lost one in the river.”

“I have been to the tops of a dozen mountains,” went on Dave. “I like climbing very well, and it never makes me the least bit dizzy.”

“That’s certainly in your favor,” said Washington, with a smile. He liked Dave’s frankness—which frankness was a good deal like Washington’s own.

Over an hour was thus spent in camp, and then with a handshake the Morrises parted company with the surveyor, who went back to his search for landmarks. Soon the camp utensils were repacked, and they were off, to the best crossing place the river, in that vicinity, afforded.

“He’s a fine young man,” was Dave’s comment, as he urged his steed forward, side by side with that of his uncle. “His face has a thoroughly good look.”

“That it has, Dave, and his tongue is as honest as his face. I do not wonder that folks like to do business with him. And he must be uncommonly clever, too, to conduct surveys of estates worth thousands of pounds.”

“I wish I could go and survey yonder mountain with him.”

“It might prove harder work than you anticipated.”

“I don’t care—I would like to do it anyway. Roughing it just suits me. That’s why I would like to be out with father.”

“I’m afraid, Dave, you’ll never care to settle down to steady farming life,” said Joseph Morris, with a sigh. “It’s plain to see you have your father’s restless spirit in you.”

“Well, we can’t all be farmers, Uncle Joe. Some men must be restless or the world would stand still. Columbus was restless and that is what made him discover America and Captain John Smith was restless, too, and that brought him to Virginia and made him fight for his footing. I don’t think it’s right to find fault with restless men, as you call them, if they do what is right.”

“I am not finding fault, my lad. Only I want to caution you against breaking away from habits that are steady. A steady farmer, who attends strictly to his work, is worth a dozen such men as those restless backwoodsmen for instance, who came into Winchester and raised a row.”

“But if a fellow doesn’t like farming?”

“Then try to find something else to do. There are many openings, and more are springing up. You might get into some business in the town. How would you like to be bound out as an apprentice?”

“I’d hate that! I don’t want to live in town. I would like trading, or surveying, or something like that—something that would let me travel around, and yet something that I could make money at.”

“Well, those openings are not so many. But perhaps your father will need you soon, and out in that wild country you’ll get all the open air you’ll want.”

The Shenandoah passed, their course was now directly for the gap in the mountains which Washington had pointed out. Here the trail soon plunged into the gloom of the mountain forest, where the cedars and hemlocks were so thick the two could scarcely see a rod before them. The road was rough to such a degree that the horses often came to a standstill and had to be led forward by hand. The soil was black and thick with insects and they had to watch carefully for fear of stirring up such a snake’s nest as had been left behind.

“Mr. Washington certainly will have a task surveying through here,” remarked Dave, as they came to a halt to catch their breaths after toiling up a rocky hill.

“Such a forest as this must be hundreds of years old,” returned Mr. Morris. “Look at that stately tree for example. It flourished probably even before your grandfather was born. What a story it could tell could it speak!”

“Probably it could tell more of the Indians than they know themselves, Uncle Joe. It’s too bad the redskins couldn’t keep a written history, isn’t it? It would make interesting reading, I’m thinking.”

Nightfall found them still in the mountains and no habitation of any sort in sight. Mr. Morris climbed a tree and took a long view of their surroundings.

“I can see no cabin,” he said, on descending to the ground. “We shall have to spend the night in the open.”

“I shan’t mind,” answered Dave. “Let us start up a roaring camp-fire and make ourselves comfortable.”

Searching around, they found a clump of bushes ten or a dozen feet in diameter. With the hatchet Dave cut out the center of the clump, leaving an opening large enough for his uncle and himself to sleep in. Over the top of the remaining brush he fastened a canvas they carried, and on the bottom of the improvised shelter he scattered some small cedar branches. The latter gave forth a clean and wholesome smell and would serve to keep the sleepers from the damp ground.

“There, that ought to make a good bunking-out place,” he declared when he had finished.

“It will, Dave.” The boy’s uncle smiled. “You were cut out for a life in the open, no doubt of that.”

While the boy was working around the brush, Joseph Morris had started the camp-fire. The dry cedar caught fire readily and soon the generous blaze made the surroundings decidedly cheerful. At the river they had paused long enough for Dave to hook a fine fish, and this they baked on a flat stone, and ate with some corn bread, washing the meal down with a drink from a nearby brook. Then the horses were cared for, and they laid down to rest.

Dave was tired and hardly had his head touched the cedar boughs when he dropped off into a profound slumber. Mr. Morris sat up a little longer, to finish a pipe of tobacco he had lit and to replenish the fire. But presently the pipe went out, the fire was fed with an extra billet of wood, and he too turned in, and in five minutes was snoring lustily.

Left to itself, the fire burnt merrily, the new fuel causing the flames to shoot up far above the brushwood. The light attracted several magnificent deer to the vicinity and the timid creatures came closer and closer in their curiosity. On the trail of the deer came a large and powerful panther, empty in stomach and longing for a meal of venison.

Closer and closer to the camp-fire came the deer, sniffing the air suspiciously and eyeing the fascinating blaze with nervous wonder. Then the burning logs fell in a heap and they shrank back, startled by the noise, slight as it was. As the blaze went down the panther crept closer and still closer. Its hungry eyes gleamed ferociously and its jaws began to work convulsively. Step by step it came up at the rear of the largest of the deer, closer and still closer. Now it squatted flat on the ground and gathered itself for a leap. Several seconds passed, and the deer turned, as if told by instinct that something was wrong. Then came a swift whirr of a heavy body through the midnight air and the panther landed on the deer and brought it to the ground.

CHAPTER VIII
ON TO ANNAPOLIS

Both Dave and his uncle awoke with a start and sat bolt upright in the shelter of brush. The fire had died down so that they could see but little around it, the moon had gone behind a dense mass of clouds.

“What was that?” cried the youth, as he reached for his gun, which had been placed close at hand.

“I heard a snort of some kind,” answered Joseph Morris. “Perhaps some wild beast has attacked the horses.”

He, too, caught up his weapon, and a bound took him outside. Then he ran with all speed to where the steeds were tethered.

When Dave reached the side of the camp-fire he paused. He had been about to follow his uncle, when a snort of pain, followed by a cracking of bones, reached his ears. The sounds did not come from the direction of the horses, but from a glade on the opposite side of the camp-fire.

Catching up a burning fagot, he hurried in the direction. The noise continued, and soon he made out the form of the struggling deer as the head and antlers were waved from side to side in an endeavor to pierce the panther’s side.

“This way, Uncle Joe!” he cried. “A deer is fighting with some other wild animal. I can’t make out what it is, it’s so dark.”

“The horses are safe!” came in reply from Joseph Morris. “Where is the deer?”

“This way! I’m going to shoot the other beast.”

“No! wait! I am coming.”

Dave had raised his gun, but at the latter words he lowered his weapon. In less than a minute his uncle was at his side.

“A painter!” ejaculated Joseph Morris. “And a big fellow at that. This is a fight to the death. Let them have it out.”

“Do you suppose there are others around?”

“No. There might have been more deer, but they have taken to their heels long ago. So far as I know, painters never travel together.”

“I suppose the painter has the best of it.”

“He hoped to have, or he wouldn’t have tackled the deer. But he may get more than he bargained for.”

All this time the battle was going on furiously. In the semi-darkness they could see little more than a turning over of first one body and then another. Suddenly the panther shifted its hold from the deer’s shoulder to its throat. But the movement, quick as it was, gave the deer time to shift also and one of its sharp prongs was caught under the panther’s hind legs, piercing the flesh for several inches and causing the blood to flow freely.

Having turned over twice, the deer started to toss off its assailant. It failed, and then attempted to run, hoping to dash the panther against a nearby tree. But the panther clung as tightly as ever to the deer’s throat, and before the tree was reached, it staggered for want of wind and loss of blood, for its shoulder was horribly mangled. Failing to reach the tree, it gathered itself up for a last effort and struck up with its hind hoofs, gashing the panther deeply in the lower portion of its body. Following this despairing kick it gave a convulsive shudder and fell back lifeless.

For a few seconds after the deer breathed its last, the panther held on. Then slowly its grip relaxed and it fell back, but with its stony gaze still fixed upon its victim.

“The deer is dead,” cried Dave. “And see, the painter is sneaking away! Shan’t I give him a shot now?”

“Wait! I don’t think he’ll go far,” answered Joseph Morris. “The deer cut him up pretty well.”

The sounds of human voices now for the first time attracted the attention of the panther, and taking its gaze from its lifeless prize it looked in the direction of Dave and his uncle. Then it gave a snarl of rage and dismay, and did its best to stand erect on its four short legs. But the effort was too much and it collapsed almost immediately.

“He’s done for,” said Joseph Morris. “The deer must have ripped him through and through. See, he can’t get up.”

Mr. Morris spoke the truth, the panther tried in vain to rise, at the same time gasping for breath and snarling with pain and rage. Once it took something of a step and Dave brought his gun up on a jump, but before the weapon could be leveled the panther was down on its side and stretching itself at full length.

“He is done for now,” said Joseph Morris. “It would be a waste of powder and ball to fire on him. It was a battle royal, and it’s a pity it wasn’t light enough for us to witness it in detail. Such a sight isn’t to be met with every day, even in such a wilderness as this.”

Saying he would watch the panther, he sent Dave back to replenish the fire and this the youth did so effectively that soon the glade was nearly as light as day. By this time the panther was almost gone, yet it was allowed to lay undisturbed for nearly half an hour before Joseph Morris came up behind it and cut its throat with his hunting knife, thus putting it out of its misery.

“I am glad the painter attacked the deer instead of us,” said Dave, as he took a close look at the great cat-like creature and shivered. “What a powerful beast, and what awful claws and teeth!”

“He’s an old one. If he had been younger the deer would never have been able to turn on him. I think this is the first painter you’ve seen, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“They are getting thinned out around here, so Sam Barringford told me.”

“Do they generally attack such big game as deer?”

“Very often, although they usually feed on smaller animals. They lie on the limbs of trees and drop down on anything passing beneath. Zeph Tassot had a hand-to-hand fight with one, and he’s got that long scar on his left cheek to show for it. Zeph jammed the painter in the throat with his knife and they fought for ’most half an hour, when the beast turned tail and hid among the rocks. Zeph ran for his life and didn’t stop till he’d covered two miles or more. He says he never wants to set eyes on a painter again.”

Uncle and nephew dragged the dead deer and the dead panther close to the camp-fire, and then it was decided that one should remain on guard while the other slept.

“The smell of blood may attract other wild beasts to the vicinity,” said Joseph Morris. “We’ll keep an eye open for them, and also keep the fire burning brightly.”

Dave turned in and slept for three hours. Then his uncle aroused him and slumbered for the same length of time.

In the morning they skinned the deer and the panther and hung the pelts in the rising sun to dry. For breakfast they tried a steak from the panther and found it not unlike coarse beef to the taste. The remainder of the panther meat was left behind, but they took with them all of the deer meat they could conveniently carry.

That day saw them through the mountains and by nightfall they struck a trail over which horses and wagons had traveled. They now pushed on faster than ever, and did not rest until an hour after sunset, when they had gained a small collection of houses called Berry’s Post. Here they met a trader who willingly relieved them of their skins at a fair price.

They were now coming into “civilization,” as Joseph Morris expressed it. Plantations were to be seen on every hand, and they frequently encountered the overseers and their slaves, for in those days half the population of Virginia were colored people who were in bondage. Yet the darkeys were a happy set and often they could hear them singing at a distance as they worked in the corn and tobacco fields, or around the immense barns and warehouses.

A storm had been brewing and the next day Joseph Morris and Dave lost no time in riding straight on to Georgetown, on the beautiful Potomac. The river was scarcely reached when it began to rain furiously and so strong was the wind that to ferry across the stream was impossible. Consequently they remained where they were until the afternoon of the day following. By this time the wind went down sufficiently for them to be ferried to the east bank of the stream, and then they set out directly for Annapolis.

Riding was now easier than ever and they frequently met horsemen and ladies out for pleasure, and occasionally a chariot would roll by with the family arms blazoned on its side and its horseman and footman in resplendent livery.

“That was the governor’s turnout,” whispered Joseph Morris once, after a brilliant chariot drawn by four horses had swept by, sending a shower of dust and dirt over them. “I can tell you he lives well.” Dave turned around to catch a good look at the show, but a bend in the road already hid it from view.

Not long after this came a yelping of hounds and a great pack burst into view and behind them half a dozen hunters, including several city dignitaries whom Joseph Morris knew by sight. With the gentlemen were several colored servants, and all seemed to be in the highest spirits. As they swept by, the Morrises learned that they were bound for the woods beyond South River, on a grand fox hunt.

“They’ll have sport,” said Dave, gazing after the crowd. “But it won’t be anything as thrilling as that deer and painter tussle in the dark.”

At last they came to the city gate and passing through made their way to a respectable enough hostelry where accommodations were not high priced. The tavern was a low, two-story affair, with many windows, all filled with tiny panes of glass no larger than one’s hand. In front was a low stoop, with a heavy railing, and above this stoop hung a rudely carved wooden plough painted yellow, and underneath the sign, “Golden Plough Inn, Kept by Theophilus Mangot. Good Fare at Reasonable Prices.”

Behind the tavern was a wide yard and a large barn, and from here came several negro hostlers to take charge of their steeds.

“Right welcome, sirs,” said the host, coming out in shirt sleeves to meet them. “Right welcome and just in time for the best of the rooms.”

“The best will depend upon the price you ask,” answered Joseph Morris cautiously. “We want that which is good without being extravagant.”

“And I can give it you, sirs,” said Theophilus Mangot. “Come, I will show you what I have, and then we’ll settle upon the price to your satisfaction,” and he led the way inside.

CHAPTER IX
A STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS

Inside the tavern all was life and jollity. In the tap-room, located at the upper end of the hostelry but down two steps lower than the rest of the building, a crowd of burly traders, farmers and sailors were assembled, drinking, smoking and talking loudly. Occasionally a sailor would burst into a song of the sea, and his mates would join in the chorus, drowning out every other sound until the song came to an end with a heavy thumping of glasses and mugs.

Beyond the tap-room was the parlor, a tidy place, with quaint furniture brought from England sitting in rows along the walls. Here, in a book-case, were a number of leather-bound volumes, and also a file of the Spectator, a much-prized English periodical. There were also several copies of a Maryland newspaper which had but lately made its appearance and was languishing for want of support.

Next to the parlor came the dining hall, down one step, with a kitchen in the rear. The hall was long and narrow and had a floor which was well sanded and marked before meals into fancy shapes. The tables were low and solid, the chairs broad and high-backed, and at the front was a long settle, where one might rest and gaze out on the dusty highway. On a shelf in the dining hall rested the wooden model of a ship, the vessel in which Theophilus Mangot had come over from England. Beside the ship was a small brass clock and a frame containing a hand-made map of Annapolis and vicinity.

Dave saw but little of this until the next morning. For six shillings his uncle hired a small but comfortable bed-chamber in the rear of the inn, instairs, and to this they retired, after a bountiful supper which both enjoyed. No sooner had Dave’s head touched the pillow than he sank into slumber, and from this he did not awaken until the sun shone in at the window.

Joseph Morris had already gone below, and the youth hastened to follow him. But while he was dressing his attention was drawn to a fight in the stable yard, between two of the negro hostlers. This was a head-ramming contest, in which the slaves butted each other over and over again until at last one apparently had enough of it, when he ran away, leaving the victor to ha! ha! loudly.

“I would rather it were their heads than mine,” said Dave, after telling his uncle of the affair. “It’s a wonder one of them wasn’t killed.”

“They get used to it, by practice,” replied Joseph Morris. “I have seen them fight for hours in that fashion and then give it up little the worse for the sport.”

Dave’s uncle was to do his purchasing on King and Church streets, two of the busiest thoroughfares of the town, and hither they went immediately after breakfast. Several ships from England had come in only a few days before, so the shops were well filled, and trading was brisk on every hand. Ready money was often scarce, but the Assembly had some years before made both tobacco and Indian corn a legal tender for all debts, and these were readily accepted, at the rate of one penny a pound for tobacco and twenty pence per bushel for corn. But with it all the shop-keepers and others who had goods to sell preferred cash, and Mr. Morris got many a good bargain in consequence.

One of the shops was close to the end of Church street, and while his uncle was having some goods wrapped up and made otherwise ready for transportation by horseback, the youth slipped down to the immense wharves fronting Chesapeake Bay, to take a look at the stately ships, with their towering masts and square yards, and the little boats of all descriptions. Here the smell of tar and salt air was heavy, and here large gangs of black and white laborers were toiling at their tasks of loading and unloading tobacco, hemp, lumber, rum, molasses, hardware, and a hundred and one other things.

“Looking for a chance to ship, lad?” asked one of the sailors at hand. “If ye are there’s nary better craft nor the Queen Mary lying yonder, nor better master than Cap’n Ringdale who commands her.”

“Thank you, but I don’t care to be a sailor,” answered Dave. “I have come in to do some trading, that’s all.”

“But you’d better ship,” went on the tar, and caught Dave by the arm.

“No.”

“Come and see our cap’n—he’ll treat ye well,” urged the sailor, trying his best to became friendly. The ship was short of hands and Captain Ringdale had promised his men ten shillings for each new man brought in.

“I don’t want to go—and I want you to let go of me!” cried Dave, and at once grew suspicious, for he had heard of how men had been impressed into service against their will.

“Looking for a chance to ship, lad?”—Page 86.

“Don’t grow alarmed, lad, I won’t hurt ye. Come, you’ll like the cap’n, I know. Perhaps you never had the chance to look over a ship. It’s a sight worth seeing, and will cost you nothing.”

“I said, let go of me,” exclaimed Dave, in more alarm than ever. “If you don’t, I’ll call the watch.”

“You’re a troublesome lad truly!” answered the tar, and then gazed around to see who else was in sight. Apparently satisfied that the coast was clear, he suddenly stepped behind Dave and pinned his arms fast to his side. Then he lifted the lad up bodily in his brawny grasp.

“You shall see the cap’n—whether you go or not,” he went on.

But if he imagined that Dave was to be taken thus easily, he soon found out his mistake. In an instant the youth twisted his legs around those of his assailant, so the latter could not budge a step—and there they remained, one locked above, the other locked below.

“Let loose!” roared the tar. “Let loose, I say, or by my soul, I’ll knock ye down!”

“Help! help!” cried Dave, shrilly. “Help! Watch!”

“Stow your calls, I say!”

“I will not! Help!”

Dave did his best to turn his head and look up the long dock. The sailor did likewise, at the same time trying to loosen his legs, that he might make off with the boy. A small boat was handy and once he had Dave in this, he felt he could get off with the boy easily.

But now an answering shout came back, which filled the youth with joy and brought dismay to the tar. Coming from the trading shop, Joseph Morris had heard and recognized his nephew’s cry and was now running in that direction.

“What’s the matter, Dave?” he shouted when he caught sight of his nephew. “What’s the trouble?”

Hearing Dave called by name, the sailor at once let go his hold on the youth and struck the lad in the side. To keep from falling Dave had to step away, and thus freed, the tar lost no time in taking to his heels.

“That man wanted to carry me on board his ship,” answered the youth, as he gazed after the sailor, who was now disappearing behind one of the nearby warehouses.

“On board his ship?”

“Yes. First he asked me if I didn’t want to become a sailor. I told him no, and then he caught me around the breast.”

“The rascal!” burst out Joseph Morris. “He wanted to impress you! I thought it was safe here, or I should not have allowed you to come alone. If I can catch him I’ll give him a piece of my mind, I’ll warrant you!”

He ran toward the warehouse, and quite willing to see the sailor punished, Dave went with him. But the tar had taken time by the forelock, and when the warehouse was gained, he had disappeared utterly, nor did a hunt of half an hour bring him to light.

The “scare” made Dave more cautious, and for the remainder of the time spent in Annapolis he kept within sight of his uncle, especially when down by the docks. With his uncle he boarded one of the merchantmen lying at anchor in the bay and inspected the great ship from stem to stern. From the captain of the merchantman they learned that sailors were just then scarce and a good price had to be paid to get them to sail in West Indian waters on account of the pirates.

“The minute you say West Indies to them they won’t sign articles at any price,” said the captain. “The pirates are as thick as bees and when they take a prize it’s either join them or walk the plank and not over half an hour to make up your mind to it either.”

Three days were spent in Annapolis, and then, having purchased all the things needed, and also several extra horses to carry the load, the Morrises set off for home. With them for part of the distance went a settler named Crosby, a whole-souled man of middle age, who by his light-hearted talk did much to while the weary hours away.

“’Tis a great city, this Annapolis,” said Crosby. “And a good one wherein to get rid of one’s loose money. Five days ago I had a well filled purse, but between the drinking, and the card playing, and a trip to the races at Marlboro ’tis little I have left. To-night there was to be a play by an Englishman named Shakespeare, but I thought I would not stay to it, for I’m not overly fond of make-believe things.”

“I’d like to see a play,” said Dave. “At the inn I saw a book of them written by this same Shakespeare of whom you speak. It must be very fine.”

“I saw a play at Annapolis several years ago,” put in Joseph Morris. “It was a comedy called ‘The Sailor’s Lass,’ but it was not well produced and the actors were hooted off the stage and bombarded with stale cabbages.”

Our friends were to take the same road home by which they had come, and proceeded as rapidly as the loads carried by the pack horses permitted. These latter beasts were powerful animals and well broken, although one large horse named Lovejoy had a habit of wandering away if not closely watched.

The third day of the return journey found the Morrises climbing through the Blue Ridge Mountains once more. Aaron Crosby was still with them, although he expected to leave them when the Shenandoah was gained.

It was a warm day for this time of year, and Crosby ventured the prediction that a storm was at hand. “We’ll catch it afore midnight,” he said, and Joseph Morris agreed with him.

By nightfall the wind had freshened and the sky was heavily overcast. They had tried to reach the cabin of a settler living in the neighborhood, but before they could gain it, the rain came down in torrents and they were glad enough to seek the first shelter at hand. This proved to be a cliff of rocks, and here they found a cave-like opening a score of feet in depth, and huddled beneath. At first they thought to light a camp-fire, but the wind blew so furiously that the scheme was abandoned.

“The fire would fly in all directions,” said Joseph Morris. “We would get no benefit and there would be much danger.”

By ten in the evening the storm was at its worst. The rain came down in sheets, while the fitful gusts of wind tore through the mountain gap with a fierceness that threatened to uproot every bush and tree in its path. Sometimes a tree would come down, with a booming and a crashing to be heard distinctly for hundreds of yards away.

The horses had been tied up in a clump of bushes, but that was all that could be done for them, excepting to strap the blankets tightly over them, and also the loads, the latter being placed in the shelter of some rocks.

At length, when the fury of the storm had subsided somewhat, Dave laid down to sleep, and Aaron Crosby followed. Joseph Morris walked away from the cliff to see if the horses were safe. He was gone about half an hour and came back much disturbed.

“Lovejoy is gone and so is Fanny,” he said. “I’ve looked for them everywhere but I can’t find any trace of them.”

CHAPTER X
AN UNSUCCESSFUL MISSION

“Fanny is gone?” cried Dave, and sprang up instantly, for the mare mentioned was his own, given to him by his father, just before the parent had departed from the farm at Will’s Creek. Fanny had been a pet in the Morris family for years and Dave thought a great deal of her.

“Yes, she’s gone, and Lovejoy, too,” went on Joseph Morris. “I can’t find trace of them anywhere.”

“They can’t be very far off,” put in Aaron Crosby. “For I looked after all the animals not more than an hour ago, and they were well fastened.”

“Could they have been stolen?” asked Dave, with increased anxiety.

“I don’t think so,” said his uncle. “I haven’t seen anybody around, have you?”

Neither Dave nor Crosby had, and the party came to the conclusion that the horses must have broken away in their fright. But be that as it might, they could not afford such a loss, and moreover Dave could not bear to think of losing Fanny. Wet and dark as it was those who had retired arose and a small camp-fire was lit in a sheltered corner, and from this each provided himself with a torch.

The other steeds remained as they had been left, but not even a trace of the halters which had held Fanny and Lovejoy could be found.

“If they broke away we ought to find the broken leathers,” said Dave, soberly. “I don’t believe Fanny could slip the knot I tied for her. She never did so before, and I’ve tied her up in the same way a hundred times.”

“Both horses are worth some money,” said Joseph Morris, “not to speak of that really fine saddle Dave has been using. Yes, we must find them by all means, although I must confess I do not know how to begin the search.”

With great care they examined the ground, the scattering rain wetting them thoroughly in the meantime. At last they found something like a trail which led to the northward, along the western slope of the mountain.

“I can’t see anything to do but to follow this trail,” was Joseph Morris’ comment. “But we need not all go. Mr. Crosby, will you look after the other horses and our traps?”

“Assuredly,” answered Aaron Crosby. “But if you are not back by daybreak, what then?”

“Then you might as well move on to Caspar’s place and leave our horses and traps there. Tell Caspar that we will come for them soon.”

So it was arranged, and providing themselves with fresh torches, Joseph Morris and Dave set out on the hunt. They went afoot, for the trail was hilly, full of stones and uncertain, and they did not wish to run any chances of a serious fall.

The storm was now letting up, but the furious downpour had left the hillside exceedingly wet and slippery, while here and there was a hollow filled with water. The wind still blew and this sent down the water from the trees long after the rain had ceased.

Over a mile was covered and they were afraid they had lost the trail when they came out upon a narrow ledge of rocks overlooking a shallow but wide ravine between two of the hills. As they came into the open Dave suddenly clutched his uncle by the arm.

“Put down the torch,” he cried. “Look!”

His own torch went down behind some brush, and that of Joseph Morris quickly followed. Both gazed in the direction the lad was pointing out. It was to the opposite side of the ravine, and there they saw a torch waving slowly from one side to another as if the holder was looking for a safe trail. The torch lit up the faces of two Indians, one leading a horse and the other on a steed’s back.

“Two Indians!” cried Joseph Morris.

“Yes, and that first one is leading Fanny,” returned Dave. “See the white foreleg and the spot on her face?”

“You are right, Dave. Can it be possible those rascals came up in the darkness and stole the horses?”

“I don’t see how they could have them otherwise. Shall I call upon them to halt?”

“No. We had better follow them up. If we call and they see we are on foot, they may ride away from us.”

“But we have our guns.”

“I wouldn’t care to shoot even a redskin unless it was necessary, Dave. Come, we’ll get after them at once.”

“But how are you going to cross the hollow? It’s as black as ink below and maybe full of snakes.”

“We’ll have to go around—I see no other safe way. The Indians went around.”

“But they have the horses.”

“True, but they can’t use them much in the mountains. Of course we’ll have to hurry, or they’ll slip us.”

On they went again, Joseph Morris rightfully concluding that the trail around the hollow was shaped very much like a horseshoe. They held their torches close to the ground and in such a fashion that their bodies were between the lights and the Indians.

About half the distance around the ravine was covered when Joseph Morris, who was in the lead, gave a sudden cry of dismay. “We are in a pickle truly!” he exclaimed. “There is an opening here both wide and deep. I don’t see how we are to cross it.”

“Can’t we leap over?”

Mr. Morris shook his head. “I would not dare to risk it in the dark.”

“But the Indians must have gone over, and the horses, Uncle Joe.”

“I don’t see how they could. Let us brighten up the torches a bit and look around. They can’t see the lights from this point.”

They swung the fagots vigorously and soon had lights which lit up the scene for a considerable distance. Then commenced another close examination of the ground.

“They came to this point, that is sure,” said Dave. “But I see no other trail.”

“They passed over these rocks, Dave. Come, let us move to the left.”

Joseph Morris proceeded over the rocks with care, for the way was uncertain and he did not wish to court a fall in that darkness. The rocks and more brush passed, they came to the ravine again, but at a point where there was a well defined trail leading downward.

“Found!” cried Dave. “See, here is the trail as plain as day.”

