CHAPTER VIII

THE TREASURE BOX THAT WAS FORGOTTEN

AS this thrilling cry rang through the settlement, supplemented by the wild peals of the alarm bell in the block house, all the inmates of David Armstrong's cabin were on their feet.

Sleep had been banished as if by magic; indeed, the boys had never felt more wide-awake in all their lives. And there was plenty to do, as well as willing hands with which to accomplish the labor.

Fortunate indeed did it prove that everybody had anticipated this sudden necessity, and that the scanty household goods, some of them precious only through their associations with that Virginia of the past, had been so packed that they could be carried to higher ground, and a place of safety, in a very brief time.

Indeed, so rapidly was the water coming up now, that, by the time the last piece had been taken from the Armstrong cabin it commenced to trickle over the door-sill. Bob's last visit was made with more or less splashing, as he strode around the familiar interior, now looking so strange with the floor covered by the flood.

Some of the settlers, Mr. Armstrong among them, had made use of the strongest ropes they could obtain, to tie their cabins to convenient trees, hoping that in this way they might add to their security. When the strength of the current and the hulk of those log cabins was taken into consideration, however, this hope did not have a great deal to rest upon.

There now seemed nothing left to do but cluster there beyond the edge of the river, and take note of its constant rise. All whose cabins were in danger had saved their goods, and in this considered themselves lucky. New cabins could of course be built, since there was wood in plenty, and stout arms to swing the axe; but these family possessions could never have been replaced.

There was one little consolation, slender though it might appear; the clouds had finally broken, and the stars were shining. It seemed almost as though the myriad bright eyes of heaven were peeping out, to see the extent of the damage and woe that had been wrought.

Unable to stand quiet and watch the raging waters creep up around the walls of their late home, the Armstrong boys joined the group not far away. Fires had been lighted, and the glow of these added to the weirdness of the scene, as the settlers moved to and fro, comparing notes, trying to find comfort in their mutual troubles, and seizing on the slightest grain of hope afforded by reports that the crest of the rise must surely have come, after which the waters would go down again.

"What is Pat O'Mara talking so fiercely about?" asked Bob, as he joined the group, after having been off to see how things were getting on in the direction of the river; and Sandy, who had remained where most of the homeless families had congregated, turned with a frown on his face.

"It is about those miserable French trappers," he replied.

"But what of them?" persisted Bob; "surely we need not fear their setting fire to our cabin just now; and even Pat, who hates those men so much, could not well accuse them of having turned this water loose."

"That is all very true, Bob; but one of the settlers has just mentioned the fact that he felt almost positive he ran across two men, dressed like trappers, who were hurrying away from the settlement. He called out to them, thinking that they might be friends, but they paid no heed to his hail. And, as he got to thinking the matter over, all at once it struck him who they must have been."

"When was it that he saw them?" demanded Bob, immediately concerned.

"It may have been an hour or so ago; about the time the water was rising around our cabin, and, unable to bear the sight, we came here," Sandy replied. "They are all wondering what could have brought those men here at such a time; and every one seems to think that it must have been the hope of laying their hands on some valuables, while the settlers were given up to excitement."

"That looks like it, Sandy," the other replied, quickly. "All have piled up whatever they possess in a heap, not caring where it lies so long as the waters cannot carry it off. But people are there on the watch all the time, and children snuggled down in the midst of the bedclothes; so it doesn't seem as if those men could find much worth carrying off."

"Well, Pat is as angry as a bull at sight of a red kerchief," Sandy continued. "You know how he hates and despises everything that is French. He vows that, if he can only get one glimpse of either Jacques or Henri, his rifle will speak; and it seldom does that without something dropping."

"Were they leaving the settlement at the time this man saw them?" asked Bob.

"That was what he thought," his brother replied. "When he called out, they seemed to hasten their footsteps, as though fearful that he might try to detain them. He says he stood and wondered who they could be, and why they refused to answer his hail. It was only when too late that the truth flashed into his mind."

"Well, if they are gone, let us hope it is for good," remarked Bob.

