CHAPTER VII

THE THREE FRENCH TRAPPERS

"KEEP cool, now, Sandy!" advised Bob, as he felt his brother trembling with indignation because of this bold attitude on the part of the trio of French forest rangers, who evidently believed in the maxim that "might makes right."

"But, Bob, see, they mean to take our game from us!" exclaimed the impetuous Sandy, who could not mistake the intentions of the French trappers.

One of the men was a tall, gaunt fellow, with the eye of a hawk. He seemed to be something of a leading spirit among his comrades. Bob felt that he possessed a cruel nature, and such a man, he believed, would only too gladly conspire with bloodthirsty Indians to surprise the new settlements of the English, and raze them to the ground.

This fellow thrust himself forward, and, scowling darkly, demanded in fairly good English:

"What for you say zat ze game is yours? Haf you not ze eye to see zat aftaire ze first fire ze buck he nevaire run far? And as for zat bullet you send, poof! it haf been waste in ze air!" and with that he snapped his fingers contemptuously, as though that settled the matter beyond dispute.

They were only a couple of half-grown boys, after all, and could hardly hold out against three burly men, accustomed to a strenuous life.

But Sandy was quick to see things; nor did he have the prudence to hold his tongue when he believed he was being wronged. No doubt he had been more or less influenced in his opinion of these French traders and _voyageurs_ by what he had so often heard Pat O'Mara declare--that they were without exception the "scum of the earth, and fit only for treason, stratagem and spoils."

"But see, only one bullet has struck the deer in a place where it would down him--right here behind the shoulder!" he cried, pointing with a trembling hand at the blood on the red hair of the animal.

"Zat is so, young monsieur," said the Frenchman smoothly, and with a mocking bow; "and I assure you it was just zere zat I aim my rifle. Sacre! Andre, and you, Jules, tell me if zis be not one fine shot!"

"But," cried the indignant Sandy immediately, "I tell you that is impossible!"

The tall and ugly Frenchman scowled, and then laughed harshly.

"Say you so, my leetle fire-eater?" he exclaimed. "How it is zat you come to zat conclusion?"

"Because," said the pioneer boy boldly, "if you look you will see that the bullet that killed the buck entered from the _right_; and we were on that side, not you. So the honor of killing this deer belongs to my brother."

The other Frenchmen evidently understood the point Sandy was making, even though not capable of speaking much English. They grinned, and cast quick glances at the dark-faced leader, as if wondering how he would take this thrust.

The tall trapper scowled savagely, and half raised his empty gun menacingly. But Sandy never gave way a particle. He knew that his gun was still loaded, while, in all probability, those of the others had not been recharged; three shots had sounded, proving that all had taken a chance at hitting the elusive buck.

"Zat is a great meestake," the fellow ejaculated, fiercely; "and it vould be well for you nevaire to repeat it to me. It makes me out von liar, and think you I vill stand for zat from a boy like you? My bullet he come _out_ on ze right side, but he go _in_ at ze left!"

"Prove that, and neither of us will offer any objection to your claiming the game," said Sandy, quickly; but the French trapper's scowl grew blacker than ever, for no doubt he caught the chuckling of his companions.

"It does not mattaire in ze least," he remarked, with his teeth snapping together. "Zis buck is my property. I take it as my right. All ze game in zis country is ours, and ze Eenglish steal every time zey shoot even von deer. Soon shall zey know who is ze real master here. Soon will zey repent zat zey come over ze mountains to zis land of the red men. Zey haf not take ze warning, let zem beware!"

Bob was thrilled by these words; they seemed to contain a threat of coming peril to the settlers. Undoubtedly Pat O'Mara had not brought his warning any too soon, for the crafty French trappers, many of them half-breeds too, had stirred up the Indians to the point of declaring actual hostilities. Why, perhaps the real purpose of these three men south of the Ohio was not to find new trapping fields, but to spy out the settlements, and learn of their weak points, so that later in the season they could lead the hordes of painted savages against them, with torch and tomahawk.

Sandy was not yet ready to give up his claim to the meat. He knew well it had been the bullet from his brother's musket that had brought this noble buck to the earth.