No more was said, and they plunged into the darkness of the ravine. Here it was even wetter than it had been at the brink, and the bushes, laden with water, struck them in the faces at almost every step. But as they were already soaked this was no added discomfort, although the water made Dave shiver with cold.

Fearing the Indians might reach some point where they would take to the horses, they hurried onward with all speed. Soon they were out of the hollow once more and moving to the point where Dave had discovered the redskins.

They now learned why one of the Indians had been on foot and why both were moving so slowly. The ground was full of treacherous holes and soft spots and presently Joseph Morris went up to his knees in one of these.

“A horse would have broken his leg here, were he on a swift walk,” said he, while Dave helped him out of his difficulty. “It is almost like a honeycomb.”

Presently the trail led away from the ravine and through a cedar grove. This caused their hearts to sink within them, for they felt that a good road could not be far off. They were not mistaken, and soon came out upon it.

“This is the end,” groaned Joseph Morris.

“Yes, this is the end,” echoed Dave. “Oh, what luck! I suppose they must be several miles away by this time.”

“True, unless they do not suspect that they are being followed.”

“Have you any idea where this road leads to?”

“Probably around the mountains and then westward, but not within ten miles of the trail we shall follow.”

They talked the matter over and concluded to follow the road for another mile or two, and set off on the fastest walk they could command. It was a shale road, dry, firm, and even, and they covered the distance quickly. But neither Indians nor horses appeared anywhere.

“We may as well give it up, Dave,” said Joseph Morris at last, as he sank down on a rock to rest. “They have got a good start and to catch them on foot is plainly out of the question.”

“Poor Fanny!” murmured the youth, sadly. “I don’t care so much for that new horse, but I did love the little mare.”

“Yes, it’s too bad, lad, too bad truly. But it’s done, and there is small comfort in weeping over it. We may as well go back. I know you are tired, but if we don’t go back now, we’ll have to walk all the way to Caspar’s place.”

They listened, there in the depth of the mountain woods, but the only sound that reached their ears was the rain as it dripped down on the rocks. They rested a little while, then turned back, each with a heavy heart and much discouraged.

“We didn’t gain much on the trip after all,” was Dave’s comment. “The horses are worth much more than those pelts we picked up.”

“True, Dave, but it can’t be helped. And you mustn’t forget that bee tree. That’s worth something.”

“I’d like to know what redskins it was who took the horses.”

“We may find out some day—unless they drive them westward right away,” answered Joseph Morris.

When they got back to the cliff they found Aaron Crosby sleeping soundly in the very midst of the remaining animals. Without disturbing him, they built a large camp-fire and set about drying their clothing. Then they too lay down to rest, and soon Dave was in the land of dreams.

CHAPTER XI
DAVE BECOMES WASHINGTON’S ASSISTANT

“Oh, how stiff I feel!”

It was Dave who uttered the exclamation, as he arose on the morning following. The storm had cleared away, and the sun was coming up brightly over the mountain top. The birds were singing gaily as if they knew no care. Here and there the raindrops glistened like so many diamonds.

Dave had slept longer than either of the others and he found breakfast, including a hot pot of coffee, awaiting him. His uncle told him he had better drink all of the coffee to warm up, and this he did. The air was bracing and he was glad enough to sit with his back close to the fire, to dry out the remaining moisture in his clothing.

“It’s too bad you missed the redskins,” said Crosby, when he had heard their story. “It ain’t likely you’ll see ’em again, now.”

“I shall keep my eyes open,” answered Dave. “And I shan’t forget how Fanny looks, I’ll promise you that.”

Breakfast was soon over, and then came the task of re-dividing the loads brought along. At the start neither Dave’s steed nor that ridden by Mr. Morris had carried aught but its rider, now every horse had to carry a little more than formerly and one had to take Dave in addition.

“I’ll walk when we come to an extra hard bit of the trail,” said the youth. “I don’t like to crowd a horse too much.”

Soon the party was on its way toward the Shenandoah. The storm had left the sky a clear blue and the sun came out with an unexpected warmth which was just then highly welcome to the Morrises, although Crosby grumbled a little at the heat.

Because of the loads, the progress was slow, and in the middle of the forenoon they halted by the side of a mountain stream, and while the others rested Crosby went fishing and hooked several trout which promised a fine meal for dinner. Then on they went once more, and did not rest again until the bank of the swiftly flowing Shenandoah was gained.

Dinner was at its height when Joseph Morris, chancing to look down the river, saw a man approach with a tripod over his shoulder.

“Here comes Mr. Washington,” he said. “I suppose he is still surveying around here.”

Soon the young surveyor was within hailing distance and Mr. Morris called out a cheery good-day. Washington returned the salutation, and coming closer recognized Crosby as a man he had met in Annapolis half a dozen times.

“Thank you, but I have had my dinner,” he said, in answer to their invitation to share in the repast. However, he sat down on a nearby rock to talk.

“And how goes the surveying?” asked Joseph Morris.

“Very well, up to yesterday,” was the reply.

“Why, the storm did not come up until night,” put in Aaron Crosby.

“It wasn’t the storm hindered me. I have lost my assistant and cannot get along very well alone.”

“Lost your assistant?” queried Joseph Morris. “What happened to him? He wasn’t hurt, was he?”

“No. Early in the morning a negro came to tell him that his father was sick and not expected to live, and that he must come home at once. Under the circumstances there was nothing to do but to let him go, even though he had engaged with me for six weeks longer. This has left me alone and I must confess I hardly know how to manage.”

“It’s too bad,” said Mr. Morris. “Cannot you find another assistant somewhere around here?”

“I do not know of anybody. I was up at Denton’s and over to Moran’s but neither of those settlers could help me out. I was almost certain I could get Moran’s son, but he has gone off on a hunt, and there is no telling when he will be back.”

“Why not give me a chance, Mr. Washington?” cried Dave, impulsively. “I would like to help you very much.”

At this enthusiastic outburst the surveyor smiled. “I was thinking you might offer yourself the moment I saw you,” he said. “You see, I haven’t forgotten what you said the other day, when I was showing you my instruments.”

“I will work with you if my uncle will let me stay,” went on Dave, readily. “In fact I would like nothing better. I’ve thought of it half a dozen times since I’ve been to Annapolis.”

“As I said before, it is no easy task, David, and one must be careful or run the risk of imperiling one’s life.”

“I would be careful. Uncle Joe knows I am a good climber—isn’t that so, Uncle Joe?”

“Yes, Dave can climb well enough,” answered the uncle. He hesitated a moment. “This is news to me and I scarcely know what to say, Mr. Washington. Do you think the lad could do the work you wish of him?”

“I think so—after I have given him a few lessons. To be sure I should prefer an experienced hand, but he looks as if he might learn quickly.”

“I’ll do my best,” put in Dave, and then he added: “What does the work pay? Or perhaps you’d like to find out what I am worth first.”

“I gave my other helper six shillings a day and his board, and also a horse when the animal was needed,” answered Washington. “I will give you the same if you do the work properly.”

“I’ll take you up—if Uncle Joe will let me,” answered Dave, quickly. It was the first chance he had ever had of earning money away from home.

“You wish the lad for six weeks,” questioned Joseph Morris.

“Yes, if he proves willing and obliging, and he looks as if he would.”

“Then I don’t know but that you might try it, Dave. That will give our horses one less to carry, and you could stay at Denton’s until you fell in with some other folks coming out our way, if you didn’t want to come on alone.”

“I wouldn’t be afraid to come on alone, if I had a horse and my rifle.”

“It would be better to wait, for the snow might waylay you,” put in Aaron Crosby.

The matter was discussed for over an hour and Joseph Morris asked many questions concerning what Dave would be called on to do. “You see, his father is out west and I have him in my care,” he explained. “I want nothing to happen to him while he and his father are separated.”

The surveyor’s camp was close by, along with his horse, and he said he had two other steeds at Denton’s, two miles away, where he had left some of his traps. At Denton’s he had some extra clothing and said he would lend Dave a greatcoat, should the weather get much colder. So it was arranged that the youth should become Washington’s assistant, starting that very afternoon.

“Take good care of yourself,” were Joseph Morris’ words on parting. “And remember, we’ll look for you back at the end of the six weeks,” and so nephew and uncle parted, and soon Mr. Morris and Aaron Crosby were out of sight on the trail leading north-westward.

Dave found that the surveyor’s outfit was not a large one. There were several wooden affairs called crosses, having fine grooves at the top running at right angles to each other, several measuring chains, a bundle of stakes and tall, thin poles painted white at the top, and a good field glass, with measure and angle. There was also a portfolio of drawing paper, with some drawings and with a mass of measuring tables in the back, and compasses and pencils.

“Not so very many things,” was the lad’s comment.

“And yet we could measure our way around the world with them if we wished,” returned the surveyor. And then, while they took up the traps and moved, with the horse, towards the cabin owned by Christopher Denton he explained how ordinary land surveying was very simple in theory if not in practice.

“The whole basis of ground surveying is the triangle,” said Washington. “No matter what the shape of the property to be surveyed is it must first be divided up into triangles, or a triangle must be built up over it.”

“But why a triangle?” asked Dave.

“Because a triangle is both safe and easy to measure. You will understand this when we get to work.”

“But how can you survey over a big hill or a mountain?”

Washington smiled. “What do you do if you want to get to the other side of the mountain?”

“Climb over it or go around?”

“And that is what the surveyor must do—measure over it, or measure around it. Where the land is very uneven the best of surveyors sometimes have to make a guess at allowances—but that is rare. Of course in such a wild territory as this to split hairs would be impossible, yet I try to be as accurate as circumstances permit.”

“Yes, I would want to be accurate, if I was a surveyor,” answered Dave.

As they pushed along the Shenandoah, Washington pointed out several parcels of land which he had surveyed in days gone by. “It will not be many years before this land will all be settled,” he said. “Towns will spring up where there are now nothing but forests.”

Christopher Denton’s cabin was reached in the course of an hour, and here Dave was provided with an extra coat and a good horse. Washington wished to survey a tract of land six miles up the stream, and they took with them all the camping outfit, for they did not expect to return to Denton’s for several days or a week.

“How is it, can you prepare a meal?” asked the surveyor. “I did not think to ask before.”

“I’ve prepared many a one for my uncle and my cousins,” answered Dave. “I don’t know how my cooking will suit you.”

“I doubt if you can do worse than my other assistant,” laughed Washington. “He burnt more than half of what was placed over the fire.”

“I can do better than that I am sure.”

“Then we ought to get along.”

Soon they were again on the road, but now both on horseback. The surveyor knew the territory well and set such a brisk pace that Dave had to push hard to keep up to him.

“You are a splendid rider,” the boy ventured. “I never saw anybody keep his saddle so well.”

The praise appeared to please Washington. “Yes, I always loved riding,” he made answer. “I used to climb in the saddle when I was five years old. Once we had a fiery colt at home that nobody could manage. I got on his back and rode him.”

“You did!”

“Yes, but it was a costly ride, for the colt got scared and plunged so madly that he burst a blood vessel, and right after the ride he died. After that I let the other colts alone,” concluded Washington.

CHAPTER XII
SURVEYING ALONG THE SHENANDOAH

On the whole Dave found his employer rather companionable, although at times reserved and thoughtful. He soon learned that Washington was a hard worker and that the more difficult the problem to be solved the more the surveyor was interested. Once they were surveying in the midst of a forest, with rough rocks on every side, and the lad felt almost certain that the work must come to a standstill. But Washington kept on as if nothing out of the usual confronted him, and in the end the difficulty appeared to straighten itself out with scarcely an effort.

Dave soon learned how to carry the chains and call out the measurements and how to set the stakes and poles, and this was almost the extent of what he had to do. The weather remained fair, although it was gradually growing colder and he was often glad enough, early in the morning or late in the evening, to don the greatcoat Washington had loaned him.

But if the surveyor was engrossed in his work, he always kept his eyes open and his wits about him, as Dave learned before he had been out a week.

They were surveying a grant of land running along a brook flowing into the Shenandoah, and in making some measurements and setting stakes the lad was called upon to remove his boots and stockings and wade into a swamp where the water was almost up to his knees. While Dave was thus engaged Washington rested on a rock, doing an example in trigonometry in a field-book he carried.

Presently, while Dave was pounding away at one of the stakes, the water close to him was disturbed and of a sudden a large snapping turtle appeared. It swam directly toward Dave, as if contemplating an attack on the lad’s ankles or feet.

Dave had had a bitter experience with a small snapping turtle two summers before and he had no desire to be attacked by this large fellow, who looked both powerful and ugly.

“Go away!” he cried, loudly, and hit the water with one of his poles. “Go away!”

Instead of going away, the snapping turtle came closer, until it was within ten feet of the boy. Dave started to run, but was hampered by the things he carried and made but slow progress.

At Dave’s first cry of alarm, Washington sprang to his feet and looked in that direction. Had he had his rifle he would undoubtedly have shot the snapping turtle dead, but the firearm was some distance away with the rest of the traps, and to run for it would have taken too much time.

In his school days Washington had been a great lad to throw stones and balls, and in contests of accuracy he had generally come off the victor. Almost instinctively he now looked around for a stone, and finding one to his taste, he snatched it up, took aim, and hurled it forthwith with all his strength.

His old-time cunning had not deserted him and the sharp stone hit the snapping turtle fairly and squarely on the head, with such force that the creature was almost if not quite killed. It disappeared from view, leaving only a ripple of water to mark its departure.

“Come ashore, quick!” called the surveyor to Dave, but that advice was not necessary for, as said before, the youth was already running as rapidly as his burden permitted. In the meantime Washington picked up another stone, and when the turtle’s body reappeared hurled it forth with as good aim as before. Then the turtle disappeared a second time, and that was the last they saw of it until the next day, when they found the dead body floating in the rushes at the edge of the swamp.

“I—I thought he had me sure!” gasped Dave, when he came out of the swamp and threw down his traps. “Oh, but wasn’t he a big one!”

“That he was,” answered Washington, and took up a third stone. “I don’t see anything more of him,” he added, after a pause.

“Nor I. That first throw paralyzed him I think and the second finished him. I am thankful to you for coming to my aid,” went on Dave, warmly.

“I have only balanced our account,” answered the surveyor, with a smile. “You helped me against the snakes, now I have aided you against this turtle.”

“It’s too bad that turtle should turn up,” went on Dave, after he was settled down. “I don’t much like to think of going back into that swamp. There may be more of them there.”

“If you do go back put on your boots and take your gun, David. But, wait awhile, perhaps I can arrange it to survey around the swamp. It may take longer, but I do not wish to expose you to unnecessary peril. If that snapper had taken off one of your toes you would have to walk lame for the rest of your life.”

Washington told Dave to leave the stakes in the swamp as they were, and then ordered measurements taken around the north shore of the swamp. Dave went to work briskly, and by night the pair had worked their way to another point and had laid out a new triangle, so that the lad would have to go into the swamp only a short distance. This he did the next day, with his boots on, and it was then that the dead snapping turtle was discovered and hauled ashore.

The days followed each other in rapid succession, and after the work around the swamp was completed, Washington said they must now move up into the mountain gap, before the winter snows came to stop all surveying. They went on foot, for horses in that wild section would have been worse than useless. Each carried a heavy load, and in addition the surveyor had two negroes from Denton’s “tote” along supplies. The negroes remained with them for two days, assisting them to put up a mountain shelter of logs and brush, and then left them.

Work for one or two days was not difficult, but on the third day they moved out of the gap up the side of one of the mountains and along a narrow cliff. Here was a grant of land hardly of any value excepting for the timber on it, but it belonged to an English nobleman who was anxious to have it surveyed and who had offered Washington a neat sum to do the work.

“This is one of the difficult undertakings,” said Washington. “To lay out a straight line is next to impossible, but we can do our best, and there is no hurry, so long as the good weather lasts.”

The scenery, even for this time of year, was magnificent, and Dave often paused to survey the surroundings. Here were acres upon acres of cedar and hemlock as green as ever, and, in between, other trees, either bare or covered with leaves turned to red and yellow. The patches of wood were separated by the black rock, covered in many spots by the vari-colored mosses, and giving birth to innumerable springs of crystal water which flashed gaily in the sunshine.

Wild animals were also in evidence, and more than once a rabbit, squirrel or fox crossed their path, and once they saw a herd of deer at a distance and also a black bear. The bear interested Dave more than anything and he wondered if they would ever meet face to face.

“If we do, I hope I have my gun handy,” he said to Washington.

“You’ll do better to leave the bear alone if he doesn’t harm you,” was the surveyor’s advice. “For if your shot fails he will surely do his best to hug you to death.”

The work proceeded along the cliff and then across a long hollow and up the mountain again. One day it rained and this made climbing on the day following difficult.

“You must be careful,” cautioned Washington, on starting out. “A false step may cost you dear.”

They were soon hard at work, and Dave was finding his way around a particularly steep bit of rocky ground when he heard a shout from his employer. He could not make out what was said and while he listened the shout was repeated.

Fearing that something had gone wrong, he crawled back the way he had come and ran through the underbrush to where he had left Washington. But the surveyor was nowhere in sight.

“Where are you?” he called. “What is the matter?”

“This way!” was the answer, delivered in a panting tone of voice. “This way!”

Guided by the tones, Dave turned and ran in a new direction. Soon he reached a series of rocks sloping down toward a deep ravine.

“Where are you?” he went on, still unable to see anything of Washington.

“Here I am—down the rocks!” was the low answer, and now, looking down, Dave saw Washington far below, at the very edge of the ravine. He was clinging fast to a small cedar, and the tree was so bent it looked as if it might break at any instant and let him down into the abyss below.

“Oh! How did you get there?” burst out the boy. “What can I do for you?”

“Get a rope—or one of the chains,” answered Washington. “Be quick, this tree won’t hold much longer,” and now he clutched at the rocks with one hand while holding to the tree with the other.

No rope was at hand, and the nearest chain was several rods off, but fear lent speed to Dave’s flying feet and soon he had the chain in his hand, and then he ran back to the rocks as fast as he had come. By this time the cedar tree was gradually loosening from the edge of the abyss below and while Washington had his feet around it, he now clung to two tiny crevices in the rocks above his head.

“Here is the chain, catch hold!” cried Dave, and paid it out to its full length, while bracing himself to hold fast should Washington do as suggested. Alas! the chain was several feet too short and the surveyor could not reach it. Then with a crash the cedar tree snapped from its rooting and landed with another crash at the bottom of the abyss, and Washington was left at the edge of the rocks without other support than the crevices to which he clung with might and main.

CHAPTER XIII
A BEAR HUNT

If Dave had been dismayed before, he was doubly so now, for he expected each instant to see his employer lose his hold and follow the cedar tree to the jagged rocks far below.

But even in that moment of peril Washington did not lose his presence of mind. Still clinging to the rocks with all the strength of his fingers he called to the youth to tie the end of the chain to one of the poles which were not far away.

“Take the pole with the cross-piece,” he said. “And tie the chain well.”

Dave was quick to understand, and fairly flew to do as bidden. Then when the chain was fast, he lowered it again, and also the pole, taking care to keep a firm hold on the latter.

The chain now came within reach of the surveyor, but before he trusted himself to it he looked up at the boy. “Are you well braced?” he questioned.

“I am,” answered Dave. “One foot is against the rock and the other against the tree. But I doubt, sir, if I can pull you up.”

“It will not be necessary so long as you can keep the pole and chain from slipping,” answered Washington. “If you feel it getting away from you, give me warning.”

Dave agreed, and the surveyor began to pull himself up with extreme care, keeping one hand on the rocks the majority of the time. But the youth was as good as his word and held fast, although the strain was great, for Washington was large and of good weight.

In a few minutes the surveyor reached the end of the pole. He was now within ten feet of the top of the slippery rocks and the most difficult part of the climb was before him.

“You are sure you can hold the pole?” he asked. “I must now trust my whole weight to it.”

“Yes, sir, I am sure. But you will have to be careful and not bend it, or it may break.”

“I will have a care, David.”

Slowly Washington came up, hand over hand, and lying close on the rocks. He moved only a few inches at a time. Presently he reached the top with his fingers and drew himself to a place of safety. Dave gave a long sigh of relief, and hauled up the pole and chain.

“That was a narrow escape,” was Washington’s comment, with something of a shudder.

“Indeed it was, sir.”

“You did me a great service, David, and one I shall not forget, I promise you.”

“It’s lucky I had the chain and pole. I don’t suppose you could have held on to those rocks much longer.”

“You are right, lad.”

In a little while the surveying proceeded, and soon both were as hard at work as ever. But for the remainder of the day Washington was in a thoughtful mood and spoke but little.

Winter was coming, and on the day following a light flurry of snow told the surveyor that he must hurry with his work or it would remain unfinished that season.

“There is no use of our being caught in the mountains and snowed in,” he said. “Besides, it would not do for me. My brother, Mr. Lawrence Washington, is far from well, and I am anxious to be near him should he grow worse.”

“Why, I heard he was going out hunting with Lord Fairfax,” said Dave.

“He thought of going, but I doubt if he will.”

Two days later, when they were finishing up the survey in the mountain gap, there came another flurry of snow. With the white flakes flying all around them, they worked from daylight to dusk with only a few minutes’ rest for lunch.

“By to-morrow it may be too late to do anything,” said Washington.

They were encamped at the side of a cliff. Here they had found a fallen hemlock and over this spread their canvas and some cedar boughs. There were rocks on two sides of the shelter, keeping out a good share of the wind and making it quite comfortable. Late as it was that night, they piled extra cedar boughs on a third side, leaving only a narrow opening for an entrance, and brought all their provisions inside.

“Now, if we are storm-bound we will not be so very badly off,” said the surveyor.

“But I trust we are not storm-bound,” answered Dave. “We might be laid up for several weeks.”

“Hardly, at this time of year. Were it later in the season I should get out of the mountains with all speed.”

Being utterly worn out with the long day’s work, it did not take Dave long to fall asleep and Washington soon followed. In the meantime the wind fell and the snow continued to come down, more heavily than before. This continued until shortly after midnight, when the storm cleared away, and by three o’clock the stars were shining.

“David!” It was Washington calling, at the first light of day, and the boy at once sprang up.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you been at our traps?”

“At the traps?” repeated the lad, in some confusion. “Why, what do you mean?”

“The traps have been dragged outside and scattered in all directions.”

“Oh, Mr. Washington! No, I had nothing to do with it. I’ve been asleep all the night.”

Dave followed his employer outside and saw that what Washington said was true—the traps were indeed scattered in all directions, and, what was even of more importance, the entire supply of meat, fresh and jerked, was missing.

“Who could have done this?” asked the youth. “I didn’t hear anybody about the camp during the night.”

“Nor I, David. But it has been done, and we are out the larger portion of our provisions.”

“Here are tracks in the snow, Mr. Washington. But they are the tracks of some wild beast. Would a wild beast dare to come so close, and with that camp-fire burning there?”

“A bear would—if he was hungry.”

“A bear! Do you think it was a bear made off with the meat?”

“I do not know what else to think, David. The provisions are gone, and those are the only tracks leading from the camp.”

“But I see no tracks leading to the camp,” went on Dave, looking around in the snow.

“No, and that proves that the animal came here while it was snowing and went away after it cleared off. The tracks made coming have been covered up.”

“Think of a bear so close and both of us fast asleep!” said Dave, with a shiver. “I suppose we can be thankful that he spared our lives.”

“A bear will not attack a man unless he finds it necessary. Had he been very hungry and had there been no food around he might have pounced upon us.”

“But what shall we do now? We haven’t a pound of meat left.”

At this Washington laughed. “I propose to go after my meat,” he said. “And if I cannot get my meat back then I’ll try for the bear himself.”

“A bear hunt! Just the thing! You’ll let me go along, won’t you?”

“I don’t know whether it would be right or not, David. I promised your uncle to take good care of you.”

“But if you leave me here alone, the bear may come back,” insisted the youth.

“True, too—although I doubt if he will return. However, you can go with me if you’ll promise to be careful and keep back when I tell you.”

“I’ll promise.”

Little more was said, and Dave bustled around to prepare breakfast, which consisted principally of crackers and coffee and what was left of some jam in the bottom of a jar. The meal over, they placed all the traps in a hollow and over them put some brush and several heavy stones. Then they set off, each with his rifle in hand, on the track of the bear.

“It may prove a bootless chase,” said Washington, as they moved forward. “That bear can readily climb where it will be impossible to follow him.”

“But he has that meat to carry,” answered Dave. “That will hinder him somewhat.”

“True.”

The trail of the bear led around the end of the cliff and then upward, between the mountain forest and a cedar brake. Here the rocks, at certain points, were almost bare, and more than once the footprints were lost.

The sun was now coming out, making the melting snow glisten like diamonds. It promised to be much warmer than formerly and Washington rightly calculated that all the snow would melt before nightfall.

The cedar brake passed, the trail led through the forest, and down into something of a hollow. At one point they saw that the bear had paused, either to rest or to feast upon the stolen meat.

“I am of the opinion that from here on he carried the meat on the inside,” remarked Washington. “It was the easier way.” This was said so soberly that Dave felt compelled to laugh outright.

The bottom of the hollow gained, they followed a dried-up watercourse for quarter of a mile, and then came to a series of rough rocks, with dark hollows between. At once the surveyor called a halt and advised Dave to be cautious.

“Yonder looks like a regular bear’s den,” he said; “And if that is so, there may be a whole family of the animals around. Keep your eyes open, and if you see anything don’t shoot until you are certain of your aim.”

An instant later the bear discovered them.—Page 127.

Having thus delivered himself, Washington led the advance from the right, while Dave moved forward on the left. Step by step they came closer to the rocks, each with his rifle raised, ready to shoot as soon as it became necessary. The tracks were plain here and both felt that the bear could not have gone beyond the wall of rocks further back.

Suddenly the surveyor halted and called softly to Dave to do the same. He had caught sight of a large, black body crouching behind the first of the rocks. An instant later the bear discovered them and gave a low, savage growl, at the same time leaping on the rocks in full view of both.

Crack! It was Washington’s rifle that spoke up first and his aim was so true that the bear was hit fairly and squarely in the forehead and badly stunned, though not mortally wounded. Then Dave fired, landing a ball in the beast’s shoulder.

A fearful growling and snapping followed, and the bear tumbled from the rock and rolled over and over. But it was still able to fight, and regaining its legs, rushed toward Dave, who was not slow to retreat, doing his best to reload his rifle as he ran.

“Keep out of his reach, David!” called out Washington. “Come this way and let me get another shot at him!”

Dave heard the cry, but it was several seconds before he could veer around in the surveyor’s direction, for the bear kept somewhat between its two human enemies. But at last he got beside Washington, and then the latter let drive a second time, now landing a bullet in the bear’s vitals.

Two steps more, and the animal went down a second time and rolled over, gasping and snarling in a horrible fashion. Seeing the beast was almost done for Dave plucked up courage and ran close to it and let it have a fourth bullet in the ear. This was the finishing touch, and the big black bear gave a shudder and lay dead at their feet.

CHAPTER XIV
HOME COMING IN THE SNOW

“Good, that shot finished him,” cried Washington, as both he and Dave hastened to reload their weapons. “What a fine specimen he is!”

“He’s the biggest black bear I’ve seen,” answered Dave. “His pelt will be worth some money.”

“You shall have it, David. I think, all told, you richly deserve it.”

“I don’t see how?”

“I do. But come, let us look around and learn if there are any more bears here.”

A half hour was spent in the vicinity of the rocks, but no other bears appeared, nor did they see any new tracks. At last they concluded that the dead animal must have been alone, and began to speculate upon what should be done with the carcass.

“It’s too heavy to drag back to camp,” said Washington. “And if we leave it here, the wolves will make short work of it.”

“Then why not skin the beast and cut out such of the meat as we can use? We can put the meat in the hide and drag that home with ease, on a cedar bough.”

This was sensible advice on Dave’s part, and soon they were at work with the hunting knives they had brought along. Dave had imagined that the surveyor would know little or nothing about skinning the animal, but in this he was mistaken, for Washington had been on many a hunt before, with Lord Fairfax, as previously mentioned.