"But why should they be around here at all, when they know the hostility of the English settlers toward the French?" asked Sandy. "It is always war between them, and especially in the wilderness where the trap lines run. Each claims all the country between here and the Mississippi; together with all the fur-bearing animals that can be found there. And that dispute will never be settled without a bloody war."

"Perhaps they meant to either try and rob some of the settlers here, or else set fire to our home," Bob ventured to say. "The coming of the flood changed their plans; and, as the people were all aroused, they must have decided that it was too dangerous for them to stay around here. And so, at the time they were seen, Jacques and Henri may have been scuttling out."

"How is it at the cabin?" asked Sandy, with a tremor in his voice; for, truth to tell, he felt the impending catastrophe even more than his brother did, and could not bear to look upon what seemed to be the doom of their home.

"I'm sorry to say the water seems still to be rising, and we must not allow ourselves to cling to much hope that it can be saved," was Bob's reply. "I feel more for mother and Kate than the rest of us. They sit there among our goods, white of face, but trying to bear up. Father cheers them with a few words every now and then; but they know he only talks that way because he cannot bear to see them so miserable, and not that he really believes the flood is at a standstill."

"Poor father and mother, they have had so many things to bear with," said Sandy. "We must try to look cheerful, just for their sakes. And besides, you know, at the worst it may mean a change of base for us, Bob."

"I know what you are thinking of, Sandy," the other remarked, with a shake of his head. "That Mississippi idea will not let go of you."

"But others are really talking about it right now, Bob, I tell you," Sandy insisted, earnestly. "You would be surprised to know how many heads of families are thinking that it would be a splendid undertaking to leave this country, where misfortune has overtaken them, and go further into the golden west. There was Mr. Harness for one, Mr. Bancroft for another, and possibly Mr. Wayne. Something seems to tell me, brother, that the coming of this flood, terrible though it appears, will be the very means of making our father decide to go upon this undertaking. Oh! I hope so! I hope so! I surely know that it would be for the best; and that we could have a homestead in that beautiful wilderness out yonder, that would far exceed anything ever known along the Ohio, with its floods and troublesome Indians."

"When father makes his mind up, then will be the time for the rest of us to say what we think," Bob observed. "But we must wait and see. Perhaps, when the waters go down again, our neighbors will forget what they said this night, and think it best to rebuild, if their homes have been swept away."

"Come, let us go over, and comfort our mother again," Sandy suggested.

"A good idea," returned Bob. "This is a time for us to try to look cheerful, as you say. We are young, and can stand hardships easily; but our parents are growing old now, and such things weigh heavily on them. I'm with you; lead the way."

They found Mrs. Armstrong and Kate apparently hunting through the pile of household goods for something that seemed to be missing.

"What is it, mother?" asked Sandy, quickly, scenting possible trouble.

"I cannot find my little treasure box, in which I kept what few valuables I possessed, as well as your wampum belt which Pontiac gave you as a pledge of his constant good will," Mrs. Armstrong replied. "And, come to think of it, did any of you bring it out of the cabin? You know I kept it on that small shelf above the window."

The two boys looked at each other in dismay. There was no need to ask if either had seen the box of valuables, for the expression on their faces told the story.

"It must be in the cabin still, then!" exclaimed Sandy.

Forgetting his lame ankle, he turned and hurried away, impulsive as ever; and Mrs. Armstrong wrung her hands as she appealed to Bob to stop him.

"Much as I value the things that are in that little box, not for ten times their worth would I have one of my boys imperil his life in the effort to save them. Go as fast as you can, then, Bob, and hold your hasty brother in check before he takes that dreadful risk!"

Hardly waiting to hear the last word, Bob was off like a shot. He was just in time, for as he came upon Sandy the latter had reached the edge of the water, and was about to start boldly into the swift current, meaning to swim out to the half-submerged cabin.

Bob gripped him by the arm, and shouted in his ear:

"You must not go out there, Sandy, mother says! It would be an act of madness. Already the water is over our heads; and look at the way the cabin trembles with the force of the current. It may be carried away at any minute!"

And Sandy, with a groan, let his head drop until his chin rested on his chest, for he saw that Bob spoke truly.