Читать книгу Trail and Trading Post; or, The Young Hunters of the Ohio - Stratemeyer Edward - Страница 11

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The news that the Indians were still in that vicinity alarmed James Morris exceedingly, and he shook his head sadly when he remembered that it had been arranged for Rodney to start for the east with little Nell and the twins on the following Monday.

“I hardly think it will be safe,” said he, to Rodney. “I should not wish anything to happen to you and the others.”

“There are six men to go along, besides Sam Barringford,” answered the young soldier who had fought so bravely at the battle of Bushy Run. “There can be only small bodies of Indians around, and they will not dare to attack us if we keep a good watch.”

“The Indians may unite for an attack,” said Mr. Morris. “Better wait until we are certain the way is clear.” And so the start for the Morris homestead was delayed.

Dave and Henry had returned to Fort Pitt on Friday night, and Saturday morning Captain Ecuyer sent out a body of fifty regulars and six frontiersmen, to scour the vicinity for Indians. With the number went Sam Barringford and another old hunter, Tony Jadwin, both of whom knew that territory well. Jadwin had been Mr. Morris’s right-hand man at the trading post, and was counted an Indian trailer of extraordinary ability.

“I’d like to go with them myself,” said Dave, but his father demurred. Henry was glad enough to give his ankle a rest, and Rodney thought he had better reserve his strength for the trip eastward.

“Oh, Henry, please don’t go out among the Indians again!” cried little Nell, to her brother. “And don’t you go either, Cousin Dave,” she added.

“We are not going just yet,” said Henry, giving his sister a kiss.

“Oh, I hate the Indians so!” went on the miss, with a stamp of her foot.

“Not all Indians,” replied Dave, with a smile. “Don’t forget White Buffalo.”

“Oh, he is only an Indian in looks,” answered Nell. “He has a white man’s heart—Uncle Sam told me so.”

“By the way, where is White Buffalo?” asked Henry.

“He has gone to visit his tribe,” answered Rodney. “He thinks the different factions will unite now and sue for peace. Sir William Johnson is going to give them all a chance to bury the hatchet, and White Buffalo thinks it is a grand chance for his tribe to unite once more and live in peace.”

What Rodney said about Sir William Johnson was true. The Indian Superintendent had sent agents to all of the chiefs of the Six Nations, and also to the chiefs of the tribes along the St. Lawrence and in Canada. The Indians were to meet the Superintendent at Johnson Hall in central New York State. Many came to the conference, which began early in September and was productive of some good, although not a great deal. The Iroquois were induced to send messages to other tribes in the west, urging them to bury the hatchet, and they also sent word to the Delawares telling them not to listen to the western tribes that desired to plunge them into further bloodshed. The Senecas would not come to the conference, and they continued to kill and plunder whenever the opportunity presented itself, and the tribes from along the Mississippi did likewise. White Buffalo’s tribe of Delawares continued to remain split, much to the old chief’s sorrow, one part aiding the English, and another part aiding the Indians, and the French who still held certain trading posts and refused to give them up.

The regulars and frontiersmen to sally forth from Fort Pitt after the enemy, were gone four days. When they returned they announced that practically all the red men had departed either for the north or the west. They had encountered one band of fleeing men under Moon Eye and had slain two of the Indians. One regular had been shot in the arm, a wound that was painful but not serious. They had come upon the torn carcass of the bear, which the wolves had used for a feast after the Indians had cut away the hide and some choice steaks, and had found the torn body of one cub. Sam Barringford had also gotten a long-distance shot at a buffalo, probably the one followed by Dave, but the animal had gotten away from him.

“I think we can make the trip eastward in safety now,” said Rodney, to his uncle. “Evidently the redskins are pretty badly scared. It may be safer to make it now than later on. Besides, we don’t want to wait till winter is on us.”

The matter was talked over at great length, and finally it was decided that the start for the east should be made at the end of a week. Rodney and Barringford were to go, taking with them Nell and the twins. A settler named Dobson was also going, along with his wife, who promised to keep an eye on Nell, Tom, and Artie. The escort was to be composed of five frontiersmen, and ten regular soldiers who had received their discharge from the service, and who were anxious to get back to Annapolis, where they belonged. The party were to take with them six pack-horses, all belonging to Mr. Morris.

This plan of departing for the east put Rodney in better spirits, for he wanted to see home again, not being used to being away, as were Dave and Henry. Everything was gotten in readiness and long letters were written by those left at the fort. In his letter to his brother, James Morris stated that he intended to go back to his trading post on the Ohio as soon as it seemed fairly safe to do so, and that, as agreed upon before, he would take Dave and Henry with him.