Although they took along less than sixty pounds of the meat that and the great bearskin proved a good load when strapped to a sweeping cedar bough, and they had all they wanted to do dragging the prize back to camp. By the time the shelter was gained, the sun was shining more hotly than ever, and the water from the snow was running in all directions.

“It will be too muddy to go surveying to-day,” announced Washington. “So you can dress up the hide, if you wish, and then we will rest for a big day’s work to-morrow.”

A week of clear weather followed the adventure with the bear, and during that time the surveyor and Dave completed the tasks which had brought them to the neighborhood. Then came a heavy fall of rain and they moved down to the Shenandoah. Here, on a Sunday morning, two negroes from the Washington home at Mount Vernon appeared, with tidings that Lawrence Washington was quite ill and wished his brother to return home without delay.

Much alarmed, George Washington prepared to start for Mount Vernon that afternoon. With Dave and the negroes he journeyed to Denton’s and here took leave of the youth, after paying him the wages promised.

“I trust we meet again,” he said. “You have done very well, and if you ever wish to continue surveying come to me and I will do what I can for you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Washington, I will remember that,” answered Dave. “And let me say that I think you have been more than kind to me.” With this they parted, after a hearty handshake. Little did Dave dream of the different circumstances under which they were to meet again!

Dave had so many things to carry, including the bearskin, that he was compelled to borrow a horse from Denton, although he had to wait ten days for the animal. He promised to return the horse in the spring and the settler was glad enough to have the animal off his hands during the winter, when he could not use him and yet would have to feed him.

“Ain’t ye afraid to go it alone?” asked Denton.

“No,” answered Dave. “Coming over, I noted the trail closely, and I’m sure I’ll have small trouble, if the snow holds off.”

He set out bright and early on the following morning and reached Winchester without mishap. Here he remained over night and then struck out for Will’s Creek. He found the trail very much as it had formerly been and journeyed for part of the distance with two pioneers from Pennsylvania, and spent one night in camp with them. The Pennsylvanians were Germans who could not speak a word of English, yet they were good natured and Dave got along very nicely with them.

It was late of an afternoon when Dave found himself still two miles from home. The Germans had parted with him in the morning and he was alone on the trail. He had passed the bee tree and saw that his uncle had claimed the prize. It was again snowing and the sky was heavily overcast, but with home so close, he was in the best of spirits and as he rode along he broke out into his favorite tune “Lucy Locket Lost Her Pocket,” whistling with all the strength of his lungs.

Soon the snow began to come down faster and faster, until the trail was almost hidden by the flakes, which whirled and swirled in every direction. The snow was thick and clinging and shut out the landscape on every side.

“Hullo, this won’t do,” he said to himself. “This is getting too thick for comfort!” And he struck his steed, to get him off a walk. But the horse was tired, and after cantering a few steps dropped again into a walk.

The wind was rising through the timberlands with a dull, moaning sound and now it became darker, so that Dave could not see where his horse was going. He calculated that he had still a mile and more to cover, and it must be owned that he heartily wished the journey was at an end. Of a sudden his hat was knocked off by a tree branch and his horse came to a halt.

Getting down to pick up his hat, Dave made the discovery that he had missed the trail, and by certain marks on the trees saw that he was moving into the woodland to the north of the homestead instead of for the cabin itself. The snow was now several inches deep and coming down harder than ever, blotting out the little light which remained.

Growing thoroughly alarmed, the youth concluded to remain on the ground and lead his steed. He turned the animal about and step by step left the woodland slowly, not desiring to make another false turn. Had he been less experienced in woodcraft the storm and growing darkness would have completely bewildered him.

When he at last gained the trail the storm was at its height and the wind sent the snow sharply into his face. “I can’t keep this trail now,” was his thought, and so, crossing the path, led his steed down into the hollow, where the creek ran. Then, at the risk of sinking into the mud and water over his boot-tops, he continued along the edge of this watercourse until he gained the brook which flowed up past the cabin.

“Thank fortune I am this far!” he murmured to himself, and after resting for a moment, started forward again, up the slight rise of ground upon which the cabin was erected. At last through the downfall of snow he saw the light of a candle, shining through one of the kitchen windows. Immediately he set up a loud shout. A moment later the cabin door was flung open and his uncle appeared, backed up by his aunt and the others.

“Dave! And in such a storm as this!” cried Joseph Morris. “Why, lad, it’s a wonder you didn’t lose your way!”

“I did lose my way, Uncle Joe,” was the panting answer. “But let me come inside, my feet are like chunks of ice!” And leaving his steed at the doorstep, Dave staggered into the kitchen and shook the snow from his clothing. A handshaking, and kisses from his Aunt Lucy and little Nell, followed, and soon he was sitting before the roaring fire and the others were doing all they could to make him comfortable.

“You arrived just in time,” said Joseph Morris, after bringing in the traps and caring for the horse. “This fall of snow is going to be a heavy one,” and so it proved. By noon of the next day the ground was covered to the depth of two feet, and none of the family ventured further than the stable and cow-shed. In those days heavy falls of snow in that vicinity were quite common while to-day they are rare,—why, nobody has ever been able to explain.

It was a happy family group that gathered around the wide fire-place that evening and listened to all Dave had to tell of his adventures while helping Washington. The bearskin was brought in and much admired by all, and Mrs. Morris was greatly pleased when Dave said he would give it to her for a rug or a coverlet, just as she preferred.

“It’s very kind of you, Dave,” she said, as she kissed him for the gift. “I shall prize it highly, for it will make the best coverlet I possess.” And in later years, when Washington became so well known, and the President of the United States, this bearskin was much thought of as an heirloom by all the Morris family, who would tell how the young surveyor and their Dave had brought down the animal by four well-directed shots.

From his uncle and the others Dave learned that White Buffalo had long since departed with the train of pack horses for the trading-post on the Kinotah.

“He must be there by this time,” said Joseph Morris.

“Did he say when he would be back?” questioned Dave.

“He said probably not until next spring. You see, the Indians had a fight among themselves, and some of White Buffalo’s relatives are missing, and he wishes to learn what has become of them. If the enemy slew them, White Buffalo said he and his tribe would probably go on the warpath.”

“If they do go on the warpath, I hope they don’t fight around here,” put in Henry Morris.

“No, the fighting will be further to the west,” answered Mr. Morris.

“You mean on the Kinotah, where father is?” asked Dave, quickly.

“Somewhere in that region, Dave. But don’t be alarmed. White Buffalo is our friend, and he will not let the battle rage around your father’s trading-post, rest assured of that.”

“But the very fact that we are friends to White Buffalo may make the other tribes look upon us as enemies,” persisted Dave.

To this Joseph Morris could not answer, and the conversation left Dave much disturbed.

CHAPTER XV
THE SITUATION BETWEEN THE ENGLISH, FRENCH, AND INDIANS

The fall of snow which had marked Dave’s home-coming was followed by nearly a month of mild and fine weather, but after that winter set in heavily, and for weeks at a time those at the cabin in the clearing hardly stirred out, excepting to take care of the cattle and horses and do other necessary chores.

During that time but little was seen or heard of the outside world. Occasionally an Indian would stop at the cabin, for food and shelter, and from these red men it was learned that all of the Indians between the Shenandoah and the Ohio had buried the war hatchet until the last of the snow was off the ground.

“Then father is safe, at least for the time being,” said Dave. “That is, unless he is suffering from this bitter cold.”

“He will not suffer so long as there is wood around,” said Henry Morris. “Trust him to have a rousing fire. He always did believe in keeping the wood-pile heaped up.”

“You are right, Henry,” laughed Dave. “I can remember yet how he made us work at splitting wood the Saturday we wanted to go fishing.”

In the summer time the boys had but scant chance to improve their limited education, for there was no schoolhouse for miles around. Now, being housed up by the weather, they were made to bring out such study books as the family possessed, and Joseph Morris took a hand daily at teaching them to read, write, spell and cipher, and also gave them lessons in geography and history, while Mrs. Morris took it upon herself to give them a strong religious training. Everybody from Rodney the cripple to little Nell took part in the lessons, and so the days passed much more quickly than they might otherwise have done. Paper was scarce and they often ciphered on birch bark, which Henry had cut and pressed for that purpose, writing with quill pens and home made ink, or with sticks of charcoal.

At last the winter broke up and by April the work around the cabin homer was resumed. There had been some cutting of timber and hauling away of the same late in the fall and now this was resumed and the new ground was cleaned up and plowed for an early planting. The cattle shed had also to be repaired, and Dave was given this task, for he was more handy with tools than was his cousin Henry. Rodney was feeling decidedly stronger, and took great pleasure in taking care of the poultry, of which he boasted a good stock, and in looking after a respectable flock of ducks. Chickens and ducks knew him well and when he sat in the warm sunshine they would not hesitate to crowd around him, to fly to his lap and search his pockets for corn.

As the spring advanced into summer Dave became anxious to hear from his father, especially when a trapper brought in the rumor that the Indians were preparing for trouble.

“They have held several war dances,” said the trapper. “And that means mischief before long.”

“Do you know White Buffalo?” asked Dave.

“I do.”

“Is he anywhere around here?”

“No, he and his braves have gone into the wilderness, where I do not know,” answered the trapper.

Soon summer was at hand and now there was so much work to do that Dave had scarcely time to think of anything else. Almost before he knew it August came and it was time for harvest. Then one day Sam Barringford dropped in upon those at the cabin.

“Glad to see me, are ye?” he said, as he gave Dave his usual iron-like grip that made the youth wince. “Wall, I’m jest as glad to set eyes on ye, too, mark thet! I’ve thought on ye a heap of times sense we had thet little flip-up with Turtle Foot. Seed anything of the rascal sense thet time?”

“I have not,—and I don’t wish to.”

“I don’t blame ye, Dave. And how is your father these days?”

“I can’t tell—for we haven’t heard.”

“Creation! Ain’t heard at all?”

“Not a word. And I am worried, because I hear the Indians are going on the warpath.”

“The war won’t amount to much, my way of thinking—the Six Nations ain’t in it, you see. They are fixing things with the French to pepper us fellows, that’s their game. But it’s too downright bad ye ain’t got no word from the Kinotah.”

“Where have you been, Sam?”

“Oh, jest knocking around, same as usual. Told you, didn’t I, about going to take Lord Fairfax and a lot of them grandees out fer a hunt? Wall, I took ’em—that is, all but Mr. Lawrence Washington. He was took sick and had to go back to Mount Vernon. After he got home they sent for his brother George, and he has taken Lawrence down to Barbadoes for his health. I opine he won’t git back alive.”

“Then Mr. George Washington has left Virginia? I helped him at surveying.”

“So I heard tell over to Winchester, and heard how both of you brought down a big black bear. Dave, it’s a feather in your cap, no two ways on ’t. Is that the hide?”

“Yes.”

“Fine as any I ever see,” and Sam Barringford examined it with a critical eye. “Dave, I’m proud of ye.”

“I am sorry to hear Mr. Washington’s brother is so ill.”

“Yes, everybody up to Greenway Court was blue over it. They were expecting great things from him and from George, who was appointed an adjutant-general of the militia some time before he sailed.”

“Is the militia reorganizing?” asked Joseph Morris, who was standing by, having met the hunter before Dave came up.

“Yes, and there’s a reg’lar war spirit in the air,” answered Barrington. “There will be a big row over the Ohio valley before the matter is settled.”

“Have the Frenchmen done anything yet?”

“Not in the way of fighting, but they are working hard to prove they own the valley. The governor of Canada sent a man named Celeron with about three hundred men down the Ohio to make peace with the Indians. He’s been nailing up lead plates all along the stream, to testify that the land is claimed by the French.”

“Did he have any trouble with our traders?” questioned Dave.

“He ordered them away, and sent a letter to Governor Hamilton, of Pennsylvania, saying he was surprised to find ’em on French territory. This woke Hamilton up and he sent old George Croghan, the trader, to the Indians with presents, and to treat with ’em. I heard Croghan had fallen in with a man named Gist, sent out by that new Ohio Company, but I don’t know the particulars.”

The news which Sam Barringford brought was true. Following the expedition of Celeron de Bienville into the Ohio Valley there was a great stir in the Pennsylvania Assembly and the outcome was the expedition under George Croghan, who was accompanied by a Canadian half-breed named Montour, who spoke the Indian dialects perfectly.

Croghan was ordered to invite the Indians to a grand assembly at Logtown, to receive presents from the English and to come to an understanding in regard to the land in the Ohio Valley. He advanced as far as Muskingum, where he was met by a man named Gist, who had been sent out by the Ohio Company to inspect the country, note the value of the land, and learn how strong the Indians were and what they intended to do.

News soon reached Croghan that the French had captured three English traders and carried them off as prisoners to Canada. He at once ordered all the English for miles around to gather at Muskingum for mutual defence. But the scare which had arisen did not last long, and Croghan and Gist proceeded on their way, visiting the villages of the Delawares, Shawnees and Miamis. With the latter an alliance was formed, in the name of the Governor of Pennsylvania.

This latter ceremony was scarcely concluded when the Indian runners announced the approach of a French expedition. Envoys had been sent by the Governor of Canada, with two kegs of brandy, ten pounds of tobacco, and other things for the Indians. But the Miamis would not accept the presents, and told the French that should war ensue they intended to remain upon the side of the English. At this the envoys departed much crestfallen.

The meeting at Logtown,—located but a short distance below the present city of Pittsburgh—was a grand success. The Indians were given many presents and professed eternal friendship for the English. Even the coming of Captain Joncaire, a veteran French pathfinder, did not turn their feelings. Although Joncaire promised them many things and spoke most eloquently to them, they hardly waited to hear him out.

“This is our land,” said one of the head chiefs. “The English are our brothers. They shall live among us, and we will trade with them and not with you,” and Joncaire had to depart defeated in his undertaking. But before he went he warned all that the land belonged to the King of France and that for the English to trade there would bring trouble.

Feeling that “possession is nine points of the law,” the Ohio Company ordered Gist to continue his explorations, and this the pioneer did, and made a survey of the company’s lands on the south side of the Ohio as far as the Great Kanawha. But in the meantime the French strengthened their stronghold at Niagara and pushed their trading-posts still further southward, on the Ohio and other streams. War was indeed inevitable, but it was yet to simmer a year or two before bursting forth in all its fury.

CHAPTER XVI
DAVE’S DEPARTURE FOR THE WEST

A week after the arrival of Sam Barringford at the Morris homestead Dave was much surprised and delighted to see White Buffalo making his way along the creek. Dropping the hoe he was using at the time, the youth ran to meet the friendly Indian.

“White Buffalo is welcome,” he said, as he shook hands. “I have been looking for you a long time.”

“How-how!” returned the Indian, as he bent a kindly glance on Dave. “White boy was afraid White Buffalo would not come back, is that so?”

“You are right. How is my father?”

“He was well a moon ago. Since that time I have not set eyes upon him.”

“Has he had any trouble with the French, or with those other Indians?”

“The French have ordered him away, but it was only with their tongues, and he paid no attention to them. He has with him now four white men and ten Indians—of White Buffalo’s tribe—and the French were but three in number.”

“Then there was no fight?”

“No. The French remained but one night and stole away ere the sun was up.”

“You say you saw him a moon ago. Then you did not come direct to here from his post?”

“I could not come. The braves of White Buffalo’s tribe have had trouble with the skunks under Fox Head, the Indian who made trouble for the white boy’s father when he first went toward the setting sun. Two fights we had, and three of our braves were slain. We followed Fox Head and killed six of his skunks and left their bodies by the river side for the wolves to feed upon.”

As White Buffalo concluded he thrust his hand under his blanket and drew forth a letter. It was addressed to Dave and written by the boy’s parent. The communication was as follows:

“My dear Dave: I am writing this in haste, for White Buffalo is anxious to get away, saying there is trouble between his tribe and the cowardly curs under Fox Head.

“I suppose you and your uncle have been wondering why you did not hear from me. The truth is, I have been off scouting most of the time, for I was afraid the French and Indians were planning to surprise me and wipe out our post.

“All now seems to be quiet and although I have been warned by the French to go away I think it will end in talk. At any rate, I am doing very well and I shall not move until actually forced to. I have strengthened the post and now have constantly a guard of four whites and ten Indians. Every night I send one man up the river, one down, and another to our rear, so it will not be an easy matter for anybody to surprise us.

“About your coming out here at present I do not know what to say. I would be much pleased to have you with me, but I do not wish to expose you to peril, should this post be attacked. If you wish very much to come, you can do so, providing you can get Sam Barringford or some other reliable hunter to come out with you. I would have you come with White Buffalo but he is at present interested in the troubles between his own tribe and that of Fox Head, and might not be able to bring you through in safety.

“Above all, consult your uncle Joe about this previous to making any move, for he may know more about these troubles with the French and Indians than I do. Tell him that the goods came through safely and that they have helped me to make many good trades. I have shipped goods by pack train to Annapolis, but not by way of Will’s Creek, for the man in charge, Isaac Fraley, wanted to go by way of Pontona instead.”

This was the main portion of the letter. There was another sheet, written principally for Joseph Morris and his family, in which James Morris hoped they were all well and said he had not been sick a day since opening the trading-post. He ended by stating that if Dave did come on, in company with Barringford or somebody else, they might bring along the goods mentioned on a separate slip—the articles being mainly glass trinkets and medicines.

This letter put Dave in high feather and he lost no time in hunting up his uncle Joe, who was getting the barn floor in readiness for threshing.

“A letter from father!” he cried. “And I can join him if I want to.”

Joseph Morris read the communication with as much interest as had his nephew. He was glad to learn his brother was safe.

“Then you still want to go, Dave?” he asked.

“To be sure, Uncle Joe. Do you blame me?”

“Can’t say as I do, lad. It’s natural that you should want to be with your father. But if war comes——”

“If war comes I would rather be with father than be away from him,” broke in Dave, quickly.

“I don’t know if you can get Sam Barringford to go with you.”

“I’m sure I can—Sam will do anything for me. Of course father will pay him for the trip, and for bringing along those goods.”

“We’ll have to get the goods at Annapolis—that’s a trip in itself, and I can hardly spare the time now—with harvesting coming on.”

“If you’ll let me, I’ll buy the goods myself. I know I can do it and not get cheated.”

“Perhaps you can buy them, Dave. But how about the trip to Annapolis?”

“I wouldn’t mind it, in this fine weather. I came on alone from the Shenandoah, remember.”

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten that, nor how you were ’most lost in that snowstorm.”

“We’re not likely to have a snowstorm now, Uncle Joe.”

“Henry has been bothering me about a trip to Winchester,” went on Joseph Morris, slowly. “I might let him take the trip with you, if he wasn’t away from the farm too long.”

“Just the thing! I’d like Henry along and he ought to have a vacation—he has worked so hard all spring and summer.”

“Well, come in the house, and you too, White Buffalo, and we’ll talk the matter over.”

They entered the cabin, and here White Buffalo was entertained with the best at hand, and also paid for his services. Soon Henry Morris came in and was told of what was proposed. He said nothing would please him better than a trip to Annapolis, and was willing to start the next day. Sam Barringford had gone off on a hunt, but both Dave and his uncle felt certain that the old hunter would willingly make the journey to the trading-post on the Kinotah.

“He spoke of going out there only yesterday,” said Joseph Morris. “He will jump at the chance of having Dave along.”

So it was arranged before nightfall that Dave should go west and should first make the trip eastward with his cousin Henry.

The day following was one full of bustle and excitement for the two cousins, and it must be confessed that Mrs. Morris was equally affected, for this was the first time Henry had left her, to be gone a week or more. The weather was all that could be wished for, and the boys wanted to make the most of it.

It is not my purpose here to go into the details of the trip. Each of the lads was provided with a good horse and consequently they made rapid progress. On the way they shot a deer and also aided a plantation owner to overcome a negro who had run amuck and was threatening to kill everybody in sight.

At Annapolis their trading took somewhat longer than expected, and while Dave did not strike any great bargains, yet he was shrewd enough not to get cheated and his purchases, on the whole, were as satisfactory as if his uncle had made them. The two boys went sight seeing and also spent one evening at the theater, where they witnessed a performance of Shakespeare’s “Merchant of Venice,” at a shilling an admission.

On the day they were leaving Annapolis Dave fell in with a man he had met there before and learned from him that Lawrence Washington was dead, having departed this life at Mount Vernon, shortly after coming back from Barbadoes, on July 26. He had left a wife and a little daughter, and these were consigned to the care of his brother George, who was now called Major Washington, on account of his attachment to the militia.

When the boys got back as far as Winchester, they found Sam Barringford there, waiting for them. Through another settler, Joseph Morris had heard of a skilled surgeon who was stopping at the post, and he had sent Barringford to interview the medical man, in hope of getting him to doctor Rodney’s lameness. The old hunter had met the surgeon, and now the four journeyed to the Morris homestead together.

“To be sure I’ll go west with ye, Dave,” said the old hunter. “Nothing would suit me better.”

The arrival of the surgeon at the homestead put Mrs. Morris in a flutter, and preparations were at once made to operate upon Rodney, who was willing to undergo any amount of pain if only he could be cured. Dave would have liked to see the operation, but Barringford advised that they take advantage of the fine weather and push on.

“With some of the Indians on the warpath it may take us some time to get to the post,” he said. “And we don’t want to be caught in the heavy fall rains.”

A day later saw them on their way, all those left behind wishing them God-speed.

“Take good care of yourself, Dave,” were Joseph Morris’ last words. “And tell your father to give up the post, even if he is making money, rather than run the risk of losing his life.” And so nephew and uncle parted, not to meet again for many a long day.

CHAPTER XVII
CARRIED DOWN THE RIVER

It has truthfully been said that in those days the principal trails west of the Shenandoah were those which had been made by the wild animals and the Indians, and these trails never ran in anything like straight lines, but wound in and out around every obstruction. Even the Indians rarely made an improvement, no matter how necessary, so that the trails remained as they were for generation after generation.

Dave had experienced some of the difficulties of trail following in his trips from Will’s Creek to the East, but he had not been out over a day on the journey westward before he realized that what had been left behind was as child’s play to what was before him. On every hand was the gigantic primeval forest, where the towering, rough-barked trees had never yet felt the edge of a white man’s axe. The roots, heavy and snake-like, sprawled in all directions, and growing between these were short, sturdy bushes and creeping vines, often overlapping the trail, as though to keep back any human intruder. Where there was an open spot the grass would be tall and rank and often ingrown with wild flowers. Here butterflies and insects would be numerous. From the forest itself would come the constant song of the wild birds and from the pools and hollows the steady chant of frogs and lizards, mingled occasionally with the gurgle of water falling over distant rocks.

“How lonely!” said the boy more than once. “How lonely in spite of the birds and the wild animals!”

“It is lonely, Dave,” responded Sam Barringford. “But you’ll git used to it after a spell. Some men don’t like nuthin better, and can’t stay in town nohow, after living here awhile.”

“Why should we and the French fight for this vast territory, Sam? I’m sure there is more than enough ground to go around.”

“It’s an amazement, lad, that’s a fact. We might all have a couple of hundred acres and still land to spare. But man’s a selfish critter and the more he gits the more he wants—and nations ain’t no better nor the folks as makes ’em.”

“Do you think we’ll meet any Indians?”

“Ye mean enemies? I trust not. Of course we’ll stop at one or two of their villages. I calkerlate to strike Nancoke day after ter-morrow—if we can ford the river that’s ahead,” concluded the old hunter.

They had been out two days and to Dave it appeared that they were making slow progress. More than half the time they had to dismount and lead their horses. Each carried his gun over his shoulder and kept his eyes open for enemies, four-footed, two-footed, or otherwise, the otherwise, as Dave explained, being mainly snakes, for hardly a day passed that they did not see one or more reptiles.

Toward sunset they came to the river, hardly more than a mountain torrent, full of rocks and shifting sands. It was quite shallow in spots, but the current was strong and Barringford advised his companion to be careful in crossing.

“The sand sometimes makes the rocks shift,” he explained. “And if yer hoss goes down and breaks a leg, thar won’t be nuthing to do but to knock him in the head,—and we can’t afford to lose none of the animals.”

“I’ll be as careful as possible,” said Dave. “Are you going ahead?”

The old hunter said that he was, and soon he entered the water with his horse. He was leading a pack animal, and the boy followed the two, also with a pack animal behind him.

The fording spot was fully a hundred feet wide, for the water was only shallow because the stream was spread out. Sam Barringford had reached the middle when he came to a sudden halt.

“Look thar!” he cried, and pointed down the stream a distance of a dozen rods. Dave gazed in the direction and beheld several deer standing by the river side, under the drooping branches of a tree. They had come up in haste, and now, catching sight of our friends, hardly knew how to turn.

“They are pretty bold,” cried Dave. “Shall I take a shot at them?”

“No,—something has driven ’em out of the wood,” answered Sam Barringford. “Perhaps—— They are coming this way!”

The old hunter spoke the truth—the deer, evidently more frightened than ever, were turning up the stream. Soon some were in the water, struggling madly to reach the opposite shore. One sped up so far before turning into the stream that it came within a couple of rods of Dave. The lad could not resist the temptation to fire and did so, killing the deer instantly with a ball through the neck.

The shot was still ringing through the air, when two other shots came from down the stream, along with the flight of several arrows. A number of Indian hunters had burst into view. At first their gaze was set upon the quarry, but soon one saw the whites and set up a cry of warning.

“We had better go back, Dave, and be quick about it!” came from Barringford, in a low but earnest voice. “If these redskins are friendly thet’s one thing, but if they ain’t, it’s quite another.”

The youth thought the advice good, for the Indians were more savage and warlike in appearance than any he had ever before seen. Only two had guns, the others were supplied with nothing better than bows and arrows.

The shots and the rushing of the deer into the water, frightened the pack horses, and when Dave and Barringford attempted to turn back they found they had their hands full. One of the pack horses balked and in plunging around bumped up against the steed Dave was riding. This knocked the youth’s horse from the rocks, and in a twinkling Dave found himself and his steed floating down the current of the stream.

“Come back here!” roared Barringford. “Turn to the shore!” And then he said no more, having his hands full with the pack horses and his own animal. One of the pack horses began to kick and did not stop until the old hunter struck him a heavy blow with his gun stock. Then the steed made a plunge for the bank it had left but a few minutes before, and Barringford and the other two horses followed. The leading horse did not stop at the bank but took to the back trail, and thinking that Dave had followed his advice and was close behind, the old hunter started to stop the runaway.

In the meantime Dave was doing his best to gain control of his own steed which was badly frightened and snorting wildly. But the current was strong beyond the rocks and despite his best efforts, the steed went with it instead of turning toward the bank. Then, without warning the horse struck a sharp rock, turned over, and Dave was flung headlong.

So rapid was the turn of affairs, and so entirely unexpected, that for the moment after disappearing under the surface of the stream, Dave scarcely knew what was happening. He opened his mouth, took a gulp of water, and then closed his mouth again in a hurry. He could swim fairly well, and instinctively struck out for the surface.

When he came up he was directly opposite the spot where the deer had first appeared and by his side floated the animal he had shot and killed. Looking ashore he saw the Indians, gathered in a group on the bank and gazing at him and the game in astonishment. One of the red men shouted at him in the Indian tongue and two of the braves raised their bows and arrows. Seeing the latter movement Dave promptly dove out of sight again.

The youth was greatly perplexed concerning what to do next, and so were the Indians. The appearance of the whites was a complete surprise to the red men, who had been thinking of nothing but the deer they had been after. The leader, a tall and not bad-looking savage, yelled again at Dave, and spoke to those with him, ordering the bows to be lowered. Then one of the party brought forth a lasso, and after some trouble managed to bring the dead deer ashore, along with two others of the herd which the red men themselves had laid low.

Below the spot where the deer had been sighted the river made a sharp turn and divided into two branches, the one flowing to the north the other to the west. Here both channels were narrow and deep, and the water ran with increased swiftness.