So the boy stepped a pace backward, and raised his musket, covering the form of the tallest French trapper. The fellow was evidently astonished at this show of resistance from those whom he was disposed to treat as helpless, half-grown cubs.

"If you want that deer," said Sandy, plainly, "you will have to prove your right to ownership. Turn him over, and show us the place where your bullet went in! When you have done that I will own up it is your game. But, until you do, we claim it. And I have here a _loaded_ gun to back up my claim, while all of yours are empty! Keep your distance, or I will fire!"

Bob caught his breath. He had known his impetuous brother to do many unwise things in the past; but it seemed that he was now distancing his own record. Nevertheless, since the gage of battle had been thrown down, Bob was not the one to shrink from accepting his share of its responsibilities.

His first act was characteristic of the boy; for it was to slip a charge of powder into the barrel of his gun. If he could succeed in loading before any one of their enemies thought of doing likewise, there would be two guns to oppose any move the French trappers might think of making.

The tall man glared at Sandy as though he would give considerable to lay hands on the boy who dared threaten him. Still, somehow, he did not appear to fancy the way that gun kept pointing in his direction. And the face of the determined lad behind the gun told him that, if he ventured to make a single aggressive movement, Sandy would press the trigger his forefinger was touching.

The tall trapper muttered some words to his companions, who immediately began to back away, one moving toward the right, and the other toward the left.

Faster flew Bob's fingers in the effort to get that obstinate bullet rammed home before hostilities actually opened. Sandy was compelled to keep his eyes fastened on the man directly in front of him, so that he could not watch the others; but all the same he knew how to control the situation.

"Remember, you sir, that, if either of your friends makes a movement, it will cost you your life, for I shall fire instantly; and at this short distance there is no chance for a miss. Tell them to keep back if you want to live!" he said, firmly.

The French trapper spluttered in rage, but he saw something in the face of the determined young pioneer that he did not exactly fancy. So he again spoke in his native tongue to his companions.

They immediately commenced to hastily recharge their own rifles, taking pattern from the actions of Bob. That worthy had, however, by this time succeeded in removing his ramrod, after sending the patched bullet home, and was even priming his gun so as to be in readiness for action.

"Stop!" he exclaimed, as he menaced first one and then the second of the other Frenchmen. "This thing must be settled now and for good! You have forced us to stand up for our rights. Prove that the deer belongs to you, and we will not put in a claim."

The tall man was once more calling out, and how Bob wished that he understood French, so that he could tell what was said, since he feared that it was intended for their undoing.

Sure enough, as he turned once more toward the third trapper, he discovered that the man had disappeared, having dropped upon his face and rolled behind a neighboring tree. And, while he thus stood, filled with chagrin because he had been in a measure outwitted, the second fellow also made a quick leap that gave him temporary shelter behind another stump.

The situation was becoming very much strained, and, with their three enemies thus widely scattered, Bob saw that he and his brother could not long hope to hold the whip hand over the situation.

It seemed too bad to think that, after all, they must draw off, and allow these rascally allies of the Indians to lay hold of the game that by rights belonged to the Armstrong larder. But, perhaps it would be best to believe that "the one who fights, and runs away, may live to fight another day."

"Come, Sandy, we must go, and admit defeat," he said, quickly, fearing lest even now he find some trouble in convincing his hotheaded brother that their best policy lay in retreating while they had the chance.

Sandy shrugged his shoulders as if to show that he did not like to abandon such a fine buck when they had the best right to it.

"If we have to fight for it, let us begin by knocking over this rascal here!" he exclaimed, waving his levelled musket menacingly at the dark-faced trapper.

"Wait, Sandy!" cried Bob. "See, there are other men coming on the run. If they prove to be Frenchmen we must get away! But perhaps they may be friends, and then we shall soon see to whom the deer belongs."

He had hardly spoken when Sandy let out a yell of delight.

"It is Simon Kenton! That is he waving his cap to us. Now hold your own, Bob, and do not think of leaving this game. They will see fair play on both sides. And I say again, if the deer belongs to these men I would not claim it for worlds. Huzza! what great luck we are having!"

