CHAPTER II

THE BIRCH-BARK MESSAGE

WHEN Bob Armstrong parted from his brother he quickened his steps. The next trap was not very far away; but, as he had just said, he did not like the looks of the cloudy sky, and began to fear that, after all, the break in the heavy rainy spell was going to prove of but short duration.

He knew that the little mother in that cabin on the other side of the swollen water would be worried about her boys, and Bob disliked to give her any more reason for anxiety than could be helped.

As he walked along he thought of what Sandy had said about his determination, sooner or later, to follow the river down past Fort Washington, and far away to where it united with the greatest of watercourses, the mighty Mississippi. Bob, himself, was not so indifferent to the beckoning finger of adventure as his words to his brother might lead one to believe. He, too, had listened to those marvelous stories told by trappers and traders, and, when twice a flatboat had landed at their rude little float, giving the settlers a chance to talk with the bold souls who were bent on risking the unknown dangers that lay beyond, Bob had hung upon the adventurers' words, and had longed to join the party as it continued its voyage down the Ohio into the unknown land. He had, however, always thrust aside the thought, feeling that neither he nor Sandy ought to think of leaving the father, mother and sister Kate, who made up the Armstrong household.

As he approached the spot where the trap lay, Bob once more became the trapper, and forgot all else. He saw that success had come to them, for there was certainly some animal in the trap.

It had been set in a certain little gully, where the boys had discovered the tracks of several mink, together with their holes. The tiny stream that had trickled through this same gully in the preceding fall, was now a rushing torrent, and the trap had lately been set high up on the bank, just in front of a particularly inviting opening, where many tracks told of its being a favorite haunt for the wandering males of the furry tribe he hunted.

Yes, it was a mink he had captured, and really the largest and finest of the whole winter's catch. Bob felt pleased to make this discovery, for every pelt which they could gather meant more comforts in the Armstrong home.

The mink seemed unusually fierce, and put up a savage fight when Bob started to dispose of him; but the young trapper would not be denied, and he quickly put an end to the animal's sufferings.

As a usual thing the traps for mink and muskrats were set in such fashion that, after being caught, the animals would jump into the water, and be drowned by the weight of the trap; so that it was seldom they found one alive that had to be disposed of in this manner.

Having reset the trap, Bob sat down to wait for the coming of Sandy, and, while sitting there, he drew something out of an inner pocket of his hunting tunic, which he examined with considerable interest, as well as with many shakes of the head, that told of bewilderment.

The object was a soft and pliable piece of clean birch bark, upon the brown side of which were traced several rude drawings, such as a child might make. This had been done with some sharp instrument, possibly the point of a knife.

Bob Armstrong knew well that these crude figures of men, campfires, streams and trails were not intended to express the idle whim of some white child, beginning to draw the things he saw around him.

Bob had looked upon Indian picture-writing before now; indeed, a young Shawanee brave, named Blue Jacket, whose life he had once saved, and whose friendship the brothers prized very much, had shown them how to read these symbols, by means of which the red men communicated after their own fashion, just as the palefaces did by putting all those queer little signs in a line, and calling it writing.

This was the second time that Bob had found a birch-bark letter left mysteriously at the cabin. No one knew whence they came; but, when the characters were deciphered, on each occasion it was found that some one was warning them against danger that hovered over their heads.

On the first occasion, they read that two white men were hanging around near the settlement, and meant to do the Armstrong family harm. The careful mother's first thought was of Kate, her only daughter, a pretty girl, who had already been once carried away by a young chief of the Delawares, and rescued only after much trouble by her brothers, assisted by Simon Kenton and several of the young woodranger's comrades.

That very night there had come the alarm of fire, with the greedy flames doing their best to devour the cabin where David Armstrong and his little brood lived. Only through the most valiant labor was the fire conquered before it could do much harm. And, now, Bob had found a second strange warning under the door of the cabin, on that very morning, he being the first to arise.