Dave tried to land on the spur of shore which divided the stream but failed. On he swept, through the channel leading northward. Here at first the banks were overgrown with brush, and tall trees sent their branches down almost within reach of his hand. Soon, however, the character of the surroundings changed and he found the stream cutting its way between two walls of rock. The top of the banks were far out of his reach and his heart sank within him.

“No wonder Sam warned me to beware of the river,” he thought, dismally. “Where in the wide world can this lead to?”

As a projecting rock came within reach he tried to stay his progress. But his strength was not equal to the task, and torn from the hold, he was hurried on again, to another bend, where the water boiled and foamed in a most alarming manner. Fearful that the end was at hand he closed his eyes and prayed to God that his life might be spared to him. Then he whirled on and on, over some jagged stones and around the bend, and at last into smooth water again. He was now so faint and dizzy that he could do little besides keeping his head above water.

Quarter of an hour passed,—to poor Dave it appeared much longer,—and the rocks gradually gave way to loose stones and dirt, and the bushes and trees again appeared. The stream was growing wider and presently the floating youth struck another point where it divided into two branches, forming an island in the center half a mile long. His feet struck bottom, and more dead than alive, he dragged himself to the island and sank down on a grassy bank exhausted.

How long he rested he could hardly tell, afterwards. The setting of the sun far over the forest to the westward startled him and made him leap to his feet. He must get back to where he had left Barringford and that, too, without loss of time.

But then he thought of the Indians and how two of the red men had pointed their arrows at him. They must be enemies to the whites, and if that was so it would not do to run the risk of falling into their hands. Yet he knew of no way to reach the old hunter except to trail back along the bank of the stream which had played him such a sad trick. Young as he was he knew the folly of trying to strike a direct course through the dense forest which confronted him.

“I’ll have to risk the Indians,” he said to himself, with something like a groan. “Perhaps, if I’m careful, I can get past them without being seen—that is, if they are still in the neighborhood. But for all I know they may have shot and scalped Sam long before this,” and the cold perspiration stood out on his brow.

His gun was still over his shoulder and his powder horn hung at his belt. But the powder was soaked and therefore useless, so he could not reload. This left him only his hunting knife to fall back on, in case of attack by Indian or wild animal, and he started on the return with a heart as heavy as the leaden bullets which were now useless to him.

CHAPTER XVIII
DAVE VISITS AN INDIAN VILLAGE

Dave’s first movement was to get from the island to the bank of the stream. Having no desire to be carried further by that treacherous current, he entered the water with care and did not leave one foot-hold until he was sure of the next. It was now almost dark and the shadows along the shore were rapidly growing black and forbidding.

Having gained the bank, he wrung the water from his jacket and emptied his boots. The brushwood was thick close to the stream and he found if he wished to make any progress up the river he would have to enter the forest, fifty feet further back. This he did and was soon moving on, over moss, dead leaves, gnarled roots, and stones as speedily as his tired frame permitted. Under ordinary circumstances he would have dropped and gone to sleep, now the fear of what might happen kept him wide awake.

At last the forest came to an end and he found himself mounting the rocky canyon through which the stream had cut its way probably centuries before. Here he had to do a vast amount of climbing and long before the canyon came to an end he was so tired he could scarcely drag one foot after the other.

“It’s no use,” he groaned, half aloud. “I can’t get back to-night and I might as well look for some place where I can camp out. If I don’t take care I’ll become completely lost.”

A short distance further on he came to a pretty creek flowing into the river. Feeling he could not get lost as long as he kept near the creek, he followed this tiny stream until he felt certain the woods would hide him from the Indians should they come in that direction. He sank on a fallen tree and gave himself up to his dismal reflections.

What had become of the old hunter? Had Sam had trouble with the redskins, or was he following the river in hope of finding his companion?

“He won’t go far in the dark,” thought Dave. “Not as far as this, anyway, and as soon as it’s light I’ll get back to the river and keep on the watch for him.”

For some time he sat there in the dark, not daring to start a fire for fear the Indians would see the light. But his wet clothing chilled him through and through and afraid of getting sick if he remained all night in this condition he presently got out his flint and box and hunted for something for tinder. A bit of dry moss answered the purpose and it was not long before he had a roaring fire, placed in a hollow between several large rocks. He crouched down to warm and dry himself, and in this attitude fell asleep.

When Dave awoke the brightness of day was on him and he sprang up in dismay, fearing he had overslept himself. “Perhaps Sam had passed this way already,” was his instant thought and he lost no time in getting back to the river. But nobody was in sight, and once more he tramped on whence he had come the day before. He was now tremendously hungry, without any food with which to satisfy the cravings of his stomach.

“If I don’t find Sam by dinner time I’ll throw a line into the river and go fishing,” he told himself, but just then he contented himself with a drink of water.

On and on he tramped, through the forest and brushwood, and across small streams and bits of marshland. His sleep had rested him thoroughly and he made rapid progress.

When a turn of the river brought him in sight of the spot where he had first seen the Indians, he halted to reconnoitre. But not a single red man was anywhere in the vicinity, and satisfied of this, he pushed forward faster than ever, until he gained the fording place where all the trouble had originated.

“Dave! By all thet’s lucky! Wall now, but ain’t I downright glad to see ye ag’in!” came suddenly from a clump of nearby brush, and Sam Barringford ran toward the youth. “Are ye hurt at all?”

“No, I’m all right,” was the equally joyful answer. “And what of you? Did the Indians molest you?”

“Not a bit of it. They know me, and the minit they sot eyes on me they took their game and slid out on the double-quick. But tell me, where have ye been and why didn’t ye come after me, when I sot out after the runaway hoss?”

“I didn’t know you went after a runaway horse, Sam,” returned Dave, and told the story of his remarkable experience on the river. “As soon as I passed the Indians I didn’t think of anything but to save myself from drowning.”

“To be sure,—I see how it was now. Wall, I had a long chase after the runaway and when I got back it was almost dark. Then I spotted the redskins and they spotted me. They were a crowd I met once over to Frazier’s trading-post and they knew me thoroughly. They got out, as I said afore, on the double-quick, and I don’t know where they went to. I thought fust of hunting for you in the dark, but knew thet wouldn’t do, so I squatted to wait for daylight. I’ve been around a good bit sense then and jest came back to make certain the hosses was safe.”

“Do you know anything of my horse? I lost him in the river just as he struck a rock.”

“He got out and came back, and he’s all right excepting for a cut on his foreleg and another on his head. It’s a wonder he didn’t kick ye to death. Had any dinner?”

“Dinner? I haven’t had last night’s supper yet.”

“Golly-whoppers! Ye don’t mean it? Come right on and I’ll fix ye something in a jiffy. Ye must be hollow clean down to the boots!” And Sam Barringford bustled off to his temporary camp, but a few rods away. With a heart that now felt as light as a feather, Dave followed. He was glad enough to fling himself in the long grass and lazily watch the old hunter bustle around, and doubly glad to partake of the hot coffee and broiled birds and corn cakes which his companion provided. Never had a feast tasted better to him.

“The Indians took the deer I shot I suppose,” said Dave, while eating. “Well, I can be thankful that they didn’t take me instead.”

The youth was glad enough to get back in the saddle again, for his feet were still sore from the climbing of the canyon rocks. They pushed on directly he had finished his meal, and they did not halt again until night was once more on them. Their course was now directly for the Kinotah and Barringford calculated that they would strike one branch of that stream by the afternoon of the next day.

The character of the country remained the same—tall trees, heavy underbrush and vines, and high grass. In spots the trail was almost wiped out, while at other places it became so divided Barringford was almost at a loss which division to follow. Once they crossed a stream where there was a fine beaver dam and from a distance saw the active creatures at work. When the beavers saw they were discovered they lost no time in disappearing, so neither Dave nor Barringford got a shot at them.

The weather remained fine and it was a most glorious sunset in which Dave first beheld the rolling Kinotah, at a point fifty or sixty miles from where James Morris had erected his trading-post. Along the river ran a well-worn trail and many evidences showed that they were in a favorite hunting ground of the Indians.

“The white men are welcome to Nancoke.”—Page 169.

“Nancoke ain’t far away—we might as well make for it,” said Barringford, and they did. Soon the Indian wigwams came into sight, stretched along the river bank, and a pack of lean and hungry looking Indian dogs came out to greet them, barking furiously. Several children and squaws followed, and then an old chief, Eagle Plume by name, came after.

“The white men are welcome to Nancoke,” said Eagle Plume, after listening to what they had to say. “Eagle Plume knows the white trader of the Kinotah well and is his friend. Remain with us over night and be at rest.”

They entered the Indian village and Eagle Plume ordered some of the boys to drive off the dogs. Dave and Barringford were led to the old chief’s wigwam, the largest in the village, made of poles twenty to twenty-five feet long and covered with the skins of wild animals, all curiously decorated with Indian symbols. Within some fancy mats lay upon the ground, and a small fire was burning to drive away the chill. Eagle Plume’s squaw was present and also his two daughters, Indian maidens who were by no means bad looking. All of the women folks had been making fish baskets, but the work was now laid aside in order that they might prepare the evening meal.

“I declare, it’s quite home-like after all,” was Dave’s comment, when he got the chance to speak to Barringford privately. “I had no idea the Indians lived so comfortably.”

“There are some lodges a heap finer nor this,” answered the old hunter. “Why, thet of Tanacharisson the Seneca half-king is a reg’lar palace under animal skins. His beds are made of the finest furs ye ever sot eyes on, and his cloak has got feathers on it wuth a fortune.”

The warriors of the tribe were all off on a hunt and Eagle Plume said he did not expect them back for several sleeps, meaning, of course, so many days, for the Indians reckoned their time largely by sleeps, moons, and winters.

With the warriors gone the boys and girls had matters very much their own way, for Eagle Plume was too old to remonstrate with them, and the squaws rarely interfered. This was the first time Dave had seen Indian children at play and he was much interested.

One crowd was playing ring toss, very much as it is played to-day. A stake was driven in the ground and several circles were marked around it. The hoops, to be thrown over the stake or within one or another of the circles, were made of willow withes, tightly interwoven. When a hoop went over the stake the thrower would give a yell of delight, and would make a mark for himself or herself in a square on the ground.

But the main game was one of war, because the Indian’s real life was made up largely of strife with the white man and with other Indians. To-day when small boys see a big parade they soon after form a soldier company of their own, and when they go to a circus they end up by giving a show in the back yard. So these Indian boys and girls separated into two parties, one to hide in the brush and behind the trees and the other to go on the warpath and surprise them. As Dave witnessed it, the surprise was really a thrilling one, and the fighting and shrieking more than half real. Yet despite the roughness of this sport nobody complained, although before the battle was over some of the smaller warriors withdrew to play another game, which consisted of leaping over a number of sticks laid down like the rungs of a ladder, and which was called “Let the Snakes Alone.” First the crowd would leap over the sticks, then hop over them with one foot, next the other foot, and then backward. If a player kicked a stick out of position he or she was out of the game, and the last person left in the game was the winner.

CHAPTER XIX
THE TRADING-POST ON THE KINOTAH

Dave had anticipated a fine night’s rest in the Indian wigwam assigned to Barringford and himself, and he could not understand the quizzical look upon the old hunter’s face when he prepared to lie down.

“What’s the matter, Sam?” he questioned.

“Nuthin, Dave,” was the dry answer. “Only if ye sleep well let me know in the morning.”

“But why did you look at me in that fashion?”

“Don’t mind it, lad—it’s all right,—and I hope ye sleep well,” and with this Barringford rolled himself in his blanket and was soon in the land of dreams. But he slept close to the entrance of the wigwam and disdained all the mats and robes offered to him.

Feeling it would be softer to sleep on a robe, Dave piled three of them on top of each other and threw himself down. He was just dozing off when he felt something on his ankle, then something on his knee, and then something pretty much all over him. The robes and mats were filled with vermin, and without waiting to scratch himself he leaped to his feet. Then began a lively battle between the youth and the pests, in the midst of which he awoke Barringford.

“Hullo, what’s up?” came from the old hunter, sleepily, but that quizzical look came again into his eyes.

“You know well enough, Sam. Why didn’t you tell me this place was inhabited?” cried Dave, twisting and scratching himself, first in one way and then another.

“Is it inhabited?”

“Yes, and you knew it, you rascal! Oh, dear, I feel as if I was going to be eaten up alive! Why, those robes have got a thousand million things in ’em,” and Dave went to scratching again.

“I was afraid on it,” answered Barringford, and then broke out into a roar of laughter. “But, ye see, I didn’t want to alarm ye afore I was sure.” And he laughed again.

“You may think it fun but I don’t,” grumbled Dave. He felt far from laughing himself. “What in the world will I do to get rid of them? They’ll nip me to death!”

“Throw a wet log on yonder fire and stand in the smoke. They can’t stand thet nohow.”

This was the best of advice and Dave was not slow in following it. The smoke nearly choked him and made the tears run down his cheeks in a stream, but it likewise made the vermin decamp, and soon he was free of the pests.

“You can have what’s left,” he said. “I’m going to sleep outside, near the fire,” and he did, and soon Barringford joined him, to be at hand in case of unexpected peril. Strange to say the Indians did not appear to mind the vermin in the least.

After thanking the Indians for their kindness, and making Eagle Plume a present of some ornaments from one of the packs, they started on their journey up the Kinotah early the next morning. The trail was now easy, and before nightfall they covered half the distance to the trading-post, and reached another small Indian village, called Shunrum, although it is doubtful if the red men of this village shunned rum any more than did their fellows. Here the warriors were also on the hunt, and two aged red men, one so feeble he could scarcely walk, entertained them. The one who was feeble was suffering from dropsy and the medicine-man of the tribe was trying to cure him by dancing around and groaning in a sing-song fashion.

“He’ll never help it a bit,” said Dave, but Barringford cautioned the youth to be quiet.

“Don’t ye ever set yourself up against a medicine-man,” he whispered. “This is part of their religion, and if ye don’t want to git burnt ye keep off.” And Dave said no more. Yet he was sorry for the sick red man and wished there had been a real doctor at hand to attend him.

The Indians reported all quiet at the trading-post and said Dave’s father was well. They looked upon James Morris as a big white chief and treated Dave accordingly. But Dave refused to sleep in the wigwam assigned to him and said he never cared to sleep on Indian robes! This puzzled them a little, but they asked no curious questions. However, Barringford enlightened them on the quiet, and they went off with their eyes drawn up into little slits,—a sign that something had struck them as exceedingly comical.

“And now for the post, and father!” cried Dave, on arising the morning following. He was impatient to be off and could hardly wait to eat the well-cooked deer meat which the Indian squaws prepared. With the meat were served some flat cakes made of Indian meal, which were as delicious as any the youth had ever tasted, and water sweetened with honey and flavored with mint.

“It’s curious we haven’t seen any wild animals lately,” remarked Dave, as he rode along. “I haven’t sighted as much as a rabbit or a fox for two days.”

“The Indians bring down everything around here, Dave. That is why they have to go so far away when they are on a big hunt. In years to come game will be as scarce around here as it now is around the lower Potomac.”

“Do the Indians ever let up on the game during the breeding season?”

“Some tribes do but not many. The majority of the redskins believe in bringing down everything in sight, jest as some foolish white men do. If the whites git out here in force, and hunt as they’ve been a-hunting, they’ll kill off everything byme-by.”

The trail kept close to the river and they could plainly hear the water as it rushed along, between the brushwood and the rocks, on its way to the mighty Ohio, and even more mighty Mississippi. It was certainly a beautiful stream, and Dave could readily see why it had charmed his parent.

“I’m going out on it in a canoe some day,” he said. “It will be great sport I know.”

“So it will, Dave, and I’ll go with ye,” returned his companion.

The stop for dinner was a short one, and they would not have halted at all had not the pack horses needed a rest. Dave was so impatient he could scarcely sit still. Barringford understood the feeling and said nothing, and did not delay the rest beyond what he thought was necessary.

It was four o’clock when Dave gave a sudden wild whoop. He had caught sight of a stockade through the branches of the low-hanging trees. “There is the post, Sam!” he cried, and made off at the top of his horse’s speed.

Dave’s cry was answered by a hunter standing close to the stockade. This was the fellow called Putty, a tall, lean specimen of the backwoodsman. As soon as he caught sight of the young rider, he, too, set up a shout. The shout was answered by somebody within the post, and a man hurried forth, bareheaded and coatless.

“Father!” shouted Dave, and rode up to his parent. “Here we are, safe and sound!”

“My own Dave!” answered James Morris, and as the youth dismounted he caught him closely in his arms. “I was expecting you some day this week. So you are well? I am glad of it. And what kind of a trip did you have?”

“It was not bad, father, although we had some adventures we didn’t look for. But what a truly lovely place this is!” Dave gazed around with much interest. “I see you are strengthening the stockade.”

“Yes, we want to feel safe in case of an attack by the French or Indians.”

“Have you had trouble lately?”

“No, Dave, but there are ugly rumors afloat. How is your Uncle Joe, and all the others?”

“Pretty fair. A surgeon was going to operate upon Rodney when I came away. I would have stayed to see how he made out only he said we couldn’t tell anything about it for a week or two, and Sam wanted to take advantage of the good weather.”

By this time Sam Barringford rode up and more handshaking followed. The newcomers were conducted into the post and Dave was taken around by his father, who was almost as eager to exhibit the place as Dave was to view it. To the youth the trading-post was even a superior place than he had imagined from that first letter from his father.

“I wouldn’t want a better place to live,” he remarked, when led from the main building to the stables. “It’s as comfortable as anybody would want and the location is superb. The name Ella Dell just fits it. But how is the situation for trading?”

“Very good indeed. I have made friends with the Indians for many miles around, and some of them call me their white chief. The only trouble I have had has been with Fox Head, the rascal who bothered me when I first came. I would give a good deal to get rid of him.”

“And what of the French?”

“There is a French trader named Jean Bevoir who has a post twenty miles below, on Buffalo Creek. He has tried to take my trade from me and tried to make the Indians my enemies. But the only Indians who side with him are Fox Head and his tribe, and a few other Miamis. Those up at Shunrum and Nancoke will have nothing to do with him.”

“Yes, I know those Indians are your friends, father; they treated Sam and myself so well. But what has Fox Head been doing lately?”

“Carrying messages to the French and telling them that we are preparing to make war on all their posts and wipe them out. Jean Bevoir is helping him, and between them I am afraid they’ll make trouble for us with the French government, and with the Indians along the lakes.”

After the inspection of the premises had been concluded, Mr. Morris opened the packages Dave and Barringford had brought along, and went over the list of goods. He was well pleased with the purchases, and even more so when told that Dave had picked the things out himself, aided by Henry Morris.

“At this rate, you can buy all our goods in the future,” he said to his son. “At the prices, you certainly have some bargains, and there is nothing but what is worth about what you paid for it. You have done much better than I did the first time I went bartering.”

In honor of the new arrivals all the hands attached to the trading-post were called in that evening and a general jollification was had. In this several Indians joined, and the festival kept up until nearly midnight. But it was no such orgy as Dave had witnessed at Winchester, and when it came to an end, the helpers departed in as sober and respectable a manner as they had come.

“It’s wonderful what control your pap has over his men,” said Sam to Dave, on retiring. “He’s kind, but he’s strict, and he makes ’em toe the mark every time.”

“Well, that’s the way it ought to be,” answered Dave. “And that’s the way I’m going to do, if I ever have any men under me.”

CHAPTER XX
AN ALARMING DISCOVERY

Dave’s first impression of the trading-post remained by him upon a further inspection, indeed, the youth liked the locality more and more every day. Putty and the other men, as well as his father and Sam Barringford, took him around, and also up and down the river, and up Indian Brook, which flowed into the Kinotah just below the stockade. They went hunting, trapping and fishing, and the days seemed to fairly fly on the wings of the wind. Before the snow amounted to anything, Dave knew every trail and watercourse for fifteen miles around.

The men all liked Dave and he also liked them, but he was true to Sam Barringford, and many were the times that the two went forth, to fill their game bags, or try for something more important. It was Barringford who taught Dave the latest devices in trapping, and it was the old hunter who, aided by Dave, set a bear trap and caught one of the largest beasts captured in that vicinity. Occasionally Mr. Morris went out with the pair, but the Indians and backwoodsmen were now bringing in their pelts, so the trader could not remain with them long.

The coming of winter found our friends well provided for, and business brisk. Mr. Morris always got his pick of hides from the red men, who would then take the second best to Jean Bevoir, the French trader. This made Bevoir very angry, yet he could not help himself and rather than get nothing he took what was offered. But he vowed that sooner or later he would make the hated English trader get out.

The winter held off well, but when it did come, it let down in all its fury. For three days and nights it snowed without ceasing. During the last night the wind arose to a gale and this drove the snow in a drift along the river bank, covering a section of the stockade completely, and also the front end of the log cabin.

“Now we can stay in and suck our thumbs,” said Putty, the following morning. “Even the wild beasts must be snow-bound.”

The old backwoodsman was right so far as staying in went, for going abroad was totally out of the question. The most the men could do was to shovel a path to the stables and take care of the horses and cattle.

After that the winter, to Dave, passed slowly. At times it cleared a little, and then he and the others went out to track game, or fish through holes in the ice. By this means he brought in all the fish that were needed, and also several deer, and helped Barringford and an Indian named Tobacco Jack bring down another bear. He also shot a large quantity of rabbits and several woodchucks and opossums. To Dave all this was play, but he did not shirk his work, when it came to splitting wood for the fire and caring for the animals about the place.

“Got to take one thing with another,” he would say. “Can’t do nothing but have fun all the time.”

“Thet’s the way to look at it,” Barringford had answered. “Got to work if ye want to eat.”

The month of February was the most severe of the whole winter, and again they were snowed in and could not get out for a week. But after that it thawed rapidly and the only danger was that the river and the brook would overflow their banks and sweep the trading-post away. The overflow did come, ten days later, but the only damage done was to the stockade, and this was easily repaired.

During the cold weather some of the men around the post had cleared a patch of ground lying up the creek, and as soon as weather permitted, James Morris set Dave to work to plant the spot with garden vegetables and corn. Some of the tree stumps were burned out, but others were left standing, and plowing, consequently, was not easy. But Dave stuck to his task like a man, and soon the patch was growing nicely.

Thus the spring and summer passed and Dave was always kept busy, if not at one thing then at another. But he loved the forest, and his rifle, and went out with Barringford or Putty at every opportunity. The constant use of the firearm made him an expert marksman, and in a trial at skill one afternoon between everybody at the place, he came off fourth best, which was certainly more than good when it is remembered that he had so many older shots against him.

Late in the summer one of the trappers announced his intention of leaving the neighborhood and paying a visit to Georgetown, where he had a sister and an aged mother living. At this time James Morris was anxious to see his brother about making improvements at the post and investing additional capital in the trading business. He accordingly consulted with Dave and Barringford, and the upshot of the talk was that he concluded to go eastward with the trapper, leaving Dave and the old hunter in charge during his absence.

For the eastward expedition James Morris called in several of the Indians belonging to White Buffalo’s tribe, the chief himself being off on a grand hunt, and when he started he took with him eight horses loaded down with pelts of all sorts, which were worth a good many hundreds of dollars.

“Don’t try to do anything out of the ordinary while I am gone,” he said, on parting with Dave and Barringford. “Treat the friendly Indians well and beware of any Indians or trappers Bevoir sends up. If the French try to dictate to you, tell them they must wait until I return.”

For the first few days after his parent was gone, the trading-post seemed lonely to Dave. He felt a responsibility which was new to him, and he often consulted with Barringford. “We mustn’t make any false moves,” he said. “If the Indians or the French are up to any tricks they’ll surely try them on while father is absent.”

“Wall, Dave, don’t git alarmed,” answered the old hunter. “I know the crowd putty well, and I allow they know me and they know I won’t stand any nonsense. Jest be careful, and we’ll pull through in fine feather.”

For a week nothing out of the ordinary happened. Barringford went out hunting every day, but Dave remained around the post and always kept one or more of the men with him. He did some trading, and when the Indians visited him treated them kindly.

One day a Shunrum warrior came in to dispose of several skins, and after the deal was over, and Dave had made him a present of some trinkets in addition, the warrior called him aside.

“White boy beware,” he said, in a low voice. “Red Bird here two days ago.”

“Yes, I know that,” answered Dave. “But what of it?”

“Red Bird friend to French—Red Bird does not like the English. Red Bird tell the French all he sees and hears.”

“You are sure of this?”

“Yes, Swiftwater is sure,” grunted the warrior.

“Where is Red Bird now?”

“Yesterday he went to the post of Jean Bevoir. He did not come back.”

This was all the warrior had to tell, but it was enough, for Dave now remembered how sneakingly Red Bird had acted, and how he had asked many questions out of the ordinary, about the furs on hand, and about when James Morris was expected back.

“I don’t like this thing,” he said to Sam Barringford, that evening. “If I remember rightly this Red Bird and Fox Head belong to the same tribe, and Fox Head is father’s enemy and always has been.”

“Thet’s true, Dave,” was the old hunter’s answer.

“I think we ought to keep a closer watch than ever, especially at night.”

“We’ll do it. I’ll organize the men into a reg’lar guard.”

Barringford was as good as his word, and, realizing the danger, the men around the post readily agreed to take turns at watching. Dave, of course, joined the guard, and stood his three hours every other night with the rest. This was the best that could be done with the number of men on hand at the time.

The second night that the youth was out was muggy and rainy, and he wore an oiled skin cape to protect himself from the downpour. He had relieved a man named Pothers, and was to guard from eleven o’clock to two, when Sam Barringford would come to his relief.

The guard had formed a beaten path, leading around the stockade, up and down both the river and the creek, and in and around the stables and the log house itself. The distance covered was over a mile and each guard was supposed to cover the ground at least once an hour.

As Dave tramped slowly around the stockade, with the water streaming steadily from his cape, he could not help but think what a disagreeable night it was, and how much nicer it would be in bed than out there in the rain. “The Indians don’t like rain any better than I do,” he reasoned. “Nobody will come to-night.”

Yet though he reasoned thus, he did not relax his vigilance and when he moved up and down the river and the creek he kept his eyes and ears wide open.

It was almost two o’clock, and he was wondering when Barringford would come to relieve him, when struck by a sudden impulse, he resolved to take another walk down the river. The rain was now beginning to let up, and a rising wind was sending the dark clouds scuttling swiftly across the face of the sky.

Reaching the end of the walk below the trading-post, he came to a halt close to the edge of the stream, which was already rising on account of the rain. Here he stood in the deep shadow of the trees looking and listening, as he had done three times before during that watch.

He was about to turn away, having beheld nothing out of the ordinary, when an unexpected movement on the stream caught his trained eye. He saw something moving in the darkness. It was coming slowly up the river, and was followed by four similar objects.

“They must be canoes,” he told himself. “Nothing else could come up the stream in that fashion. And if they are canoes, they must be filled with Indians!”

With strained eyes he watched the objects and at last became satisfied that they were canoes, and filled with men, either whites or Indians. Soon the canoes turned shoreward and were lost to sight in the bushes. On the instant Dave turned and sped for the post with all possible speed.

“Hi, Dave, what’s up?” came from Barringford, who met him at the entrance to the stockade. “Have ye spotted anything?”

“I have, Sam. Five canoes just came up the river and they were filled with men. They turned in at the blasted oak.”

“Injuns!” returned the old hunter. “Didn’t think they’d be out to-night.”

“Neither did I. But they are out. What shall we do?”

“Call all hands, shut up this gate, and stand on guard. We’ve got one thing in our favor. Everything is wet through and they’ll have their hands full if they attempt to set anything afire,” concluded the old hunter.

While Barringford closed the huge gate and barred it, and also went to make the other entrances safe, Dave ran off to awaken the others in the post. All told the garrison, if such it may be called, numbered six whites, two half-breeds, and three full-blooded Indians. The latter had been in James Morris’ service since the trader had come west, and were fully trustworthy.