Bob, too, was thrilled by the sight of Kenton, with several other men in buckskin, advancing through the forest, and closing in on the scene of the dispute.

The trio of French trappers, unwilling to risk the chances of flight, immediately assumed a different aspect. Smiling affably, they waited to greet the newcomers, as though now perfectly willing to submit the question to arbitration.

Simon Kenton, tall and lithe as a sycamore, hastened to shake hands with each of the Armstrong boys. They had been favorites of the young woodranger ever since the first day he met them, when, with Daniel Boone, he had joined the pack-horse caravan headed for the banks of the Ohio.

"What's going on here?" he asked in his musical voice, as his keen eyes took in the belligerent attitude of the two lads, and the fact that they were confronted by a trio of French trappers; for the other two had now come out from their places of hiding.

"Oh! only a dispute as to who shot the buck," said Sandy, as though such an event were of every day occurrence with him.

"We were over yonder, while these men came from that direction," said Bob, as he pointed one way and another. "I was just about to fire, when there came a shot. The buck bounded off. Then two more guns spoke; but the deer only leaped the harder. I pressed the trigger and the buck dropped. When we came up, these men met us, and claimed the game. We told them that the only fatal bullet had entered from the right, and offered to prove our claim, or hand the prize over to them; but they said they meant to have it anyway. We were just trying to back up our words when you happened to come up. And, Sandy, we'll let Simon Kenton decide whose bullet killed this fine buck."

Kenton looked toward the three French trappers, whom he seemed to know.

"Fairer words were never spoken, Armand Lacroix, and you know it," he said, sternly. "You would follow out the custom of your partner, Jacques Larue, with whom my young friends are already acquainted, and claim everything in sight because you are French, and they are English. But that sort of game will not go here. Bagstock, take a look at the buck, and tell me whether the bullet has gone clear through the body."

One of his comrades accordingly stooped, and threw the dead animal over on the other side; when it was plainly seen that there was no mark of a wound in the forequarter.

"I knew it!" cried Sandy, triumphantly, as he grinned at the baffled Frenchman.

"There you see, Lacroix," observed Kenton, with a nod and a smile, "the lead that brought this buck low came from the right; and this lad says he and his brother were on that quarter, while you stood on the left. But thar's a fairer way to decide the truth than that. Hand me your gun, Lacroix; I promise that you shall have it again."

The French trapper looked daggers at the young ranger; but the English were now five to three French, and he knew the temper of Daniel Boone's friend too well to test it to the breaking point.

Accordingly he reached out his discharged rifle, one of those long-barrelled affairs that carried so deadly a messenger, when properly aimed.

"Bagstock, dig for the bullet that killed the buck," Kenton went on.

Sandy's face was wreathed in a huge grin; for he instantly saw what the woodsman had in mind.

"Now you will learn the truth, M. Lacroix," he said, exultantly, as the burly forest ranger, laying his rifle aside, took out his hunting knife, and commenced to hack at the side of the deer, following the course of the bullet.

The French trapper did not appear to be at all pleased with the probable outcome. Truth to tell, he had already discounted the result in advance, for he knew full well that himself and comrades had not the first claim on the buck.

Presently Bagstock uttered an ejaculation of satisfaction, and, picking something up, handed it to Simon Kenton. It was the bullet that had brought down the deer, a trifle dented from striking the animal's bones, but apparently in good shape for the purposes of identification.

"Just as I thought," said Kenton, laughingly. "This bullet fits only in a musket such as these boys carry. Nobody could ever get it in a smaller calibre rifle like the ones you and your comrades own, Lacroix. So, that is settled, and settled the right way. And your road lies yonder. Bagstock, you and Andrew keep an eye on our friends, and if they so much as turn around within a mile of this, _you know what to do_!"

And thus the three baffled French trappers went away. They grumbled not, seeming to accept their defeat as the fortune of war; but the malignant look Armand Lacroix cast toward the two brothers told what was on his mind. If by chance they ever ran across his path again, and fortune was kind to him, the Frenchman would not be apt to forget how he had been baited by a couple of half-grown English-speaking American lads. And perhaps, under such conditions, he might be able to make things rather interesting for Bob and Sandy, particularly the latter.