He traced each symbol with his finger as he sat there and mused. There were the same two men again, whom he believed must stand for the ugly French trappers, because they wore hats, which no Indian ever was known to do; and their feet "toed-out," which was another sure sign. In addition, he could make out the cabins of the settlers, and the two bent figures appeared to be creeping toward them.

Of course, word of the message had been carried to all the other men in the community, and doubtless there would be a strict watch kept that coming night. If Jacques Larue and his companion, Henri Lacroix, were discovered approaching the settlement, other than erect on their feet, the chances were that they would be given a very warm reception.

But Bob was not puzzling his head just now about what the symbols meant. He had had little difficulty in understanding that some one intended to warn them against the attacks of their old-time enemies. The question that gave both Bob and Sandy cause for speculation was the identity of the friend from whom these two birch-bark warnings came.

It was not Blue Jacket, Bob knew. He had seen the young Shawanee brave draw similar figures, and they were slightly different from those now in front of him; even as one person's handwriting looks unlike that of another. And yet Bob felt positive that the work must have been done by an Indian.

The mystery piqued his curiosity greatly. He and Sandy had tried to reason it out, and discover the identity of this unknown and unseen friend among the red men; but up to now they had not met with any success.

After looking at the little strip of bark for a minute, Bob shook his head, as though once more compelled to abandon the solution of the puzzle; and, allowing it to roll up again of its own accord, he replaced the message in his pocket.

"I'd give a lot to know who sent those two messages," he muttered, as he started to take the skin off the mink, not wishing to carry any more burden than seemed necessary, if they were to continue along the line of traps. "But, anyway, it's nice to feel that we've got a good friend among the Indians, who takes delight in upsetting the plans of those two precious rascals. Some day he may see fit to make himself known to us. But, I wonder what keeps Sandy. He surely ought to be here by now, for he had plenty of time to get to that trap, and fix it fresh, if it was sprung. I hope nothing has happened to him."

He looked eagerly along the back trail, but failed to see any sign of the approaching figure of his younger brother. The afternoon was more than three-quarters past, and in another hour they could expect darkness to swoop down upon the land.

Bob noted this fact when he again looked up toward the darkening heavens.

"We will have to leave the rest of the traps until another day," he said to himself, uneasily. "I promised mother that I would not take any more chances than necessary, and she did not seem any too well satisfied about our crossing to-day, as it was. But, how queer Sandy does not come! Perhaps I'd better start back after him."

Once this idea had taken root in his mind, Bob could not remain at ease. He arose to his feet, took the mink in one hand, with his rifle clutched in the other, and started off.

Hardly had he taken ten steps when he heard a call. It was certainly his own name, and coupled with a word that sent a thrill through him.

"Bob! oh! Bob! Help!"

Instantly the boy dropped the mink, utterly unmindful of the value of the fine pelt. He started off at a swift pace, heading in the direction whence the shout came.

If Sandy was in danger, then it must be some of those hateful French trappers again. Bob could remember how they had first met them, and there were three at that time. A fine deer had fallen before the gun of one of the brothers, and, upon rushing forward to bleed the prize, they found themselves confronted by a trio of burly men whose appearance told the lads that they were French trappers, even before they proved this fact by their speech.

These fellows had claimed that they shot the deer, and there was trouble in prospect that might have ended seriously, but for the fortunate coming of Kenton and two companions, who proved the right of the boys to the spoils, and sent the Frenchmen away, with a warning not to look back or they would rue it.

Quickly Bob covered the ground. All the while he had his gun ready for use in case of necessity. Now he could see Sandy, and, when he discovered the other on hands and knees, great was his wonder, until he heard him cry out:

"Take care, Bob, there's a big panther in the brush close by, and bent on jumping on you! My foot's fast in the trap, and I can't get free. Go slow, and be ready to shoot, for he's savage with hunger, and as fierce as they make them. Look out! there he comes now!"