CHAPTER XXI
THE DEFENCE OF THE TRADING-POST

“We are eleven all told,” said Dave, when he came up to his position in the loft of the log house. “The Indians in those canoes must number at least twenty or twenty-five.”

“Wall, we have an advantage,” replied Putty, who stood near. “We are under cover, and they won’t be, when they attack us.”

“Can they be friendly?”

“Friendly Indians don’t travel far in the rain. However, we can hear what they have to say when they come up.”

The possibilities of an attack had been talked over so many times that now when it looked as if it was really coming, each man knew what was expected of him and it was not necessary to tell him where to go. Four, including Dave, were stationed in the loft of the log cabin, at sheltered port-holes placed there when the post was built. The others went below, to the stockade and to the stables.

Barringford cautioned all to keep silent and hardly a sound broke the stillness five minutes after Dave had rushed in with the news. Each man was on the alert, with loaded rifles ready to hand and powder and ball close by. The storm was now over and here and there the stars were struggling through the scattering clouds.

Presently Dave pulled Putty by the coat sleeve. “An Indian!” he whispered. “Look!”

Dave was right, an Indian had appeared down by the garden clearing. He walked swiftly but noiselessly toward the stockade but came to a halt when he reached the angle and found the gate closed.

“Wall, Injun, what do ye want here this time of night?”

The question came from Sam Barringford, who had his station close by the gate. His rifle was thrust through the port, and his face peered forth over the muzzle.

If the red man was taken by surprise he did not show it. He came to a halt.

“Red Bird wants to come in,” he said, in smooth tones. “Red Bird and his followers are wet and hungry.”

“Ye don’t generally travel in the rain, Red Bird.”

“Red Bird and his braves were on the river. The canoes were split on the rocks and lost. We tramped many miles through the woods, and are without food.”

“Whar did ye git upsot?”

“At the Minnewah Falls. Three canoes were lost.”

“Where are the other canoes?”

“We had but three.”

“It ain’t so, Red Bird; ye had five canoes and none of ’em was lost. You go away from here and come around when it is daylight.”

“The white man will not open the gate for Red Bird and his braves?”

“Not to-night. Your canoes are below here in the bushes. Go to them and paddle back to Jean Bevoir and tell him the plan to surprise us has failed,” went on Barringford, sharply.

At this the Indian uttered a grunt of disappointment and disgust. “We must come in,” he insisted. “We are cold, tired and hungry.”

“You’ll git away—and quick!” ordered Barringford and raised the muzzle of his rifle until it was leveled at the Indian’s head. At once the red man turned and sped away whence he had come.

“Wall, did I do right?” called out the old hunter, after the Indian was gone. He no longer thought it necessary to remain silent.

“Ye did,” answered Putty, who was the leader of the others. “Wonder how soon he’ll be back?”

“Perhaps he won’t come,” put in Dave. “I trust he doesn’t.”

“Trust nothin’, lad, they’ll come afore ye know it.”

Putty had scarcely spoken when a savage war-whoop rang out just beyond the clearing, answered by another whoop from up the river. Then as if by magic Indians appeared to spring up all around the trading-post. All rushed forward, some with guns and others with bows and arrows, and all with tomahawks at their girdles. The yells were deafening and for the moment Dave was dazed by the sight and the noise.

“Oh, what a crowd—at least forty or fifty of them!” he gasped. “We can’t stand against so many. They——”

The end of his remark was cut short by the report of Barringford’s rifle, followed by the crack! crack! of several other guns. Putty was at a port hole trying to pick off one of the leaders. The Indians had also fired, but none of the whites were reached. Two of the red men went down, and now Putty dropped a third, which, later on, proved to be Red Bird himself.

With his heart almost in his throat, Dave shoved his own rifle through one of the holes. An Indian was sneaking around the angle of the stockade, followed by half a dozen others. Bang! went the youth’s firearm, and the leading red man fell, shot through the thigh. But the others kept on and almost before those inside knew it three were over the stockade and more were following.

But now Barringford showed his backwoods training and his unbounded courage. Taking a quick aim he sent one Indian to earth with a bullet through his breast. Then, as another red man fired on him, hitting him in the shoulder, he swung his gun around, and down went the enemy with a crushed arm. With his own left arm hanging limply at his side, the old hunter leaped in again, swinging his rifle at arm’s length and mowing down two others as with a scythe.

“Want ter fight, eh?” he roared. “All right, I’ll give ye all ye want! Thet fer ye, an’ thet! I’m a painter when I’m aroused, an’ don’t ye forgit it—a roaring, howling mountain lion an’ painter rolled inter one! Thar’s a wolloping fer ye!” And he danced around like a madman, moving so quickly that try their best the Indians could not reach him. His coonskin cap was off, his hair was flying freely about his head, and his eyes blazed with the fury of a serpent.

The others were not idle. With the close approach of the Indians, those in the loft hurried below, and soon Putty was in the yard along with two others, fighting fiercely at close range. Arrows were flying in all directions and just as Dave appeared at a window one whizzed past his ear and buried itself in the wall opposite. He heard one old hunter named Larrison give a cry of mortal agony and saw him pitch forward on the grass dead, and saw one of the friendly Indians go down, shot in the leg. In the meantime the other Indians had caught one of Red Bird’s followers near the stables and had tomahawked and scalped him.

In the midst of the tumult, and when it was impossible to tell how the encounter was going, another war-whoop rang out, coming from the forest to the eastward. This was a new cry, different from that heard before, and both the whites and the Indians around the stockade listened in amazement.

“It’s the war cry of the Delawares!” ejaculated one of the men. “It must be White Buffalo and his braves!”

“White Buffalo!” exclaimed Dave. “Pray God it is! He will surely aid us.”

The war cry continued, and as it came closer, the whites saw that the Miamis were much disturbed, not only by this but by the fall of Red Bird, who had led the expedition, Fox Head being away on a mission to the French. Suddenly one gave a signal and at this the Miamis began to withdraw as quickly as they had appeared.

“They are retreating!” said Dave, joyfully. “It must indeed be White Buffalo who is coming. See them run!”

“Give it to ’em!” was the cry from several sides. “Don’t let them escape! They need the lesson!” And as the Indians retreated, the stockade gate was swung open and those who were able to do so ran out, firing as they went. At the same time the Delawares also opened fire from the forest and then came leaping on, whooping at the top of their lungs and flourishing their tomahawks.

Feeling that the contest was lost to them, the Miamis fled down the river to where they had left their canoes. Three of the craft managed to get away, having sixteen or eighteen warriors on board. The other canoes were sunk while yet close at hand, and the swimmers were either shot down in mid-stream or tomahawked when they came ashore. This completion of the battle was left entirely to the Indians themselves, the whites thinking it their duty to remain in the vicinity of the trading-post.

At last, just as it was growing light in the east, some of the Delawares came back and with them White Buffalo. Each of the party carried a fresh scalp at his girdle and the chief looked the pride he felt.

“White Buffalo!” cried Dave, and ran to meet him and shake hands. “You did us a great service.”

“White Buffalo heap glad to help his white brothers.”

“Did you know the Miamis were coming here?”

“White Buffalo learn something of it—but not much. March here to make sure. Know white boy’s father is away.”

“You are indeed a friend, White Buffalo, and father will not forget this, nor will I. Had you not come up it might have gone badly with us.”

“It is the work of the French, not of the Miamis,” went on the Indian. “Red Bird was paid for this work. A brave told me he saw the wampums passed, at a meeting last full moon.”

“Did Jean Bevoir give the wampums?”

“He did, but they came not from Bevoir but from a greater trader—a French half-breed named Joncaire, he who is close to the French governor.”

“Captain Joncaire!”

“It’s jest like the dirty sneak,” burst out Barringford, who sat by dressing his wound. “I know the cap’n well. He’s an oily talker and smooth, but a reg’lar snake in the grass with it. But I allow this will teach him and his kind a lesson.”

“But it may bring us into trouble with the French government,” said Dave.

“What of it, lad? The trouble’s been a bilin’ and a bilin’, and it’s got to come sooner or later. Let it come, say I, and the sooner it does the sooner it will be over. They can put down stakes and nail lead plates to the trees all they please, but that won’t make this country theirs. The land belongs to the Indians and to their English brothers; ain’t that so, White Buffalo?”

“My brother the great hunter speaks the truth,” responded the Indian chief. “War is coming. Old Garudah hath foretold it and what Garudah says will surely come to pass.” Garudah was an old Delaware squaw, the daughter of Shannarion the medicine-man, and much believed in as a prophetess.

White Buffalo did not wish to remain at the trading-post and after a hearty breakfast he and his braves departed, taking with them the scalps of all the enemies that had been slain. They had lost two warriors and these they buried according to their Indian custom.

The day proved a busy one to those left at the post. The wounded were cared for and the dead buried. Out of the garrison Larrison and one Indian were dead, and three were wounded but none seriously. The Indian was placed beside White Buffalo’s followers and the old hunter was buried on a slight knoll overlooking the brook. Dave read the burial service in a voice choked with emotion, and later on made and erected a rude cross over the grave, with Larrison’s full name painted upon it.

CHAPTER XXII
WASHINGTON’S MISSION TO FRENCH CREEK

When James Morris arrived at the homestead of the Morris family he was received with open arms by his brother and his sister-in-law, and Henry and little Nell. All were glad to see him and wished to know immediately about Dave.

“He arrived safe and sound with Sam Barringford,” said James Morris. “And he has done so well that I have left him and Sam in charge at the post.”

Then he asked about poor Rodney and was told that the operation had proved a great success and that the youth was mending rapidly. Later on he went in to have a long talk with the sufferer which Rodney much enjoyed, for visitors were scarce, and the family’s stock of books was so small that he had had nothing new to read for fully six months.

Of course Joseph Morris was anxious to learn all about the affairs at the trading-post and the brothers spent a whole day and several hours of the night going over the figures James had brought along. These satisfied Joseph thoroughly and he congratulated his brother heartily on his success.

“As for that additional capital, do as you think best,” he added. “I am willing you shall use it all up to the limit of fifty pounds. That I must keep for Rodney’s doctor’s bills and for anything else he may need in the future.”

James Morris remained at the homestead about a week, and then, in company with the hunter who was going to Georgetown he started eastward again. He went straight through to Annapolis, and here not only disposed of his furs at a good price but also made several business arrangements for future goods, and purchased additional things needed at the post.

While in the east he heard many rumors which caused him more or less uneasiness. Governor Dinwiddie had sent a Captain Trent to the French commander on the Ohio to remonstrate against the several attacks on the English traders, and this commissioner had returned with news that the friendly Miamis living at and near Piqua had been attacked by other Indians and by the French and defeated, and that the English traders were taken prisoners and the French flag hoisted over the spot. At the same time news came from other sources that two additional English trading-posts had been robbed by the French and Indians and everything of value carried off.

“Can it be possible that they intend to attack my post?” he asked himself. Then he resolved to get back to the Kinotah without unnecessary delay. But trading in those days took time, and shop-keepers were not used to be hurried, and consequently it was fully a week before he started on the return, by way of Winchester and Will’s Creek.

In the meantime Governor Dinwiddie, much dissatisfied by the manner in which Captain Trent had executed, or more properly perhaps, failed to execute, his commission, appointed George Washington to take up the task, knowing that Washington was well acquainted with the country and its people, and used to roughing it. By his orders Washington was to go to Logtown and hold a conference with Tanacharisson and other sachems of the tribes friendly to the English, and having settled with them, was to get an escort and travel to the headquarters of the French commander, where he was to present a letter written by Governor Dinwiddie and wait not longer than a week for an answer. While traveling to the French headquarters he was to keep his eyes and ears open and learn all he could of what the enemy had done and was doing toward fortifying the Ohio valley.

Such a mission was exactly to Major Washington’s taste, and late in October he set out, accompanied by Jacob Van Braam, an old Dutch-American soldier, who had taught Washington how to fence and shoot while at Mount Vernon, and who went along as interpreter. The pair journeyed from Fredericksburg to Alexandria, and from the latter place to Winchester. Here tents and supplies were purchased, and they pushed on to Will’s Creek, arriving there in the middle of November. Winter was now at hand again and the ground was covered with snow.

At Will’s Creek James Morris met the Washington party, which was now increased by the addition of Mr. Gist, the pioneer, John Davidson, an Indian interpreter, and several backwoodsmen and Indian traders. Word had come in of a battle between the Delawares and some thieving Miamis under Red Bird, but nothing of the attack on Ella Dell post. Yet the air was full of ugly rumors and James Morris lost no time in bidding his brother and the others of the family farewell.

“I am going west with the Washington party,” he said. “He remembers Dave well and said he would be glad to have me along. I don’t know how far I will go with him but certainly as far as Logtown.”

The first snows of the winter had been followed by a thaw and heavy rains, consequently the rivers were so swollen the party had to swim their horses across. Washington shipped a goodly portion of his outfit down the Monongahela by canoes, telling those in charge to meet him at the point where that stream and the Alleghany united.

“A fine spot for a fort,” said Washington to James Morris, as the pair stood on the bank of the rivers, just at the fork. “The ground is high and firm and there is an abundance of timber with which to build. I shall recommend it.” This he did, but the French came in and erected Fort Duquesne. To-day, as stated before, the city of Pittsburgh, with its great iron and steel works, stands upon the spot. Thus has the wilderness, in less than a hundred and fifty years, been subdued.

At last the party, after stopping to interview Shingiss and other Indian sachems, arrived at Logtown, and two days later a grand conference was held with the sachems who had come in upon invitation. This was a most impressive sight, even to James Morris, who had seen “pow-wows,” as he termed them, before. Each Indian chief was dressed in his best and brightest robe and feathers, and all squatted around the camp-fire and the whites squatted with them. Before there was any talking the pipe of peace was lit and passed from one to another until it had gone around the circle and been returned to the oldest of the sachems. Then Washington arose and delivered his message, sent to them, as he said, by their white brother, the Governor of Virginia. At the conclusion he presented his “speech belt,” a string of wampums, always necessary when holding an important conference with the red men.

Washington’s manner of presenting his cause pleased the Indians and after due deliberation they stated that they had always considered the English their brothers and that they would return the “speech belts” given to them by the French. They further stated that Captain Joncaire had called the Indians together at Venango, nearly sixty miles away, by the trails. They would send three representatives with Washington, and they trusted that all would go well with their white brother on the trip.

On the way from Winchester, Washington’s party had been joined by John Frazier, already mentioned in these pages. Frazier was an English trader who had had a gunsmith shop in Venango, but had been driven from the town by the French. He now warned the young commander of the expedition to be on his guard.

“The French are not to be trusted,” he said. “Unless you are careful they will steal your papers from you and then call you a trader and make you a prisoner.”

“I shall be careful, never fear,” answered Washington.

Anxious to see the outcome of this appeal to the French, which might mean so much to him and his trading-post, James Morris accompanied the expedition to Venango. It was now bitterly cold and snows were frequent and at one spot they were snow-bound for nearly a day, and one of the backwoodsmen had his toes frostbitten. But at last, on the 4th of December, they reached the town, which was little more than a French and Indian settlement.

“The rascals, look at that!” exclaimed John Frazier, and pointed to the house in which he had had his shop. The French officers had made it their own and from the roof was hoisted the flag of France.

It was not long before Washington presented himself to Captain Joncaire, who proved to be as oily and smooth-tongued as Sam Barringford had described him. Yet Joncaire was a lover of good liquor and company and did his best to make them feel at home, in the meantime trying to “draw them out,” at every possible opportunity. Yet Washington soon gauged the fellow perfectly, and hearing that the French commander was at the next fort, tried to get away at once. But Joncaire would not listen and had the Indians brought in and treated, and kept this up so liberally that the poor red men at last forgot all they had come for and said nothing about returning the French “speech belts.”

“It’s a shame to let the French rascal get them in his clutches,” said James Morris.

“Wait, it will all come back upon Captain Joncaire’s head,” said Washington, and so it proved. On the next morning the half-king of the Indians came to the commander and related how sorry he was over the way he had acted. “I will yet return their speech belts, and then they shall feed me no more fire-water,” he said. “It is not good for the Indian for it makes of him a fool.”

At last the party was off for the next fort, situated on French Creek, fifteen miles below Lake Erie. This fort was quite an elaborate affair, but to reach it they had to travel through mud and slush for four days, with snow coming down steadily. When they arrived at the fort they were glad enough to accept the shelter offered them.

At this place the greeting to Washington was quite different from that given by Joncaire. The young commissioner was received with much formality and this formality continued during the whole of his stop there. His letter from Governor Dinwiddie was translated by the French first and then corrected by Van Braam, and the French commander took a long while to consider it.

But Washington was not idle. On the second day at the place he called James Morris to his side.

“You have a keen eye and understand these people and also the Indians,” he said. “Take a walk down the river and see how many canoes they have for use in the spring. Blaydell will do the same errand up the river.”

The mission was a delicate one, for the French and Indians were watching the English as a cat watches a mouse. But James Morris was equal to the occasion and the next day appeared with his arm in a sling.

“I am going out to cut some herb roots for a sprain,” he told the French guard, and then told the Indians the same thing. After that he sauntered down the bank of the stream knife in hand and cut out first one root and then another. Yet his eyes were not on the roots, but on the canoes which he brought to light hidden in the bushes, and when he came back he had a tally which pleased Washington very much. Needless to say the herb roots were never used on the arm in the sling.

CHAPTER XXIII
AN INDIAN’S TREACHERY

“Mr. Morris, I have news for you which will not be pleasant for you to hear,” said Washington, on the day after the trader had counted up the canoes.

“What news is that, sir?” asked Mr. Morris.

“I have it from the commander here that he has been ordered to arrest every English trader found doing business on the Ohio or near that river.”

“That order would take in me, wouldn’t it?” returned James Morris, with a faint smile. “What do you think of it?”

“Privately I think the French are going beyond their authority. But of course it would not do for me to tell the commander here that. All I can do is to wait for an answer to Governor Dinwiddie’s letter.”

Just then one of the others of the party came up.

“I have had a long talk with one of the Indians here,” he said. “He had been drinking enough to loosen his tongue, and in the course of his talk he let slip that the French are preparing for an expedition against the English early in the summer.”

“That I have already suspected,” answered Washington. “And what is more, they are going to keep us here as long as possible, so that the message I carry will be delayed and our country’s time to prepare for war shortened.”

In this surmise Major Washington was correct, the French commander delayed him upon one pretext or another until his patience was almost exhausted. At the same time the Frenchman entertained the Indians that had come with the English royally and did his best to get the red men to side with the French and desert Washington’s party.

Because of the snow and the roughness of the road, Washington had already sent his horses back to Venango without baggage. He now started for Venango himself by the river, taking several canoes, all laden with men and stores. The weather continued foul and the trip was full of discomfort and peril. Often a boat would strike the rocks or a sand bar, and then the occupants would have to get out and haul the craft along by hand.

“This is the worst yet,” said James Morris. “Were it not for the baggage I would rather walk the whole distance along the trail.”

“I would do that myself,” answered Washington. “But the stores cannot be left behind.”

At some of the rocks one of the Indian chiefs, White Thunder, was hit and badly hurt. He also took a heavy cold because of the exposure and by the time Venango was gained was so ill he could not walk.

Washington hated to leave the Indians where they could again come under the influence of the wily Joncaire, but there was no help for it, and at Venango he left the sachems, but reminded them of the promises they had made.

“We shall not forget what we have promised,” said Tanacharisson. “The English are our brothers, and we know the French too well to be deceived by them.” Washington went away rather doubtful, but in the end the half-king proved as loyal as he had promised.

It was not James Morris’ intention to return to the east with Washington. Had all gone well he might have done so and purchased more goods, to take to his trading-post early in the Spring. But the rumors of war disturbed him and he thought it best to hold off before sinking more money in his venture.

“If war comes I may lose all I have on the Kinotah,” he said to one of the party. “And to take more goods out in the spring might only add to the loss. I will let matters rest and see how affairs turn.”

He journeyed with the party part of the way to Shannopins Town, a couple of miles above the fork of the Ohio, where they hoped to find an easy passage over the Alleghany. The way was extremely rough and the snow now lay deep in the hollows. Some days the party made hardly any progress, and once they missed the trail in a fierce snow storm.

On the way they fell in with a number of Indians who seemed to be waiting for them. They were from Venango and one of the red men was recognized as being in the employ of Joncaire.

“We want to beware of these redskins,” said Gist, the pioneer. “They are friends to the French and would murder us all for a keg of rum or a roll of tobacco,” and in this surmise he was more than half right. That night the entire party slept, as the saying is, “with one eye open.”

But an unbroken forest lay before them and nobody in the party was acquainted with the way, so at last Washington agreed to hire one of the Indians as a guide. This appeared to please the redskin, and he promised to take them through the forest by the most direct route. They started off leaving the other Indians behind.

James Morris had been watching the Indians closely and had seen a certain sign pass between them, and this sign had also been noticed by Gist. Now the two drew behind Washington and the others and held a consultation.

“Those others intend to follow us,” said James Morris.

“Then you saw that sign?” questioned Gist.

“I did. We must watch out or all of us will surely be murdered.”

“Right you are,” was the answer. “I will warn Washington and the others.”

As slyly as he could, so that the suspicion of the Indian guide might not be awakened, the old pioneer told what he and James Morris had seen.

“I have suspected this,” said Washington. “This guide is leading us too far to the north.”

A few minutes later they came to a small clearing. The Indian guide was several yards in advance of the others. Of a sudden he swung around, raised his rifle, took aim, and fired into the crowd.

Fortunately nobody was hit, yet for the moment there was wild excitement. Finding himself unharmed, Washington turned to the others.

“Is anybody hurt?” he questioned, anxiously.

“I am not,” answered Gist. Then he raised his own gun, but the Indian guide had hidden behind a tree. Not to be shot at again, the old pioneer ran forward after the wretch and the others followed. Gist caught the Indian just as he was reloading his firearm.

“Stop, do not murder him!”—Page 215.

“Will shoot us, will you!” he stormed, as he hurled the rascal to the ground and kicked him heavily. “Will kill us, eh? I’ll show you!” And then he drew up his own gun and aimed it straight at the red man’s head.

“Stop, do not murder him!” shouted Washington.

“But he wanted to murder us,” returned Gist, in astonishment. To him an Indian’s life was of small value.

“True, but we must not kill him in cold blood,” went on the young commander. “Take his gun from him.” And this was done.

When the Indian was allowed to rise he pleaded that it was all a mistake, that the gun had been pointed at a wild beast behind them. This they knew to be a lie, but Washington pretended to believe him. He said they would go into camp, and they did.

“But, sir,” pleaded Gist, when he could get Washington’s ear in private. “He fired at us deliberately. He ought to be shot for it!”

“I know it, Mr. Gist,” was the calm answer. “But I cannot bring myself to take the poor wretch’s life. We will send him off, and let that end it.”

“If you send him off he will bring the whole tribe down on us. He is trying to lead us into their clutches now.”

James Morris advised that the Indian be sent away immediately, but they waited until they went into camp. The Indian said his cabin was not many miles away and they might rather go there for the night.

“You can go to your cabin, we are too tired to do so,” said Washington.

“Yes, we will remain here,” said Gist. “Be sure and come back by sunrise,” he added.

“Spotted Tail will be back,” answered the Indian, and hurried away. Both Gist and James Morris watched him out of sight.

“Now to get out of this neighborhood with all speed,” said the old pioneer, when the Indian had vanished. They ran back to the camping spot, and told Washington the rascal was gone. Then wood was heaped on the camp-fire to make it burn a long while, and they made off. Nearly a mile away they built another camp-fire and left this blazing also.

All night they traveled and it was well that they did so, for had they remained at the first camp the treacherous Indians would undoubtedly have fallen upon them and murdered them. But as it was, the red men failed to catch them and by the next day they felt safe once more.

When Washington’s party arrived at the Alleghany River, James Morris left them and struck out directly for his trading-post. Before he left Washington shook hands warmly with him.

“You have been of much help to me, sir,” said the young commander. “I shall not forget you, and if you ever come near Mount Vernon do not forget to call upon me.”

“Thank you, Major Washington,” returned Mr. Morris. “And if you ever come in the vicinity of my trading-post make it your stopping place and I will treat you as well as I can.”

It was a bitter cold day when James Morris started out alone to find his way to the Kinotah. He did not wish to pass the trading-post kept by Jean Bevoir, and so passed to the west of that spot. He carried a small stock of provisions, and his rifle and his horse were in a fairly good condition.

That journey, however, proved one he never forgot. On the second day it snowed heavily and he was driven to seek shelter under a small cliff. Here a pack of wolves beset him and he had a lively time getting rid of the beasts. When he started out the next day his horse went lame and he had to lead the animal, for the beast could carry no weight but the baggage. Twice he lost the trail, and once he sighted a band of Indians but did not dare to go near them for fear they might prove to be enemies.

At last, however, he struck a trail he knew well, and then hurried on faster than ever. Another snowstorm was coming on and the first heavy flakes came down just as he caught sight of the stockade through the semi-darkness. He set up a loud shout and in a few minutes Dave came out to meet and greet him.

“Where in the world have you been!” cried the son. “We have been looking for you for several weeks.”

“It’s a long story,” answered the father. “Let me get inside first and warm up.”

They were soon inside the trading-post and while one of the men went to care for the lame horse, Mr. Morris sat down and told his story. Later on he listened in much surprise to what Dave, Barringford, and the others had to say.

“Have you seen or heard anything of the Indians since?” he questioned anxiously.

“Not of our enemies,” answered Dave. “White Buffalo was back and reported that Fox Head had gone northward, to join in a big pow-wow with the French.”

“Everything points to war,” was the trader’s comment. “It is simply a question of when it will come.”

“And if it does come, father, what of us and this trading-post?”

“I cannot answer that question, Dave. We must trust in God and take what comes.”

CHAPTER XXIV
WASHINGTON AT WILL’S CREEK

The remainder of the winter passed slowly to those at the trading-post. When it did not snow it was bitter cold, and often the wind shrieked and tore through the leafless branches of the trees along the river and back of the clearing. Nobody came near the place but a few friendly and half-starved Indians, who were given the food and shelter they begged. They brought no news of the outside world excepting that the red men of the lakes were digging up their war hatchets at the instigation of the French, and that great things were expected to happen during the coming summer.

“And they will happen,” said James Morris. “But I sincerely trust the fighting does not take place around here.”

“More than likely it will take place at every trading-post,” answered Barringford. “Those Frenchmen won’t stop at nuthin when they git a-going, and they’ll bribe the Injuns to do the dirtiest kind of work for them.” This was a strong opinion, yet in those days many thought as the old hunter did.

In the meantime Major Washington had gotten back to Virginia and delivered his reply from the French commander to Governor Dinwiddie. The answer was considered evasive and a ruse to gain time, and when Washington published his report the people at large were much impressed by it. On all sides it was felt that something must be done to clinch the English claim to the Ohio Valley.

The first movement of the governor was to send Captain Trent to the front. Trent was to organize a body of a hundred men and complete the building of the fort which the Ohio Company had started at the fork of the river. In the meantime Washington was commissioned to organize another company at Alexandria and then march for the fort, where he was to take general command. It was hard work to get the colonists to vote any money for the militia but at last the governor obtained an appropriation of ten thousand pounds. On the strength of this the militia was increased to six companies of fifty men each.

“You can have the command of the whole militia if you wish,” said Governor Dinwiddie to Washington. “I know of no better officer.”

“I thank you greatly,” returned Washington. “But as yet I have had small experience in warfare. I would rather stand aside in favor of somebody who knows more of these things than I do.” The governor demurred, but Washington was firm, and in the end Joshua Fry became colonel of the command and the young major was made lieutenant-colonel.