“Good-bye, Rodney,” said Dave, when it came time to part. “Take good care of yourself, and good care of Nell and the twins.”

“And you take care of yourself,” answered the former cripple. “Don’t start for the trading post until it is perfectly safe.”

When the actual parting came Nell’s eyes were full of tears and she kissed her brother Henry, Uncle James, and Cousin Dave over and over again. Even the twins hated to leave the fort, where they had been general favorites since their arrival.

“Tom wants to stay by the soldiers,” said one.

“Artie wants to stay by the soldiers, too, and by Dave!” cried the other.

They were sturdy little chaps, the picture of health, and Dave and Henry could not resist giving each a toss and a hug.

When the little expedition started Dave, Henry, and Mr. Morris accompanied them for several miles of the journey. Then all reached the top of a hill, and here those to remain at the fort halted. The others went on and presently a bend in the road hid them from view.

“I pray to heaven that they have a safe journey home,” said James Morris, with much feeling.

As my old readers know, there were two roads running between Fort Pitt and the east—one the old trail used by General Braddock on his disastrous campaign and the other used by General Forbes on his march to victory. The Braddock road was now but little used, and Rodney and his friends took to the other, as being perhaps safer and easier.

The advance was in regular order, half of the frontiersmen and regulars going ahead and the others keeping to the rear. In the center came the pack-horses, with Rodney and Dobson in charge. With Mrs. Dobson were Nell and the twins, who walked or rode, as suited them.

In these days of fast trains, trolley cars, and automobiles it is difficult to imagine what such a journey as this before the colonists meant. Instead of covering thirty to sixty miles an hour they were content to cover ten to twenty miles between sunrise and sunset. The road lay over the hills and through the mountains, with mighty forests on all sides, where the ring of the woodsman’s axe had scarcely been heard. Great rivers were to be crossed, and if the bridge was down or out of repair they had to find another place to cross or else stop to mend the structure. Where the road lay along a mountain side the rain would sometimes cover it with mud and stones to a depth of a foot or more, making the advance extra laborious. Here and there the wind had blown a tree down over their path, and then they would have to either work their way around it, or else cut through or over it. In some spots the tree-branches were so low the horses could scarcely get under them, and here all the travelers would have to advance on foot, and see to it that none of the packs were lost. Once a pack caught on a sharp bough and tore open, scattering the contents in all directions.

“Won’t catch me coming out here again,” grumbled Asa Dobson. “Folks out Baltimore way said I could make my fortune in them western countries, but I don’t see it. Them Injuns nearly killed me and my wife twict, and they stole my hoss, and I’m going to stay in the east after this, and work for my old master, the Earl of Chester. The Injuns can have them western countries for all o’ me!”

“Don’t you want to be your own master and own your own plantation?” asked Rodney.

“No, not if I’ve got to fight Injuns to keep it,” answered Dobson. He was used to life around the larger towns, and the loneliness of the wilderness struck him with a peculiar terror.

However the journey had its bright spots. The men in advance always secured plenty of game—deer, rabbits, squirrels, wild turkeys, and partridges—and the children often stopped to pick the wild flowers which still bloomed along the roadside. At nightfall they would go into camp beside some brook or spring of pure mountain water, and there would gather around a generous campfire, to eat the main meal of the day and make themselves at home. During the evening hours Sam Barringford would tell the children wonderful stories of hunting, or of his army adventures while out with Dave and Henry,—tales which they listened to with much interest.

“Tom is going to be a soldier when he grows up,” said one of the little boys.

“Artie is going to be a soldier too, and have a beautiful uniform,” put in the other promptly. They spoke thus in childish fashion, little dreaming of the days to come when they would both shoulder their muskets in the War for Independence.

So far they had met nobody on the road. When Sunday came they spent the day in a much-needed rest. Nell repeated to Rodney some Bible verses and tried to teach them to the twins.

On Monday afternoon those in advance saw a pack-train approaching, composed of eight horses and one cart, and in charge of six frontiersmen and a trader named Packerson.

“Where bound, Packerson?” asked Sam Barringford.

“Fort Pitt,” was the short reply. Packerson was a rather silent man, of few words.

“Come straight through from Cumberland?”

“Yes.”

“See any Injuns?”

“Seven. Had a fight with ’em too,” answered the trader. Then his train came to a halt, and the others at once surrounded him for particulars of the encounter.