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.