In a country so sparingly populated, it was difficult to get recruits. But few in the cities cared to undergo the hardships of a campaign in the wilderness and the majority of the backwoodsmen preferred to “go it alone,” as they expressed it. In this quandary neither Colonel Fry nor Washington knew what to do, although the latter went around “drumming up” soldiers wherever he could. In this predicament Governor Dinwiddie again came forward and offered a bounty of two hundred thousand acres of land to be divided among the soldiers and officers who enlisted for the campaign. This was an inducement, which many, especially the farm and plantation boys, could not resist, and soon recruiting went forward rapidly.

Early in April Washington set off with a portion of the command for the fort at the fork of the Ohio. Colonel Fry was to follow later, bringing the artillery along by way of the Potomac. The winter was now past, but the snow still lay in the mountain passes, and the rivers were much swollen.

The young commander had with him about a hundred and fifty men. These marched to Winchester, where the expedition was to fit out further for the march into the wilderness. But at the frontier town supplies were scarce and Washington would have gotten nothing had he not ordered what he wanted, in the name of the province.

“We need these things and must have them,” he said. “If you will not give them up willingly, we shall take them. Your bills will be paid by the government.” At last he procured ten wagons and the horses to draw them, and thus equipped started out for Will’s Creek.

The creek was not yet gained when an old hunter came riding along with alarming news from the fort.

“The place has been attacked,” he said. “Captain Trent was killed and all his men slain or taken prisoners.”

“The fort attacked!” cried Washington. He said little more, but pushed forth to Will’s Creek with renewed vigor. Some few of his recruits wanted to wait for reinforcements but he would not listen to them.

When Will’s Creek was gained Washington found the trading-post in wild excitement. Captain Trent was there and said there had been no attack on the fort so far as he knew. He had left John Frazier in charge, for the trader had joined the soldiery a short time before. Trent had been ordered to Will’s Creek, to prepare a pack train for Washington but had done little or nothing. Only a few horses could be procured in the neighborhood—two coming from Joseph Morris’ farm—and the young commander had to wait, impatient as he was, until he could send back to Winchester for another levy.

With the coming of spring business at James Morris’ trading-post was resumed. The Indians, however, had but few pelts to barter with and the English hunters also came in more or less empty handed. The red men were preparing for war and did not dare go too far from home for fear their villages would be attacked by the Indians from the lakes.

In March the trader received a communication supposedly from a French commander ordering him to vacate the vicinity of the Kinotah in three months’ time or less. This communication was delivered to Mr. Morris through a French guide attached to the trading-post kept by Jean Bevoir and Dave’s father half suspected that the order was fraudulent, gotten up by Bevoir himself to get him out of the territory. He sent word back that he would consider the matter and consult with the English officials concerning it.

“What will you do, father?” asked Dave, after the messenger had taken his departure.

“I hardly know, Dave,” returned Mr. Morris, walking uneasily up and down the cabin floor. “If this is a genuine notice it is a serious thing.”

“But perhaps it is only the work of that rascal, Jean Bevoir.”

“I am half of a mind to take the notice to Winchester, but I hate to leave the post at such a critical time as this.”

“I will take the notice to Winchester if you wish it.”

“You might do so, but I would not let you go alone, and I don’t know of anybody I can spare just now. I want Barringford to remain here, too. In case of a sudden attack he will be worth half a dozen ordinary men—you’ve found that out already.”

The matter was talked over for two days, but nothing came of it. On the third day White Buffalo put in an appearance, along with two followers, and James Morris at once asked the Indian chief to escort Dave as far as Will’s Creek, offering him fair pay for the work. The Indian chief consented, and the party started out early on the following morning.

“Perhaps the war is already on,” said Dave, half jokingly. “If it is, father, I’ll join the soldiery.”

“All right, join,” answered Mr. Morris, just as lightly. “But don’t forget that I want to hear from that notice;” and so they parted, never dreaming of the terrible events in store for both of them.

White Buffalo was the best of guides and through his leadership the advance of the little party was rapid. He knew the best fording spots in all the rivers and what trail was good and what bad. He thought a great deal of Dave and the youth felt perfectly safe with him.

On the second day out from the trading-post White Buffalo, who was slightly in advance, came to a sudden halt.

“White men are ahead,” he announced. “Men with guns, shovels and axes.”

The Indian chief spoke the truth, and drawing closer they made out that the party, which numbered between forty and fifty, were English, and that only a few were armed. Feeling that they must be friends Dave advanced and hailed their leader, who proved to be an ensign named Ward.

“We are from the new fort,” explained the ensign. “Whither are you bound?”

“For Will’s Creek first and then for Winchester.”

“Then you can go with us if you wish.”

“You are going to Will’s Creek?”

“Yes.”

The ensign did not wish to speak further, but from a hunter who was with the party Dave learned the truth of the situation. This body of men were those left by Captain Trent at the fort under the leadership of John Frazier. While Frazier was away and the men under the ensign were hard at work on the fort, a body of a thousand French soldiers, with field pieces, had suddenly appeared on the river, having come down in canoes and on rafts from Venango. The French leader, an old army officer, had demanded an immediate surrender of the fort. The ensign knew not what to do. He wished to consult with Frazier, or with Captain Trent, but the enemy would not give him the necessary time. As it was surrender or fight, and the fort was by no means completed, the ensign surrendered on condition that his company of fifty be allowed to march away unmolested and with their working tools. This condition had been granted, and the company was now on its way to join the advancing body under Lieut.-Colonel Washington.

“The French will count this a great victory,” said the hunter who told the story, “and they will go around and make every other fort and trading-post surrender.”

“Then that means they will visit my father’s post,” returned the youth, soberly.

“More than likely, lad.”

After this conversation Dave consulted with White Buffalo. “I will need you no longer,” he said to the chief. “I will march to Will’s Creek with these soldiers. But my father may need you and you had best go back to him and tell him of what has occurred. If you meet any of your braves on the way, take them with you.”

“I will do as the young white hunter wishes,” answered the Indian. “But if the French number a thousand, what can the white boy’s father do against so many, even with the help of White Buffalo? My tribe is fallen to decay and now numbers but three score, and many are old and can fight no longer.”

The last words were spoken sadly and Dave pitied the warrior, who had in his younger years been at the head of a powerful tribe.

“Do your best, White Buffalo,” he said, placing his hand on the Indian’s shoulder. “Stand by my father and the Great Spirit will surely reward you.” So they parted, and soon White Buffalo and his followers had vanished on the back trail.

The march to Will’s Creek came to an end three days later. The appearance of the ensign with his men surprised Washington a great deal and he quickly asked for the particulars of what had occurred. In the party were several Indian chiefs sent by the half-king and other sachems to learn what the English were doing and when they would come west.

Realizing the increased gravity of the situation, Washington acted promptly. One chief he sent to Governor Dinwiddie, the other he told to return to the half-king with the news that he was coming to open the way for a large body of English soldiers, and he asked that the half-king meet him for the purpose of holding a council of war.

CHAPTER XXV
SOLDIERS OF THE WILDERNESS

“Uncle Joe, what brings you to Will’s Creek?”

Dave uttered the words as he hurried forward to meet his uncle, who was standing outside the principal store in the tiny settlement.

“Dave!” ejaculated Joseph Morris, as he wrung his nephew’s hand warmly. “I’ve been looking for either you or your father for a sennight. Is all well at the trading-post?”

“So far, yes, but we don’t know how long it will be so.”

Mr. Morris shook his head slowly. “You are right, Dave, war is at hand and I am afraid it will go hard with all who are on the frontier. You have heard how we had to give up the new fort that was being built at the Fork.”

“Yes, I came down with Ensign Ward, who was in command. But you haven’t told me yet what brought you here.”

“I have brought Colonel Washington another horse. He has been trying his best to fit out his expedition but can make small headway. Captain Trent was going to have some pack horses ready for him but hardly anybody would let the captain have what he wanted.”

“Then the people can’t be very patriotic!” burst out Dave. “Don’t they understand the seriousness of the situation?”

“That’s the trouble. The majority of the folks don’t want another war with France, and the most a good many wish to do is to act on the defensive.”

“But now that we have been attacked——”

“It will wake the slow ones up, I trust, Dave.”

“We have received a notice to quit the post,” went on the youth. “That is one reason why I have come on. Father wishes to find out what he is to do.”

Dave brought forth the notice, which was written in French, and also the English translation. Joseph Morris read the translation carefully, and the youth explained that he and his parent suspected that it might be a trick of the rascally Jean Bevoir.

“But the attack on the fort at the Fork was no trick,” answered Joseph Morris. “Do you know what I think you had best do? Show this to Colonel Washington.”

“I was thinking of that. Where can I find him?”

“Here he comes now.”

Joseph Morris pointed down the road whence Washington was approaching on horseback, followed by a slave who had come along as his personal attendant. At once Dave ran forward to meet the young commander.

“Ah, Master David, is it you?” said Washington, drawing rein. “How have you been since you helped me at surveying?”

“I have been well, sir, thank you,” answered the youth. “I am glad to see you are in command,” he added, with an honest smile.

“Are you?” Washington smiled in return. “Perhaps you would like to join our ranks. If so, let me say there is plenty of room.”

“I may join before long, sir. But I would like to ask your advice about something, if you can spare me a few minutes.”

“Certainly, David. What is it?”

“Here is a notice which was sent to my father at his trading-post. He does not know if it is genuine or the work of a French rival named Jean Bevoir. He sent me eastward to consult the authorities about it.” And as Dave handed over the notice and the translation he gave a few more of the particulars.

George Washington read the translation with deep interest and then examined the signature on the original. For a minute his brow was knit in study. “Come to my headquarters,” he said, at length. “I will compare this signature with that I have of the French commander on other documents.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Colonel Washington now turned to Joseph Morris. “I am glad to see that you have brought in another horse,” he said. “I wish your neighbors would do as well.”

Accompanied by his uncle, Dave followed Washington to his headquarters, located at one end of the trading-post. Here the young commander’s orderly brought forth a small trunk and from this Washington took several legal looking documents. The signatures were compared by all three of the party.

“I should pronounce this notice a forgery,” said Washington, breaking a painful silence.

“That is also my opinion,” returned Joseph Morris. “The handwriting is quite different.”

“Then father need not move?” cried Dave, impulsively.

“I do not say that,” replied Washington. “The French commander may not take the trouble to notify him until he is at hand—as was the case with Ensign Ward.”

“But an honest man will not stand up for a forgery.”

“That is true, and if the forger can be caught probably the French commander will punish him severely. But that will not help your father—if the French march upon his post.”

“Do you think they will do that?”

“It is hard telling what they will do now they have started this war. Probably they will do as much damage as possible.”

“I hope you move against them soon.”

“I am impatient to do so, but I must wait for extra horses from Winchester, and for extra men, too. The recruiting has again fallen off, despite the governor’s offer of free homesteads to all who serve.”

“My son Henry wishes to go with you,” put in Joseph Morris. “He has talked about it for two days.”

“Henry!” cried Dave. “If he goes, then I will go too.”

“That will give us two more fighting men,” laughed Washington. “And at least one good shot,” he added, pointedly, remembering the bear hunt.

“My cousin can shoot as well as I, perhaps better,” returned Dave, quickly. “He has brought down a bird on the wing more than once.”

“Then we must have him by all means—and you, too.”

In those days Washington was but twenty-two, full of youthful activity, and bent upon getting together the necessary men by hook or by crook. He continued to talk to Dave and the boy’s uncle for a good half hour, and the upshot of the conversation was that Dave enlisted under him and Joseph Morris promised that Henry should do the same.

When Dave returned to his uncle’s home he was glad to find Rodney much better from the surgical operations which had been performed upon him. The young man could now walk around fairly well and hoped inside of another year to be as well as anybody. The doctoring had been very expensive but Joseph Morris had paid the bills cheerfully.

“So you have gone and joined the militia!” exclaimed Mrs. Morris, after embracing Dave. “And Henry is going, too! I never heard tell of such doings! You’ll all be shot!”

“I hope not, Aunt Lucy. Somebody has got to play soldier, you know.”

“Play soldier? You won’t find it much play, Dave, mark my words. I remember something of the other war! It was awful, the shooting and killing of innocent men! I don’t see how I’m to spare Henry.”

“We’ll have to spare him, mother,” put in Joseph Morris. “Unless you’d rather spare me.”

At this Mrs. Morris shook her head decidedly. “No, if one has got to go let it be Henry. I suppose the two boys will be company for each other. But, oh, I wish it wasn’t to be!” And of a sudden her eyes filled with tears, which rolled down her cheeks and into the batch of bread she was kneading.

Henry was off on a hunt and did not come in until nightfall. When told what had been done, he threw up the coonskin cap he had been wearing.

“Huzza!” he shouted. “Just what I wanted! My, Dave, but won’t we just knock over those Frenchmen when we get the chance!” And then, seeing the tears starting to his mother’s eyes he ran and put his arms around her neck. “Don’t worry, mother dear. I’ll come back safe and sound.”

“Perhaps, Henry, perhaps,” she sobbed. “But it’s hard to let you go.”

The next day there was a general leave taking and more crying on the part of Mrs. Morris, and also little Nell, who joined in hardly knowing what it was all about. All went as far as the creek with the boys and Joseph Morris accompanied them to Will’s Creek post.

That day Dave and Henry were duly mustered in and given their first drill. Only the officers were in uniform and the privates, for the greater part, carried their own rifles. The service, it must be confessed, was not a strict one and volunteers sometimes did largely as they pleased. It was not until the War of the Revolution that the colonies boasted of an army worthy of the name, although the raw, undisciplined troops fought as bravely as any highly trained set of men.

Washington had sent a small body of men ahead, to clear a road through the wilderness for Colonel Fry with the artillery. On the 29th of April the young commander marched forth from Will’s Creek to join this advance guard and hasten the work of making some sort of a highway. His troops numbered a hundred and sixty, all strong, hardy fellows, used to a life in the open, and handy with axe as well as gun.

But the trails were in a wretched condition, overgrown with brush and vines and often so narrow that trees had to be chopped down to make the path wide enough for a gun carriage to pass. All hands labored day after day, clearing the trails, yet it was seldom that they could make over four miles’ progress from sunrise to sunset.

“This is soldiering truly!” declared Henry, as he wiped the heavy perspiration from his brow. “I should call this road building and nothing else.”

“It’s all a part of the game, Henry,” answered Dave. “But I wish myself we could get ahead a little faster.”

At length the little army reached the Youghiogheny River, and while some of the men were building a bridge across the stream, Washington went down the watercourse on a scouting expedition, taking with him several of his command and an Indian guide, the latter promising to do his best for the young commander if the latter would present him with a ruffled shirt and a coat to match! The scouting expedition kept on until some rapids were reached which could not be crossed, and then Washington returned to camp.

Soon came in reports of the French. They were eight hundred strong and were marching to meet the English. Another report, from the Indian half-chief, followed, stating he would be with Washington in a few days. That night it was learned that the French were within eighteen miles. At once Washington placed his men at Great Meadows, had them dig an entrenchment and placed them on strict guard. There was an alarm during the night, but it amounted to nothing excepting that it made several cowardly volunteers desert.

While Washington was at Great Meadows considering what he had best do next, Mr. Gist arrived with information concerning a body of fifty of the enemy, under La Forge, that had been seen within five miles of the present camp. That same night came word from the half-king that more tracks of the French had been seen and that the Indians were certain the whole body of the enemy could not be far away.

“They intend to surprise us,” said Washington, grimly. “Well, we will try to turn the tables on them.” Then he sent off a detachment of seventy-five men in quest of La Forge’s command, and with forty others started to join the half-king and learn, if possible, what the larger part of the French army was doing.

CHAPTER XXVI
THE RETREAT TO FORT NECESSITY

“I think we’ll get some fighting before long,” said Dave to Henry, as the two marched away with Washington, through the woods and over the hills leading to Tanacharisson’s lodge. “By all reports the French must be close at hand.”

“Well, a fight would warm us up,” returned Henry. “I must say I am chilled to the backbone.”

It was small wonder that Henry was chilled, for it was night and raining heavily. Under the giant trees it was pitch dark and the party, moving in Indian file, had to feel the way from one step to the next. Every soldier was on guard, rifle in hand, and it must be admitted that the hearts of both Dave and Henry thumped wildly. For all they knew to the contrary they might be walking into the worst kind of an ambush. Washington remained calm, although constantly on the alert.

The march reached an end at daybreak, when they came within sight of the Indian camp. The half-king received Washington with much ceremony and promised his immediate aid.

“I will put Spotted Face and Rainbow upon the trail of the French,” said Tanacharisson. “They are more keen than dogs of the hunt. They will soon let us know the truth.”

He was as good as his word, and while the spies were gone the Indians treated the English with the best they possessed. All the half-king’s warriors were tall, straight, powerful fellows, with coarse black hair and eyes that were crafty and sharp. They were accustomed to firearms and could handle a rifle as well as their English allies.

When the two spies returned they reported that the French had gone into camp in a hollow not far away, a place surrounded by rough rocks and dense trees, and had put up a few cabins to protect them from the rain.

“If they put up the cabins they must mean to stay awhile,” said Washington.

“They cannot suspect you are at hand,” replied the half-king, “or they would not stop to put up such shelters.”

“Will you aid me in surprising them?” questioned the young commander.

“Have I not already promised it?” was the answer.

It was soon arranged that they should move upon the French in secret, the English on the right, the Indians on the left. This done Washington called his men together and made them a brief address.

“The enemy is just ahead,” he said. “We are going to attack and the Indians are going to help us. I expect every soldier to do his duty. Forward now, and make no noise;” and away moved the little body, into the forest again.

Step by step the militia drew closer to the French camp until the cabins in the hollow were plainly to be seen. The soldiers of France were off their guard and lying in the shelters, smoking, drinking, and playing cards. Suddenly a shot rang out, followed by another, and on the instant all was commotion and the French were leaping to arms.

“Keep cool!” ordered Washington. “Don’t waste your shots! We are bound to win!”

The last words brought confidence to the raw soldiery, and, advancing quickly, they poured a heavy fire into the enemy, killing the leader, Jumonville, and several privates.

Dave and Henry fired with the others, and continued to discharge their weapons as quickly as they could reload. The bullets were now whistling freely upon all sides, and a soldier standing close beside Washington was cut down, to rise no more. Soon the smoke was so thick that little could be seen.

The French, imagining a large force of the English had fallen upon them, started to rush out of the hollow by the back way. As they did this the half-king and his warriors came up and thus the enemy was caught between a disastrous cross-fire. Again they turned and fired into the English, wounding several. Then Washington urged his men forward, and the skirmish became more terrific than ever.

Panting for breath Dave leaped upon a rock and fired as best he could. He heard a bullet rush by him but did not know until later that it had passed through the flap of his coat. The shooting, shouting and yelling was deafening and he could not tell whether they were losing or winning the contest.

But the skirmish was not of long duration. The surprise of the French, followed by the fall of their leader, produced a panic, and in quarter of an hour the contest was at an end and the French were fleeing in several directions. After them went some of the English and the larger portion of the Indians, and these brought back twenty-one prisoners. Only one man escaped, and it was he who carried the news of the disaster to what was now the French fort on the Ohio.

The contest had not been a large one, but the victory was gratifying to the soldiers under Washington, and in high glee they marched back to Great Meadows with their prisoners. This disappointed the Indians somewhat for they would have preferred to kill and scalp all who were taken. According to their way of reasoning the best enemy was a dead enemy.

Among the prisoners taken was La Force, and he now tried to prove that he was on a peaceful mission to the English. But a letter was found on Jumonville which disproved this, and much against his will La Force, who was considered by Washington a very dangerous man, was sent to Winchester with the other prisoners.

“Wasn’t that a great fight?” said Henry to Dave. “How we did let the Frenchmen have it!”

“And how they did run,” answered Dave. “We certainly surprised them in fine shape.”

After the prisoners had departed under a strong guard the remaining soldiers were set to work to erect a fortification at Great Meadows, which, when completed, was called Fort Necessity. On this fort Dave and Henry worked with the rest, day after day, digging the soil and planting heavy posts as though they were common laborers. On retiring their backs would often ache from the toil, but neither complained.

“War isn’t all shooting and glory,” remarked Henry. “This has got to be done, so let us make the best of it.”

If the success of the contest just passed pleased Washington it likewise delighted Tanacharisson, and the half-king lost no time in sending messages to his friends, urging them to join him in his fighting with the English. A few responded without delay but the majority held back, fearing that if they sided with the English the French would annihilate them.

Washington had already sent word to Will’s Creek for reinforcements. Colonel Fry was there, but he was ill and could not move. Soon the colonel died, and his place was taken by Colonel Innes, who had been a fellow officer with Lawrence Washington. Washington urged Innes to come forward and in return received three hundred soldiers, those whom Colonel Fry had mustered into the service. Later still came a few other soldiers and also nine swivel guns.

But powder and shot were scarce and provisions were even more so, and with the coming of the Indian half-king’s tribe there was for a week or more little or nothing to eat in the camp. Old hunters went out and brought in fresh meat and fish, yet these could not take the place of flour and other necessities.

“I haven’t had a full meal in four days,” said Dave to Henry, once. “How good a big slice of bread would taste!”

“You are right,” answered Henry. “A fellow craves bread no matter what else he can get. It is certainly the staff of life. I wonder what the commander expects to do next?”

“What can he do but hold his own until more troops arrive. I hear the French army is over a thousand strong.”

At length Washington, hearing nothing of the French, prepared to continue his road building westward. This was just started when a handful of the enemy were discovered and captured. They were brought in and found to be deserters and gave out the information that the fort at the Fork was now completed and had been named Fort Duquesne, after the governor of Canada.

“And how many men are there?” asked Washington.

“Five hundred,” was the answer. “And they expect several hundred more soon.”

Undaunted, the young commander proceeded with his road building and kept this up until within thirteen miles of the fort. Here he was met by an old pioneer who told him that reinforcements had arrived at the fort in large numbers and that the French were on the point of sending out a strong body of troops to attack the English.

At first Washington was for making a stand, but he was urged by his fellow officers not to sacrifice the little party with him, and then began a swift but dignified retreat to Great Meadows.

“I don’t like this,” said Dave, with a falling face. “I thought we should go right through to father’s trading-post.”

However, he had to make the best of it, for a true soldier obeys orders, no matter what those orders are.

As it afterward proved, the retreat was made just in time, for the French were already on the way from Fort Duquesne. They were five hundred strong and under the command of Captain De Villiers, a brother-in-law to Jumonville, who had sworn to avenge his relative’s murder as he termed it. Finding Washington’s late camp deserted, and learning that the English were at Great Meadows and half-starved, De Villiers pushed on to bring about a battle.

It was now that Washington showed the real stuff of which he was made. Many have pictured him as a severe, stately man, lacking in open-hearted enthusiasm. He was this, at times, but not always. At home he had slaves to do his bidding, but he did not have them now, and pitching off his coat and rolling up his shirt sleeves he went to work with his soldiers at the task of chopping down trees, digging additional trenches, and otherwise making Fort Necessity a greater place of safety.

“We cannot do too much,” he said to Dave, when they chanced to be together. “I wish I had four hands instead of two.”

“He’s a great man,” whispered Henry, after Washington was gone. “He’ll be a great leader some day, he shows it all over.”

“Well, if he does become a great leader there won’t be a better one,” answered Dave. He liked Washington now even better than he had while surveying on the Shenandoah.

With the coming of a large force of the French the situation was certainly grave enough, but now came a blow from an entirely different quarter. The Indians complained of the lack of defence which the fort afforded and pleaded that they must take their squaws and children to a place of safety. The majority departed, leaving only a handful of warriors with Washington.

“The mean fellows!” exclaimed Dave, when he saw the red men leave. “I was afraid they would desert us when it came to the pinch. I’d like to have White Buffalo here, only perhaps father needs him more than we do,” and he sighed deeply.

This was early in July, and on the following morning shots were heard at a distance and a picket came running in badly wounded. The alarm was sounded and the whole body of soldiers drawn up on the grass in front of the fort. Soon scouts came in with the news that the French army was but four miles away and approaching rapidly.

CHAPTER XXVII
BATTLE AT GREAT MEADOWS

“The scouts say there are about seven hundred French and half as many Indians coming,” said Dave to Henry, after having examined his rifle to see that it was ready for use. “If that is true, we have some hot work cut out for us.”

It was raining in torrents and this rendered some of the firearms of the defenders useless. It must be confessed that the militia were much downcast, for provisions had continued scarce and it is hard for anyone to keep up courage on a half-filled stomach.

As the firing drew closer Washington ordered his men inside the fort and did his best to cheer them up.

“You are all good shots,” he said. “Wait until you see the enemy distinctly and then make every bullet reach its mark.”

Soon the French and their Indian allies surrounded the fort upon three sides and opened the deadliest fire the situation allowed. The Virginians followed, Dave and Henry with the rest, and the cracking of rifles and the booming of the small cannon was incessant. The rain continued to come down heavily and this, combined with the smoke, often hid one side from the view of the other.

Amid the general tumult in the fort Washington was to be seen here, there and everywhere. He had on his person a good brace of pistols and used them at every opportunity. Men fell all around him, but strange to say he was untouched.

“You are doing well, men!” he shouted. “Keep it up and the French will not dare to come closer. We are dropping three men to one at every volley.”

“Ain’t got no more powder,” came from a corner of the fort. “Anybody got some for me?”

“My powder is all wet,” came from somebody else.

“My flints are all used up,” added a third soldier.

“Divide your powder and your flints,” said Washington. “And, remember not to waste a single shot.”

The battle had started at eleven o’clock and now, at four o’clock, it still continued, the French firing constantly and the defenders of the fort as often as they saw the chance of making a shot tell. The English had had but a scant breakfast and no dinner. But Washington and his fellow officers still continued to cheer them up.

Dave and Henry were in an angle of the fort. From this point they presently caught sight of half a dozen Frenchmen sneaking closer, along the shelter of some rocks. Without hesitation both raised their guns.

“My last bit of powder,” observed Henry and pulled trigger. As the report died away one of the Frenchmen threw up his hands and fell flat on his face, seriously wounded in the side.

“A good shot,” exclaimed Dave. “Here goes for another.”

He took equal care in aiming and the report was followed by the fall of another enemy. He turned to reload, when there came a sharp clipping of a bullet through the leaves and he saw Henry pitch over on his back.

“Henry!” he ejaculated, and for a moment his heart seemed to stop beating. His cousin lay like one dead, with the blood streaming from a wound in his side. Throwing down his rifle, Dave ran to him and raised him up.

“What’s the matter?” asked a soldier standing near. “Killed, eh? Too bad!”

“I—I don’t think he’s dead,” returned Dave. “Get the surgeon, will you?”

“Certainly,” and the soldier ran off through the rain. Soon he reappeared with the medical man, who dropped on his knees in the mud to make an examination.

“Got it pretty bad,” said the surgeon, after what seemed a very long wait to Dave.

“But he—he will get over it?” faltered Dave.

“He has a chance, that’s all. Help me to carry him to where we have the other wounded.”

Dave complied, and Henry was placed on some cedar boughs, where lay all manner of sufferers. He was given a little liquor to strengthen him and his wound was bound up.

“We can’t do any more for him just now,” said the surgeon. “You had better get to the front again,” and Dave hurried back to his post of duty, but with a heart that was heavy and sore.

“Poor Henry!” he murmured. “If he dies, how ever will I tell Aunt Lucy and Uncle Joe? It will break their hearts, and the hearts of poor Rodney and little Nell too.”

The fighting had let up a little, but now it was resumed with increased vigor upon the side of the French and their Indian allies. The Indians were for assaulting the fort and forcing a hand-to-hand fight, but luckily for the English the French commander would not allow this.

“Got it pretty bad,” said the surgeon.—Page 252.

Dave had hardly returned to his post, and was standing on the very spot where Henry had stood when another bullet came whistling that way, striking the young soldier in the shoulder. He stumbled and fell but quickly arose to his feet.

“Are you shot?” asked the soldier who had spoken to him before about Henry.

“Yes, in the shoulder, but I do not think it is severe.”

“Must be a sharpshooter with an eye on this p’int,” went on the soldier. “If so, wish I could draw a bead on him.”

“The shot came from yonder tree, I saw the smoke,” replied the young soldier, and grated his teeth over the pain his shoulder was causing him.

“I see his cap!” ejaculated the older soldier. Up came his rifle like a flash and down came the hammer on the flint. There was a flash and a crack, and Dave saw a French sharpshooter pitch from the tree and fall on the rocks, dead.

“You got him,” said Dave, grimly. “He’ll never shoot my cousin or me again.” Then he turned back once more, to have his wound bound up, for the blood was flowing freely down his side. He had to wait some time for this, because the surgeon and his assistants had more than they could do, with men dropping every few minutes.

At last it grew dark, and with the coming of night the firing ceased. The French and their Indian allies had withdrawn to a safe distance and gone into camp. At the fort half of the soldiers remained on guard while the others threw themselves on their guns to snatch a bit of rest. The scanty food which remained was divided evenly among all, Washington getting no greater share than that of the commonest private.

What the morrow would bring forth nobody could surmise, yet to tell the truth matters looked very black. The French and Indian force was a large one and through some trustworthy scouts Washington learned that the French commander had sent back to Fort Duquesne for reinforcements.

“We’ll be wiped out to-morrow,” said more than one of the soldiers. “And if they can’t wipe us out they’ll starve us out.” And a good many others said the same.

Dave was thinking more of Henry than of what was going to happen on the morrow. The sufferer had regained consciousness but was deathly weak. Dave’s shoulder now felt stiff but the pain was gone. He sat on the cedar boughs with Henry’s head in his lap.

Late in the evening the French commander sent word to Washington that he desired a parley and old Jacob Van Braam, now a captain of the Virginians, went forth to see what was wanted. It still rained steadily and in that downpour Washington waited for Van Braam’s return. When the old soldier got back the paper he brought was written in French, and he had to translate it by candle-light.

“They want us to surrender,” said Washington, as the paper was translated.

“They want us to give up all our arms and stores,” said another officer.

“I will not give up our arms and stores,” said Washington. “I would rather risk another battle, weak as we are.” And his officers agreed with him.

When the French commander heard what Washington had said he was much disappointed, for he had counted on a complete victory. But he had no desire for another encounter with these English, whose shots were so deadly, so he said if Washington wanted his stores and his small arms he could have them. It was mutually agreed that the artillery should be destroyed. The English troops were to march from the fort with flags flying and drums beating and were not to be molested on their way back to Will’s Creek.

Early in the morning preparations were made to leave the fort. The killed, numbering twelve to fifteen, were buried. The wounded, to be taken along, numbered sixty, many of whom were still able to march. The loss to the French and their Indian allies had been nearly twice as great, hence the desire of the French commander to avoid another battle.

The wounded were carried in wagons and on litters, and among them was Henry. The rough journey ahead would do the young soldier no good, but there seemed no help for it, since he did not wish to be left with the French, and indeed, they did not want him.

“Those Indians mean treachery,” said one old soldier to Dave, as they marched from the fort, and he was right. Washington’s command had not covered a mile when the Indians who had aided the French fell on his pack train and began to plunder it. Seeing this, the young commander ordered all the unnecessary stuff burned, and this was done, causing the Indians to gnash their teeth in rage. They wanted to fight, but did not dare to fire a shot.

A long and weary march now lay before Washington’s command and many, especially the wounded, were much downcast. They had fought bravely but the number of the enemy had been too great for them, and a deserved victory had passed them by.

Many weary days were spent upon the road and a constant guard had to be kept lest the treacherous Indians might fall upon them. Several of the wounded died and had to be buried by the wayside. Poor Henry developed something of a fever and at times was out of his mind.

At last Will’s Creek was reached. News had been sent out ahead, and the settlers from far and wide came to welcome the returning soldiers, who were greeted with enthusiasm regardless of their defeat.

“Henry!” cried Joseph Morris, as he ran up to where his son rested on a litter. “My poor boy! Is he seriously wounded?”

“It’s bad enough,” answered Dave, soberly. “But it might be worse. The surgeon says he will get well, but it may take some months.”

“And you are wounded, too.”

“Oh, that’s little more than a scratch, Uncle Joe. But tell me, have you heard from father?”

“Not a word since you brought that notice in.”

“That is strange.”

“It is strange and I am more fearful than ever, now that the French are in possession at Great Meadows and elsewhere.”

It did not take Joseph Morris long to obtain a wagon and in this he removed his son to his home. Dave went along, having obtained permission to absent himself. What would be the next movement of the English troops nobody knew.

At home, Henry and Dave were both tenderly cared for by Mrs. Morris. As Dave had said, his wound was slight and he quickly recovered. But Henry lingered on a bed of sickness for several months.

CHAPTER XXVIII
THE FALL OF THE TRADING-POST

At the farm the days passed slowly. The rumor of more battles was in the air, but for many months little or nothing was done upon either side. Washington went to report to Governor Dinwiddie, and an effort was made to increase the number of the militia, and at the same time get the other colonies to co-operate with the Virginians. But in those days both telegraph and railroads were unknown, letters had to be carried by horseback, and everything moved slowly. Besides this, Washington did not wish to go forward again until he could strike a blow he would be sure would be victorious.

Many were the times that Dave wished to set out for his father’s trading-post but his uncle objected. “The country is now a hostile one, lad,” Joseph Morris would reason. “You would fall into the hands of the French or be killed and scalped by their Indian friends. And even if you escaped, what could you do at the post after you got there?”

“But, Uncle Joe, I can’t help but think of father night and day. He has certainly had some kind of trouble with the French by this time.”

“Let us hope for the best, Dave. Your father is a shrewd man and he has some shrewd men with him. He may compromise with the French and all may go well.”

One day Dave was on his way to Will’s Creek to learn the latest news, when he saw a man riding toward him on horseback. He gave a shout as he recognized the rider as Sam Barringford.

“Sam!” he cried, joyfully. And then as the two came closer his face fell. “Why, you have been wounded! Your face is all scratched up and your arm is bandaged! You have been in a fight.”

“Yes, Dave, I’ve been in a fight,” was the answer, as Barringford drew rein. “More’n thet, I’ve been a prisoner of the Injuns.”

“Too bad! And father——”

Barringford dropped his head, not being able to face Dave. “Sorry, lad, but I can’t say much about your father. Ye see, the redskins took him one way and me t’other.”

“Oh!” Dave gave a sharp gasp. “Then the post was attacked?”

“It was, a fortnight ago, by a body of French under thet villian Jean Bevoir and a band of Injuns under Fox Head. They came on us ’most a hundred strong, and right in the middle of the day, too. As soon as the guard saw ’em, we tried to close the stockade gate, but some rascal had blocked it, and the Frenchmen and redskins poured inside like water over a dam. Oh, lad, it was terrible, the fight that followed! Jackson was killed, and Phendell, and Weingate, and every one else was more or less wounded. We took a last stand in the log cabin, but the Injuns set fire to it and drove us out like rats.”

“And father? Tell me of father? Never mind the rest.”

“Your father fit as hard as any of us, Dave, and I saw him bring down two redskins and shoot the sneaking Bevoir in the leg. Then he got a ball in his arm and an arrow in his shoulder and keeled over too weak to stand. This was about at the end of the fight, which lasted over an hour. Right after your father went down an Injun struck me with a club and I went down too, all in a heap, and I didn’t know a thing more until the whole jig was up and we were prisoners.”

“Who were prisoners?”

“Your father, me, Putty, Tony, and the others who wasn’t killed. White Buffalo was in the fight, with six of his braves, and they fit well, too. One brave was killed and the rest got away, along with the chief, although how they did it is an amazement to me.”

“Then the cabin was burnt down?”

“Not entirely. After the fight was over the Frenchmen went to work to save the property, for that was what Jean Bevoir was after, according to your father’s notion and mine. The Frenchmen didn’t pay any attention to us, but jest handed us over to the Injuns.”

“And you were separated from father?”

“I was, two days later, along with Putty and old Tony. The Injuns were afraid to keep us together for fear we would hatch out a plot to git away from ’em.”

“But how did you get away?”

“I got away two days after I last saw your father. I was a captive of two of Fox Head’s band who were marching me northward. I knew well enough what that meant—burning at the stake as soon as the Injun village was reached. I made up my mind I’d rather die fighting than be tortured to death. So I watched my chance and pretended to be very weak from my wounds. We got further and further away from the others and at last I grabbed up a rock and let one redskin have it in the skull and it finished him. Then I jumped on the other and knocked him down. But he fired a pistol, and while the ball didn’t hit me, I knew it would bring others down on me, so I started and ran like greased lightning, straight into the forest. I got lost and nobody found me, and it has taken me ever since to get to Will’s Creek. I was almost starved and my buckskin suit was in tatters. I borrowed this suit from the man who loaned me the hoss.”

“Then you don’t know what has become of father?”

“Nothing more than I’ve told ye, Dave. They was a-going to march him northward, too.”

“To their village?”

“Yes.”

“Then they were going to burn him at the stake, too!” burst out the youth. “Oh, how terrible!”

“I don’t know thet for sartin, Dave. He may have escaped, jest as I did.”

“But we have heard nothing from him.”

“He may be in the forest somewhere. I don’t believe he knows the trails quite as well as I do.”

Dave shook his head dismally. “You are trying to make the news easy for me, Sam. But I understand it.” The youth had all he could do to keep back the tears.

“Remember the saying, Dave, thet a man’s alive until you are sure he’s dead.”

“I wish I had gone right back to the post after I was sure the notice was a forgery. I might have put father more on guard. But the soldiers were going out and I thought it would be a fine thing to go with them. So I went, and so did Henry.”

“I heard down to Will’s Creek ye was in the fight at Great Meadows and both got shot.”

“Yes. Henry is still very ill, but I’m all right.” Dave paused a moment. “But you look tired out. Come to the house. They’ll all be glad to see you.”

Barringford was more than willing, for he had been bound for the homestead, to tell the news and get a good and much needed rest. His coming proved an event and for the balance of that day all work about the place was suspended. He had to go into all the details of the battle at the trading-post and tell all he knew of what had happened later, and answer questions innumerable. In the meantime Mrs. Morris prepared for him a hearty dinner and Joseph Morris poured for the old hunter a mug of the best liquor his little store afforded.

The news brought a gloom that could not be dispelled. Mrs. Morris cried not a little and so did Nell, and Dave often found a lump rising in his throat which was difficult to swallow. Joseph Morris stalked around with his hands behind him, thinking deeply, while Rodney and Henry, both propped up in rush chairs, exchanged glances which were far from happy.

“The loss of the post, with all the money we had in it, is bad enough,” observed Joseph Morris. “But I would willingly lose that and this place too, if only brother James was restored to us.”

“Yes, yes,” returned Mrs. Morris. “The money is nothing. But poor Dave——” She could not go on and hid her face in her apron. Then she walked to the boy and threw her arms around his neck. “Never mind, Dave,” she said earnestly. “If—if your father should not come back, remember you’ll always have a home here, and your uncle and I will be father and mother to you.”

“I know that, Aunt Lucy,—you’ve been a mother to me right along. But father—oh, I must find him, if he’s alive!”

“But you can’t do anything, lad,” put in Joseph Morris. “I’ve been thinking of it. We can’t march against the Indians and French alone.”

“Washington is going west again before long. We can go then. But father may be dead long before that—if he isn’t dead already!”

The matter was talked over until far into the night, and when Dave went to bed it was not to sleep but to lie with his eyes wide open gazing at the stars which shone through the narrow window. Then he dropped on his knees and in that midnight stillness prayed as he had never prayed before, that the Heavenly Father might restore his parent to him.

After that the days went by more slowly than ever. Before snow fell Henry got around and so did Rodney, although both had to be careful so that their strength might not be overtaxed. Sam Barringford remained at the homestead, doing the work Henry had formerly done and trying to cheer up Dave.

Once a fortnight Dave or his uncle rode over to Will’s Creek to learn the latest news regarding the war and find out if anything had been heard of the missing member of the family, or those who had been with him.

At last news came of a hunter named Ferry who had been on his way to the trading-post with pelts just at the time the French and Indians had descended upon it. He had been captured and had had his furs taken from him by the French. He had remained a prisoner for six weeks and had then escaped from Fort Duquesne along with the two old hunters often mentioned in these pages, Tony and Putty. He had heard of Dave’s father and said that the Indians had orders to bring him to Fort Duquesne as a prisoner of war. The Indians had burnt two prisoners from the trading-post at the stake, but up to that time had spared James Morris’ life, for they had heard that he had a treasure of silver buried somewhere and they were anxious to make him tell where it was.

“If he is at Fort Duquesne he must be alive!” said Dave, on hearing Ferry’s story, and his heart gave such a bound as it had not experienced for many a day. “How I wish our troops would march against that fort!”

“No doubt they will march against it,” said his uncle. “But not this winter. The snow is already deep in the mountain passes.”

“Well then, I hope they go the first thing, in the spring, and if they do, I’ll go with them.”

“And so will I,” put in Barringford. “I’d do ’most anything to help ye save your father, Dave.”

CHAPTER XXIX
BRADDOCK’S DEFEAT AND FALL

With the coming of spring it was felt by many that a swift and decided movement should be made against the French and their Indian allies. Word came in through backwoodsmen and hunters that the French fort was but slimly garrisoned and that the enemy was also suffering for the want of army stores and ammunition.

“Could I strike a blow at once I might be successful,” said Washington, but he now had but a handful of soldiers and more it was next to impossible to obtain.

There was serious trouble regarding the English army and more troubles were to follow. Each officer was jealous of the others, and Governor Dinwiddie made matters worse by announcing that each company should be independent of the others and that nobody should hold a rank higher than that of captain. On top of this came a proclamation from England that any officer holding a commission from the king should be the superior of any provincial officer with whom he happened to be acting! Many Americans, though still loyal to the mother country, would not stand this, and among those to resign their commissions was Washington, who went back to his mother and to his brother’s family at Mount Vernon.

But the trouble in America was now a matter of hot discussion in England and France and soon England decided to strike at France’s colonies in Nova Scotia, New York, and throughout the Ohio valley. For this purpose England sent Major-General Edward Braddock to Virginia at the head of two regiments of picked soldiers.

The coming of Braddock with the trained soldiers of the king was hailed far and wide with delight, for all felt that the French would now suffer a quick and complete defeat. The soldiers arrived in February and went into camp at Alexandria, to which place the colonists from miles around flocked to see them. It was soon found that the English soldiers were indeed the pick of the army. They were drilled to perfection and everything in the camp went “like clock-work,” as the common saying goes. It was found that General Braddock was a stern veteran and disciplinarian, and one who never took advice from anybody. How dear this last trait was to cost him will soon be seen.

At Alexandria General Braddock met Washington, and the pair often came together later, when the Englishmen and the governors of the colonies held a consultation at Annapolis. It would seem that Braddock took to Washington, for soon after he offered the latter a position on his staff, with rank as colonel. Washington accepted at once, after being assured that he would be under orders from nobody but the general himself. At first some of the English officers grumbled at this, but before the army moved into the wilderness Washington was on a friendly footing with all.

It was well that Braddock took Washington on his staff. The English general knew nothing of American ways, nothing of the country to be covered, and nothing of the Indian method of warfare. He led the colonists to believe that he and he alone would fight and conquer the French and Indians, and when it came time for them to join him in the expedition they held back, not caring to “play second fiddle,” as some of the backwoodsmen said.

It was Washington who spoke to those who had fought under him before, and spoke to other of the colonists, and at last he persuaded the Virginia Rangers and a few other colonial troops to join the army under Braddock. But all this took time, and it was not until the middle of May, 1755, that the army reached Will’s Creek, and then the French, and their Indian allies, were on the alert and watching for their further march westward.

“The army has come!” shouted Dave one day, on returning from a visit to Will’s Creek. “General Braddock is there with over a thousand soldiers, and so is Colonel Washington with the Virginian troops. Oh, but don’t the regulars look grand! Their uniforms and rifles shine, I can tell you!”

“Here at last, eh?” returned Joseph Morris. “Well, it has taken them a good while to march from Alexandria, seems to me.”

“I saw Colonel Washington,” went on Dave. “And I’m going along, as soon as they move.”

“Wall, I’m with ye, Dave—told ye so right along,” put in Barringford, who had heard the talk. “I know he’ll take me quick enough,” and the old hunter grinned suggestively.

Dave looked doubtful for a moment. “I hope so, Sam,” he said. “I didn’t have much of a chance to talk about it. You see, the coming of General Braddock has made a big difference in the army. He’s as stiff and stern as can be, and none of the soldiers under him dare so much as wink without his permission. I heard from one of our old soldiers that even Washington can’t give him any advice. He says he knows just what he is doing.”

“Hope he does then,” was Barringford’s dry comment. “But he ain’t fit Injuns afore, has he?”

“I fancy not.”

“Then he’d better be jest a leetle careful. Ain’t I right, Mr. Morris?”

“You are, Barringford. Indians do not fight like European armies, and the French that know the wilderness won’t fight that way either,” answered Dave’s uncle.

A few days later Dave and Sam Barringford set off for the Creek settlement. Henry was now almost as well as ever and anxious to go with them, but his mother urged him to remain at home, at least for a little while longer.

All was bustle and excitement at Will’s Creek. Braddock wished to move forward without delay but found it next to impossible to get the necessary horses and wagons. Washington by his personal efforts obtained a few and then Benjamin Franklin, coming down from Philadelphia, obtained some more, by giving his personal security for them.

Franklin, wise and far-seeing, advised Braddock to be cautious during his march into the wilderness, stating that the Indians were sly and would ambuscade them were it possible to do so. To this Braddock answered that the Indians might do so with colonial troops but not with soldiers of the King’s army, moving in a solid body against them.

As the little army went forward, Braddock insisted upon making a first-class roadway and the result was that it was the middle of June before Little Meadows was reached. The army now consisted of the two English regiments, two colonial companies of pioneers, a company of guides, a company of Virginia light-horse, two small companies of New York militia, and a detachment of sailors, about two thousand men in all. There were also about half a hundred Indians, under Groghan, the pioneer, who was made a captain over them. Braddock treated the Indians with great ceremony but in secret he held the same contempt for their fighting qualities as he held for the fighting qualities of the colonists.

Little Meadows reached, the general was in perplexity and for once listened to Washington. He was furious over the continued delays and angry because the colonists did not do more to help him.

“I would advise that the main portion of our army go forward in light marching order,” said Washington. “A fair portion can remain behind to bring up the heavy baggage.”

Braddock thought it over and finally ordered the main body of the army to proceed. But each man was heavily equipped, with full knapsack, army blanket, and rifle, and the progress was not much better than before.

“At this rate, we’ll never get to Fort Duquesne,” said Dave, one day, when they had come to a halt at the ford over the Youghiogheny. “I wonder why General Braddock doesn’t push ahead and let the baggage come up when it can?”

“Because he’s a drill-room soldier,” growled Barringford. “He don’t know any more about fighting in the wilderness than I do of dancing at a royal ball. Fust thing you know we’ll be surrounded and then—wall, we’ll see what we will see, thet’s all.”

“Colonel Washington is down with a fever,” put in a soldier standing near. “I just heard that the general ordered him to stay here until he was better.”

“That’s too bad,” said Dave. “I wish he was in command. I’d feel safer than I do.”

“Don’t worry, we’re safe enough just yet,” answered Barringford. “General Braddock won’t let our troops go ahead. He wants his own regiments to lead the way.”

“He ought to throw out a good body of scouts,” put in another soldier, who knew the backwoods thoroughly. “For all we know the French and Indians may be all around us this minute.”

So the talk ran on, but no one dared to tell the general of what was passing in the minds of the pioneers. The army moved on, making for the Monongahela, and here a few days later Washington rejoined it, still weak but resolved to be at the front when the fighting took place. So anxious was he to be on the field that he wrote to a friend he would rather lose five hundred pounds than miss the coming battle.

The soldiers, as they crossed the river, with glittering swords and bayonets, made an imposing sight. The royal troops moved forward in solid platoons, with only a small vanguard of guides and skirmishers. As Washington saw the movement he could not resist speaking to Braddock again of the folly of sending soldiers into the wilderness in that form. He begged to be allowed to send the Virginia Rangers in advance.

“It will not be necessary,” was Braddock’s haughty answer. “The royal troops are capable of taking care of themselves.” And the march forward was resumed. To awe the enemy the general had had all uniforms and equipments cleaned the day before, so that everything shone as bright as a new silver dollar—making the better marks for the Indians siding with the French!

By two o’clock in the afternoon the main body of the army had reached a position seven or eight miles from Fort Duquesne. They had just left a plain about half a mile from the river bank and were ascending a rise through the forest. The royal troops were in advance, in two sections, the Virginia Rangers somewhat to the rear. A few guides were out, but not many, and the pioneers were kept at work opening up the road for the artillery.

On a sudden came a sharp firing from the front, at first a few scattered shots, and then several rattling volleys. Several of the vanguard were cut down instantly and the others came to a halt in dismay.

“The French and the Indians!” was the cry. “They are on us a thousand strong!” The firing continued, and the vanguard was driven back. In the meantime General Braddock ordered the main body of troops forward and went with them himself. The troops advanced in a solid body until the remnant of the vanguard was met and then came to a halt.

The enemy was in front and upon either side, but could scarcely be seen. From behind rocks and trees, and from the shelter of a nearby ravine, they poured a hot and murderous fire into the English, laying the grenadiers low with marvelous rapidity. Both the Indians and the French tried to pick off the officers and in this way succeeded, for of the number sixty-two out of eighty-six were killed or wounded.

At last Braddock’s eyes were opened to the blunder he had made, and riding around quickly he tried to form his men into separate companies and send them into the woods. But they were now panic-stricken and huddled together not knowing what to do or what to expect. Braddock raved at them and pleaded with them, but it was all in vain. His horses were shot from under him until five were gone, and then he tried to get his men into order for a retreat. Just at that moment a bullet passed through his right arm and lodged in his lungs. He pitched forward and was caught by a captain of the Virginia guard, and soon after carried to the rear, begging those who supported him to let him die where he had fallen.

CHAPTER XXX
FIGHTING IN THE FOREST

From almost the start Colonel Washington was in the thickest of the fight. As an aide to Braddock he did his best to rally the men and also tried to get the cannoneers to bring their weapons into position, even going so far as to train and fire one of the pieces himself.

“Take to the woods!” were his orders to the Virginia Rangers. “Surround the grenadiers and drive the Indians back. Perhaps we can then take care of the French.”

Soon the rangers, and all of the other colonial troops, were in the woods, fighting the French and the Indians on their own ground. Time and again they rallied around the fatal spot where the royal troops remained exposed, and this should have given the soldiers from England fresh courage, but it did not. Still panic-stricken they fired into the Rangers, cutting down several before the mistake was discovered.

“If they’d only come out in the open,” cried one old grenadier. “I’d fight them all day then!” His sentiment was the sentiment of all his fellows, but the French and their Indian allies knew better, and continued to keep under cover, while cutting down every Englishman at whom they could get a shot.

With the fall of Braddock and a number of the other officers, the command fell upon Washington. The young Virginian was full of the blood of battle and had the contest depended upon his individual heroism the English would certainly have carried the day. Fearless of personal danger he rode around, having two horses shot from under him and receiving four bullet holes through his coat. Again and again did the French and Indians fire upon him, but he seemed to bear a charmed life, as if Providence was shielding him for greater deeds.

At last the truth forced itself home to all who remained alive. Braddock’s awful blunder in trying to fight the Indians and French according to the rules of European warfare had brought about complete defeat. Hundreds of the grenadiers had fallen and among the other troops the slaughter had been just as great. The artillery was practically deserted and the wagoneers cut their horses from the traces and mounted them in a mad frenzy to get away from the scene of slaughter. The shouting and whooping was terrific, and the Indians not only killed but scalped their victims at every opportunity.

It was now that Washington shone forth in his true character, able to calculate wisely even in such a moment of intense excitement. He had seen Braddock borne to the rear, slowly dying but still conscious and able to speak.

“Colonel, what is to be done?” asked the general.

“Retreat,” answered Washington, grimly. “Your men will not fight further, the assault has paralyzed them. The Rangers will cover the retreat.”

“As you think best,” sighed Braddock, and then continued, half to himself: “Who would have thought it! Who would have thought it!”

Again Washington went to the front, past the flying wagoneers and others who had been in charge of the heavy baggage. All was in hopeless confusion, some of the soldiers were on their knees calling upon their savage enemies to spare them. The forest was full of gun smoke, and the dead and wounded lay everywhere, dyeing the soil with their blood.

At last Washington made himself heard and managed to make those who remained understand that they must retreat in order or every man would be killed. The few officers who remained unhurt rallied to the support and the Rangers formed a body guard, beating back the French and Indians who wished to rush in and make the victory greater than it already was. The whooping and yelling went on and with it the shooting, until at last the English gained the river. Then the pursuit came to an end, the Indians stopping to gather up the baggage and other spoils left by the English and the French not caring to continue the fight unaided.

Dave and Barringford were with the Rangers when the first order came to scatter into the woods and “beat up” the French and their Indian allies. Forward went the pair side by side, for they meant to keep together, come what might.

“There are some of the varmin!” cried Barringford, suddenly, and dropped behind a rock. He had seen three Indians ahead, crouching behind a clump of bushes. The red men were in the act of firing on the grenadiers in the glade. As their rifles rang out, so did that of the old hunter, and one of the Indians pitched backward, dead. Then Dave fired and the second red man fell, wounded in the breast. The third took to his heels.

But some French soldiers had now discovered our friends and while they were reloading half a dozen bullets clipped through the bushes around them.

“Come, this is too hot a place for us!” ejaculated Barringford, and ran with might and main for another shelter. As they gained it, they heard a crashing in a tree at their side, and saw a French sharpshooter coming down with his rifle slung over his back. Again Barringford blazed away and another enemy fell, to rise no more.

“The Indians are coming this way!” cried Dave, suddenly. “See, a whole company is on the run!”

“Oh, fer a cannon to train on ’em!” muttered Barringford, who was reloading his hot piece with all speed. “Give it to ’em, Dave. Take the leader.”

Dave did “give it to ’em,” aiming at the leader, and the Indian fell so quickly that two of his warriors stumbled over him. Then the Indians caught sight of our friends and whooping in a rage bore down on Dave and Barringford with all speed.

Not to be caught, the young soldier and his companion fled to another portion of the forest. Here there was a rise of ground and from this spot they could catch sight of the opening where stood the larger portion of the grenadiers in hopeless terror. As they came into view several of the royal troops opened fire on them, putting a bullet through Dave’s coat and another through Barringford’s rather long hair.

“Willikins! they take us fer Frenchmen!” roared Barringford. “It was a close shave, wasn’t it? Git out o’ sight, lad!” And he pulled Dave flat.

After such an experience the young soldier was willing to go into hiding, and lying among some tree roots, the pair spent ten minutes in getting back their breath. Several other Rangers were in the vicinity, all occupying something of a semi-circle and each on the alert for the first sight of a French soldier or Indian enemy.

At the end of the rest, Barringford crawled forward on hands and knees until he reached a large rock with a split in the center. Dave followed the old hunter. From this point they could see a detachment of the French behind some brushwood to their right. Down in the glade was Washington, trying to place the troops in order for retreat.

“They are going to fire on Washington!” cried Dave. Scarcely had he spoken when Barringford’s weapon rang out and one of the French soldiers fell.

The others looked toward the split in the rocks and just then Dave fired, but missed his mark. The French soldiers gave a yell and turned their aim on our friends. Several bullets hit the rocks and one cutting across Dave’s cheek left a mark which the lad carried to his grave.

“You are hurt!” cried Barringford.

“It’s nothing,” answered Dave, putting up his hand. “But we must get out of here!”

They fell down and crawled off, and were not a minute too soon, for presently the French came to the spot in a body. In the meantime the other Rangers had left the vicinity and now the grenadiers were in full retreat.

“Our men have moved in this direction,” said the old hunter, as they stopped to reload. “We had better go after them, or we’ll be left behind.”

“It’s hot work!” panted Dave. “I wish there was a brook handy, where I could wash my face and get a drink.”

But nothing was at hand, and he had to push on, with his face covered with blood, dust and gun soot, making him look as fierce as any Indian. The yelling kept on, and also the firing, but they noticed that both came from a considerable distance.

“This day is a loss to us,” said Barringford, sadly. “And Braddock is responsible. With all the soldiers in the woods we could have fought our way to the fort beyond a doubt.”

“This ends the hope of releasing father, if he is alive,” returned Dave, sadly.

They went on, until they came to another clump of brushwood. Here they found two Rangers, each badly wounded and moaning because of his hurts.

“Dobley!” cried Barringford, as he recognized one of the unfortunates. “This is rough on ye.”

“Save me, Barringford,” answered the man addressed. “Don’t let the Indians come and scalp me.”

“Save me, too,” put in the other Ranger.

Barringford and Dave came to a halt and gazed at each other in perplexity. They were perfectly willing to save the men, but how could it be done?

“I can carry one of ’em,” said the old hunter to Dave. “But the other——”

“I will see what I can do,” answered the young soldier. “Perhaps we can get to some sort of safe place.”

Slinging their rifles over their backs, they took up the wounded Rangers and placed them over their shoulders. Then Barringford struck out through the forest, hoping to make a wide detour and thus gain the river at the point to which the main body of the English army was retreating.

A hundred yards were covered, when a wild yelling sounded out close at hand, and in a twinkle the little party was surrounded. Several shots rang out and the Ranger Dave was carrying was instantly killed. Then Dave himself felt a sudden sharp pain in the back of the head and pitched forward insensible.

CHAPTER XXXI
FATHER AND SON

When Dave regained his senses all was dark around him and his head ached as it had never ached before. He was lying flat on his back, close to some brushwood growing beside the river. At a short distance glowed the dying embers of a camp-fire and around this the youth made out the forms of a score of Indians, four on guard and the others sleeping.

Hardly realizing what he was doing, he put forth a hand and felt the clothing of somebody beside him. With an effort he turned his head to look in the direction and weak as he was gave a start. The person was the Ranger Barringford had been carrying and he was stone dead and scalped.

Under ordinary conditions Dave would have left the place horrified. But on trying to sit up he found himself so weak that the effort was a failure and he fell back with his head in a whirl and sharp pains flashing across his eyes. He had been struck down with the flat side of a tomahawk and although his skull was not cracked it was sadly bruised.

“I am in for it now,” was his dismal thought. “If the French allow it these redskins will certainly burn me at the stake. I wonder where Sam is?”

In vain he asked himself the question. His old friend was nowhere in sight. On the other side of him lay two English soldiers, one dead like the Ranger, and the other wounded in the breast. Presently the latter began to moan piteously.

“Boys, don’t be a-leavin’ me ’ere, so far from ’ome,” he panted. “Take me with yer. An’ give me a drop of water, won’t yer?” And then he began to mumble to himself of home and of some friends he had left behind in “Lunnon town.” He was a tall, heavy-set grenadier, and his beautiful uniform was dyed deep with his life’s blood.

Dave, too, was thirsty and would have given a good deal for a drink from the river which rolled so tantalizingly near. Once he thought to call on the Indian guard, but then grated his teeth and remained silent.

“They would only kick me for disturbing them,” he reasoned, and truthfully. “They are only leaving me alive so that they may torture me. Oh, if only I knew what had become of Sam!”

Slowly the night wore away until with the first streak of dawn the camp was astir. Dave had fallen into a light doze from which he was aroused by an Indian raising him up on the end of his moccasin.

“White dog get up!” ordered the Indian, darkly. “Sleep heap too much.”

“I’ll get up if I can,” answered Dave, and did his best to pull himself together. It was hard work and as he stood on his feet his head spun around and around. He clutched at the tree behind him and sank down again.

The Indian muttered something under his breath and went back to his companions. Probably he thought the young soldier was going to die and he wanted to know if he had not better scalp Dave then and there and leave him where he fell.

But now a shouting was heard at a distance, and presently a dozen or more Indians came rushing into the camp, followed by twice that number of French soldiers. They had found a body of English grenadiers in the woods half a mile back of the river,—soldiers who had failed to get back to the main army.

Here was a fresh quarry for the bloodthirsty red men, and forgetting about Dave and the wounded grenadier beside him, they took up their arms and made off, the French soldiers with them.

“Gone!” muttered the young soldier, when the last of the enemy had vanished from the glade. “If only they don’t come back!”

“Come back?” came from the grenadier, wildly. “They must come back! They mustn’t let poor Peter Chanter die like this. Take me ’ome, boys! No more of the King’s shilling for me! Take me ’ome!” And he continued to rave, being now out of his head for the want of care and nourishment.

The day was one Dave never forgot. A storm was at hand and the breeze swept mournfully through the giant trees and through the dense brushwood. The birds, frightened by the fierce shooting of the day before, had flown, and the wild animals had likewise taken themselves off. From a great distance came an occasional shot.

Crawling on hands and knees, Dave took his way to the edge of the river and at the risk of plunging in, procured a drink and bathed his aching head. All the while the wounded grenadier kept moaning and talking wildly, and crying for a drink. With a great effort the young soldier filled his cup for him and he drained it with strange gulpings.

“Thank you, Bob!” he murmured. “Thank ye, old boy. When we gits ’ome, I’ll make it right with yer, Bob.” And then he sank back as if to sleep. He never stirred afterward.

At last the dull day faded away as it had come. The heavy raindrops came pattering on the leaves of the trees and presently struck upon Dave’s upturned face, for the young soldier was once more resting flat on his back, with his head clasped in his hands. A frightened squirrel came hopping back to his former haunts. Catching sight of Dave, he sat up and stared for a moment, then vanished as he had come.

The youth was now hungry and feeling a little stronger, crawled over to where the Indians had had their camp-fire. Here he found the remains of some corn cake and a bit of meat which he devoured slowly and painfully. The rain furnished him with water to wash down the scanty food, and again he slept.

When Dave awoke he felt surprisingly stronger and got up with scarcely an effort. He saw that the grenadier was dead and could not help but shudder. How awful to travel so many miles across the ocean and then meet a fate like this!

Where should he turn? What should he do? These were the questions he asked himself, over and over again, without arriving at any satisfactory answer. He knew that the day had been lost to the English, that Braddock was shot down, and that Washington had taken command in one last effort to save the remnant of the troops from annihilation. But where were Washington and the other soldiers? Where was Sam Barringford?

“They must be retreating eastward,” he reasoned, at last. “That would be the only way for them to go. I’ll have to go likewise, and be careful I don’t fall into the clutches of those redskins again.”

The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when he saw a sight that filled him first with dismay and then with joy. Three Indians were coming along the river, directly toward the glade. He felt they must be enemies. But as they drew closer he recognized White Buffalo and two followers.

“White Buffalo!” he cried, with all the strength he could command.

“Who calls?” was the instant question, and the Indians leaped behind the trees.

“It is I, White Buffalo, Dave Morris! I am alone, so you have nothing to fear.”

Upon hearing this White Buffalo ran forward and was soon at Dave’s side. He was pleased to learn that the young soldier was not dangerously wounded and had one of his followers bind Dave’s head up in a mash made of healing herbs.

“The English have gone back,” said the Indian chief. “They lost many soldiers and would have lost more had it not been for Washington. He carries a charmed life and the enemy cannot kill him. They are safe on the retreat.”

“And what brings you here?”

“’Tis a strange thing—more strange since I have met you. I came to look for the white boy’s father.”

“My father?” ejaculated Dave. “Is he here?”

“I hoped to find him here. In the great battle I met Yellow Ear, who was once at the trading-post with your father. He is a dog of a Miami and I fell upon him and wounded him greatly. To save his life he told me of your father, who had been a prisoner at the fort. Your father had escaped and was in this wilderness. So White Buffalo came to look for him—and found his son.”

“In this wilderness! My father!” murmured Dave. “And have you found any trace of him yet?”

“White Buffalo has not.”

“Was he in the fight?”

“Who can tell that? White Buffalo will look for him—he can do no more.”

“And I will help look—if I can walk. Tell me, have you seen anything of Sam Barringford?”

The Indian chief shook his head. “They are all gone—this part of the wilderness is deserted,” he said.

His words, however, were not true, for scarcely had he spoken when a rifle shot rang out and one of his followers fell, mortally wounded. The shot came from across the river, and looking in that direction Dave and the others saw four Indians behind the brushwood. Leaping quickly to the shelter of the trees, White Buffalo and his remaining follower fired and one enemy fell. Then of a sudden came two shots from further up the stream and two more of the enemy went down. At this the fourth Indian turned and fled into the bushes and they heard him crashing along until the sounds lost themselves in the distance.

“Father!” was all Dave could say.—Page 293.

“Hullo! are you English up thar!” came the unexpected cry.

“It is Sam Barringford’s voice,” exclaimed Dave. “Sam! Sam!” he called, with all the strength he could muster. “Come this way, Sam! It is Dave Morris and White Buffalo!”

“Wall, I never!” ejaculated the old hunter, and in a moment came more crashing of bushes and Barringford leaped into the glade. Behind him came another white man, gun in hand, and clothed in tattered buckskin. He limped as he ran and his forehead was bandaged up in a handkerchief.

“Father!” was all Dave could say and tottered forward to meet his parent, who caught him in his arms. “Father!”

“Dave, my son!” cried James Morris, joyfully. “How wonderful! I never dreamed of this!”

“Nor I father, although White Buffalo was just telling me about you. You have been a prisoner at the fort.”

“Yes, I’ve been there a long time—ever since Bevoir got the French and Indians to attack the post. They were going to ship me to Canada on the day I gave the guards the slip and got away. But you are wounded.”

“Yes, and so are you.”

“I was in a good deal of the fighting day before yesterday and a bullet grazed my temple. I fell into the river and was almost drowned. When I recovered, I ran across Barringford, who said he had been with you, but the Indians had separated you and him and he was wounded in the side shortly afterward. Both of us lay low in the bushes until we started up the stream to look for you. Barringford saw White Buffalo just about the time those Indians fired into your party, and we made up our mind to come to the rescue.”

CHAPTER XXXII
BACK TO THE HOMESTEAD—CONCLUSION

It was a happy meeting, and for some time Dave could think of but little excepting that his father was restored to him. While the two compared notes upon what had passed, Barringford, White Buffalo, and the other Indian went on guard, to prevent a surprise by any enemy who might be moving toward them.

But no one came near them, and an hour later the whole party moved off, toward a trail which White Buffalo was certain would sooner or later, bring them to the encampment of what was left of the English army.

“It was a sad disaster,” said James Morris, after telling his story and after listening to all Dave had to say of himself and those left at the homestead. “Barringford told me how General Braddock walked into the trap, which was set with the greatest of care by the French and the Indians.”

“Washington would not have been caught that way, had he led,” returned Dave. “I suppose this campaign is done for,” he added, soberly.

“More than likely, Dave. The victory will elate the French, and our people will be correspondingly cast down. It will take a good while before anything more is done, I feel certain.”

“And what of the post?”

“As you know, part of it was burnt down during the attack. I heard at the fort that Jean Bevoir was repairing it and had taken possession. Well, such are the fortunes of war,” and James Morris sighed deeply.

“Didn’t you save anything, father?”

“Oh, yes, I saved my furs and a good part of the stores. I suspected the attack and sent the things by pack train to Lambert’s post. Yesterday I heard, through a soldier, that Lambert sent everything of his own and mine to Winchester. So the loss is not near so great as it might otherwise have been,” concluded Mr. Morris.

The march through the wilderness was slow and painful and at every half mile Dave had to rest, and most of the others were glad enough to do the same. Once there came an alarm, and Barringford and White Buffalo went forward to investigate. They discovered two grenadiers and a Ranger, who had lost themselves in the woods. These soldiers were glad enough to join them, and this made the little party correspondingly stronger.

They did not dare to fire at any game, and lived entirely on fish taken from brooks flowing into the river and on some corn bread Mr. Morris had with him. Thus three days were spent in the wilderness when, late one afternoon, they came in sight of a soldiers’ camp.

“The Rangers!” cried Dave, and he was right, and soon they were among the Virginians, or rather among what was left of them, for the Rangers had lost nearly three-quarters of their command.

All was still in confusion, for those in charge of the baggage train had fled as soon as the news of the defeat reached them, and the drivers had taken a large number of the horses along. The camp was filled with the wounded, and so many officers were down that in some instances the oldest private had to command what was left of his company. The grenadiers, especially, were utterly downcast and their one thought was to return to some safe English town without delay. They were brave, and on an open field of battle would have done well, but the Indian method of fighting from behind trees, rocks, and bushes unnerved them.

At Will’s Creek there had been erected Fort Cumberland, and to this place of safety the army now directed its footsteps and Washington sent on ahead for extra horses to carry the wounded. The worst of the panic over, Colonel Dunbar assumed command, but this English officer was still so full of fear that he would not listen to any plan of Washington’s for a stand at Fort Cumberland. It would be foolhardy, the French were too powerful and the Indians aiding them too numerous, to dream of such a thing, was the way in which Dunbar reasoned, and in the end he did not stop until he had pushed his way across Pennsylvania to Philadelphia. His sick and wounded he left at Will’s Creek, under the care of the colonists.

Yet no other attack came from the French, and for a good reason. The garrison at Fort Duquesne was much reduced, and as a matter of fact, the “army” that had attacked Braddock’s troops had been nothing but a detachment of several hundred French regulars and Canadians and six or seven hundred Indians! Had this detachment been met as Washington and others wished to meet it, victory it is likely would have been upon the side of the English. As it was, while the fight was going on, the commander at the fort was considering whether he should withdraw in secret or wait and surrender upon honorable terms!

The long, weary march to Will’s Creek told upon poor Dave and when the settlement was gained he looked but the shadow of himself. He was glad to find his Uncle Joe awaiting their arrival and equally glad to obtain permission from Washington to go home on sick leave. With him went Barringford, who was now attached to his protégé more than ever. White Buffalo had left the party when the fort had been sighted, saying he would come in when the snow came. The next day the Indian and his followers were off to avenge the fall of their brethren.

“It’s not a joyful home-coming,” remarked Joseph Morris, to his brother. “But I am glad that you and Dave are alive.”

“But the loss at the post—” began James Morris, anxiously.

“Let that drop, James. The loss is nothing compared to what it would have been had you lost your life out there. In the future you may be more successful.”

“Then you think we will eventually conquer the French and Indians?”

“I do—and it will not take many years to do it either,” replied Joseph Morris, and his words proved true, as history testifies.

When Dave and the others came in sight of the homestead, all even to little Nell, ran forward to greet them, and it was Mrs. Morris who first folded the young soldier in her arms and kissed him.

“I am so glad to see you back!” she cried. “You must not go away again!”

“Not for the present, Aunt Lucy,” answered Dave. “I think I’ve earned a good rest.”

“I’ve got a little news to tell,” said Henry, after all had entered the cabin. “Do you remember the horses which disappeared? Well, father and I got them back last week, from some Indians who were going to turn them over to the soldiers for thirty pounds apiece.”

“You’ve got Fanny back?” cried Dave, and his face lit up with pleasure. “That’s splendid! Did you have any trouble?”

“No, as soon as the Indians saw father they ran away. One of them was that rascal Turtle Foot, and I suppose he thought father had it in for him on account of the way he treated you at Winchester.”

Henry was quite himself again, and Rodney was also doing finely, and had to tell how he could now work on the farm almost as well as anybody. He had been a great help during Dave’s absence.

“The work seems to strengthen me,” he said. “And, oh, Dave, you don’t know how good it feels to walk around once more like other folks!”

“I can believe you—now I am under the weather myself,” replied Dave.

“The home looks quite natural,” remarked James Morris, as he dropped into a comfortable chair. “Quite natural, and I am very glad to get back to it again.”

“And so am I glad,” murmured Dave. And then, as little Nell climbed up on his knee, he added: “I can tell you what, war isn’t all fun and glory, after all.”

A few words more and I will bring to a close this tale of a young pioneer’s war adventures while “With Washington in the West.”

After the defeat of Braddock came the defeat of English arms in other quarters, and as a consequence the whole frontier was in a state of excitement and terror. At Winchester and at Fort Cumberland there were frequent reports that all of the Indians were rising for a general massacre of the whites. These reports proved, upon investigation, to be untrue, but for many weeks the settlers, including the Morrises, slept upon their arms and kept their horses in readiness for immediate flight.

There could be but one result of all this, and early in the year following war was formally declared between France and England, and each nation set to work to send large forces to America in the hope of conquering its rival. These forces united with the colonists, and once again the tocsin of war sounded, spreading gradually from Virginia on the south to Canada on the north. Excitement was again at a fever heat, and in the midst of this, Dave Morris and his cousin Henry, now as well as ever, thought it their duty to go again to the front, and with them went old Sam Barringford. What their further adventures were will be related in a second volume of this series, entitled: “Marching on Niagara; or, The Soldier Boys of the Old Frontier.”

Yet for the time being Mrs. Morris was glad to have the boys at home, and shook her head sadly when they spoke of going away.

“You must stay here for a long time,” she would say. “You did your duty nobly. Let others do as much.”

“Thet’s right,” Barringford would add. “The lads have the blood of their fathers in ’em, God bless ’em!”

“Well, who wouldn’t want to fight, when following such a leader as Washington?” came from Dave. “Why, a fellow simply can’t help himself.”

“A wonderful man—truly a wonderful man,” put in the youth’s father reflectively. “I feel certain we shall hear a good deal more of him in years to come.”

And we have heard a good deal more, haven’t we, reader?

COLONIAL SERIES

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER

FIRST VOLUME

WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST
Or a Soldier Boy’s Battles in the Wilderness

12mo Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute 302 pages $1.25

WASHINGTON’S earlier life has received scant attention, notwithstanding its possibilities. Mr. Stratemeyer has woven into an excellent story something of Washington’s youthful experience as a surveyor, leading on to the always thrilling Braddock’s defeat. The hero, David Morris, is several years younger than Washington, with whom he becomes intimately associated. Pictures of pioneer life are given; scenes with friendly Indians; and old-time games.

SECOND VOLUME

MARCHING ON NIAGARA
Or The Soldier Boys of the Old Frontier

12mo Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute Price $1.25

THIS tale is complete in itself, but many of its characters have appeared in “With Washington in the West.”

The story relates the doings of two young soldiers who join the Colonial forces in a march on Fort Niagara, during the time of the war with France, when the whole territory between the Blue Ridge and the Great Lakes was in a state of unrest. Many side lights are thrown into the colonial homes, and much useful information is given of the pioneers who helped to make our country what it is to-day.

David Morris is a fine fellow, and about him is woven a fine “Injun” story that is sure to delight the boys.—Universalist Leader, Boston.

Mr. Stratemeyer is an entertaining story-teller, and his books are clean.—Herald, Rochester, N. Y.

THIRD VOLUME

AT THE FALL OF MONTREAL
Or a Soldier Boy’s Final Victory

Illustrated by A. B. Shute 12mo Cloth Price $1.25

THIS volume relates the adventures of Dave Morris and his cousin Henry during the two last campaigns against the French for the possession of Canada and the territory below the great lakes. The scaling of the heights of Quebec under General Wolfe, and the memorable battle on the Plains of Abraham, are given in detail. There are many stirring scenes of battle, but the tale is not all of war. Pictures of the rough-and-ready camp life of that day are given, and there are also adventures while fishing and hunting, and with the Indians.

Since the passing of Henry and Alger, Mr. Stratemeyer controls the field in this particular branch of literature. The chief charm of his stories lies in the fact that an enormous quantity of valuable information, collected from the most reliable sources, is deftly woven into the narrative without taking away from the interest.—Philadelphia Inquirer.

FOURTH VOLUME

ON THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC
Or Pioneer Boys of the Ohio

12mo Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute Price $1.25

THIS volume tells of times in our country immediately after the war with France for the possession of Canada. The tale is complete in itself, but in it are introduced a number of characters which have already figured in this series, including that brave young soldier, Dave Morris, his sturdy cousin, Henry, and their common friend, Sam Barringford. Pontiac, the great chief of the Ottawas, is also a leading figure and much is told of his work in organizing his great conspiracy against the whites. A fight with the Indians and the French in a snowstorm is especially realistic, and the entire book carries with it the atmosphere of colonial times.

Boys are attracted to stories by Edward Stratemeyer, and they will enjoy “On the Trail of Pontiac.”—Plain Dealer, Cleveland, O.

THE FAMOUS “OLD GLORY SERIES”

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER

Author of “The Bound to Succeed Series,” “The Ship and Shore Series,” “Colonial Series,” “Pan-American Series,” etc.

Six volumes     Cloth     Illustrated     Price per volume $1.25

UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA
Or The War Fortunes of a Castaway

A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA
Or Fighting for the Single Star

FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS
Or Under Schley on the Brooklyn

UNDER OTIS IN THE PHILIPPINES
Or A Young Officer in the Tropics

THE CAMPAIGN OF THE JUNGLE
Or Under Lawton through Luzon

UNDER MACARTHUR IN LUZON
Or Last Battles in the Philippines

“A boy once addicted to Stratemeyer stays by him.”—The Living Church.

“The boys’ delight—the ‘Old Glory Series.’”—The Christian Advocate, New York.

“Stratemeyer’s style suits the boys.”—John Terhune, Supt. of Public Instruction, Bergen Co., New Jersey.

“Mr. Stratemeyer is in a class by himself when it comes to writing about American heroes, their brilliant doings on land and sea.”—Times, Boston.

“Mr. Stratemeyer has written a series of books which, while historically correct and embodying the most important features of the Spanish-American War and the rebellion of the Filipinos, are sufficiently interwoven with fiction to render them most entertaining to young readers.”—The Call, San Francisco.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., Boston

American Boys’ Life of
Theodore Roosevelt

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 325 pages Illustrated from photographs $1.25

EVER since the enormous success of Mr. Stratemeyer’s “American Boys’ Life of William McKinley” there has been an urgent demand that he follow the volume with one on the life of our present President, and this has now been done with a care and a faithfulness certain to win immediate appreciation everywhere.

The book covers the whole life of our honored executive step by step, as schoolboy, college student, traveler, author, State assemblyman, Civil Service and Police Commissioner, Governor of New York, as a leader of the Rough Riders in Cuba, as Vice-President, and finally as President. Many chapters have also been devoted to Mr. Roosevelt’s numerous adventures as a hunter and as a ranchman (true stories which are bound to be dear to the heart of all boys who love the strenuous life), and full particulars are given of the daring battles for Cuban liberty, in which our worthy President, as Lieutenant-Colonel of the Rough Riders, took such a conspicuous part.

The Appendix contains a Chronology of Theodore Roosevelt, and also brief extracts from some of his most famous speeches and addresses.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid, on receipt of price, by the publishers.

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
BOSTON

The Stratemeyer Popular Series

10 volumes Illustrated and handsomely bound in gold and colors Attractive new cover designs Price $.75 per volume

SINCE the passing of Henty, Edward Stratemeyer is the most widely read of all living writers for the young, and each year extends the vast and enthusiastic throng. In obedience to the popular demand we have established this Popular Series comprising ten representative books by this great writer, on which special prices can be made. The stories are bright and breezy, moral in tone, and while full of adventure, are not sensational. These books, at a popular price, will be a rare treat for the boys and girls.

1. The Last Cruise of the Spitfire Or Luke Foster’s Strange Voyage

2. Reuben Stone’s Discovery Or The Young Miller of Torrent Bend

3. True to Himself Or Roger Strong’s Struggle for Place

4. Richard Dare’s Venture Or Striking Out for Himself

5. Oliver Bright’s Search Or The Mystery of a Mine

6. To Alaska for Gold Or The Fortune Hunters of the Yukon

7. The Young Auctioneers Or The Polishing of a Rolling Stone

8. Bound to be an Electrician Or Franklin Bell’s Success

9. Shorthand Tom the Reporter Or The Exploits of a Bright Boy

10. Fighting for His Own Or The Fortunes of a Young Artist

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., Boston

SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE SERIES

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER

VOLUME ONE

ON TO PEKIN
Or Old Glory in China

Cloth    330 pages    Illustrated by A. B. Shute    $1.25

THE hero, Gilbert Pennington, goes from the Philippines with the Ninth Regiment to take part in the rescue of the beleaguered British Embassy at Pekin by the international forces. Mr. Stratemeyer has risen to the occasion by giving, in addition to one of his very best stories, a store of information concerning China and the Chinese, conveyed in a natural and entertaining manner.

The demands of boy readers are peculiar, and the author who can satisfy them, not once or twice, but uniformly, must possess rare ability in an extremely difficult field. Such an author is Edward Stratemeyer.—Sunday News, Newark, N. J.

VOLUME TWO

UNDER THE MIKADO’S FLAG
Or Young Soldiers of Fortune

320 pages    Cloth    Illustrated by A. B. Shute    Price $1.25

“UNDER the Mikado’s Flag” relates the adventures of two young Americans in Korea and Manchuria during the outbreak of the great war between Russia and Japan, one of the leading characters being Gilbert Pennington, the hero of “On to Pekin,” and the other, Ben Russell, who with his brothers, Larry and Walter, is so well known to the thousands of readers of the famous “Old Glory Series.” It closes with the great Battle of Liao-Yang, and is as valuable for the information conveyed as it is interesting as a story.

Mr. Stratemeyer is undoubtedly improving very greatly on the average book for boys.—Star, St. Louis, Mo.

He knows how to attract and hold boy readers.—Evening Standard, New Bedford, Mass.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

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Table of Contents

- WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST
- PREFACE
- CONTENTS
- LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
- CHAPTER I THE HOMESTEAD IN THE CLEARING
- CHAPTER II WHITE BUFFALO BRINGS NEWS
- CHAPTER III IN THE FOREST
- CHAPTER IV DEER SHOOTING BY MOONLIGHT
- CHAPTER V AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
- CHAPTER VI GEORGE WASHINGTON THE SURVEYOR
- CHAPTER VII THE CAMP IN THE MOUNTAIN GAP
- CHAPTER VIII ON TO ANNAPOLIS
- CHAPTER IX A STORM IN THE MOUNTAINS
- CHAPTER X AN UNSUCCESSFUL MISSION

- CHAPTER XI DAVE BECOMES WASHINGTON’S ASSISTANT

- CHAPTER XII SURVEYING ALONG THE SHENANDOAH
- CHAPTER XIII A BEAR HUNT
- CHAPTER XIV HOME COMING IN THE SNOW

- CHAPTER XV THE SITUATION BETWEEN THE ENGLISH, FRENCH, AND INDIANS

- CHAPTER XVI DAVE’S DEPARTURE FOR THE WEST
- CHAPTER XVII CARRIED DOWN THE RIVER
- CHAPTER XVIII DAVE VISITS AN INDIAN VILLAGE
- CHAPTER XIX THE TRADING-POST ON THE KINOTAH
- CHAPTER XX AN ALARMING DISCOVERY
- CHAPTER XXI THE DEFENCE OF THE TRADING-POST

- CHAPTER XXII WASHINGTON’S MISSION TO FRENCH CREEK

- CHAPTER XXIII AN INDIAN’S TREACHERY
- CHAPTER XXIV WASHINGTON AT WILL’S CREEK
- CHAPTER XXV SOLDIERS OF THE WILDERNESS
- CHAPTER XXVI THE RETREAT TO FORT NECESSITY
- CHAPTER XXVII BATTLE AT GREAT MEADOWS
- CHAPTER XXVIII THE FALL OF THE TRADING-POST
- CHAPTER XXIX BRADDOCK’S DEFEAT AND FALL
- CHAPTER XXX FIGHTING IN THE FOREST
- CHAPTER XXXI FATHER AND SON

- CHAPTER XXXII BACK TO THE HOMESTEAD—CONCLUSION

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE