CHAPTER XXIV

SNOWBOUND ON THE TRAIL

Another council of war was held, and two of the frontiersmen went scouting around once more. Not a sign was to be seen of the Indians, and at last Joseph Morris concluded to advance as before, but with everybody on the alert.

“If Sam comes back to this point he will know that we have gone on and can follow us up,” said the planter.

The sick man had to be carried on a stretcher, and the men took turns at the task. As soon as breakfast was had, the expedition moved, three frontiersmen well to the front, on the watch for the first sign of the enemy.

Thus a mile had been covered, and they were approaching a spot where their route lay between a cliff and a hill, when an interruption came from the rear. The expedition halted, and a minute later Sam Barringford came up on a run, and well-nigh exhausted.

“I war afraid ye’d move afore I got back,” panted the old frontiersman. “Ye hadn’t ought to have done it. You be a-walkin’ right into a hornets’ nest.”

“Where have you been?” questioned Dave.

“Been follerin’ them Injuns. They are a bad crowd under Eagle Nose, an’ they mean to wipe us out, if they kin do it. They held a grand pow-wow last night, and they have moved forward to the cliff and the hill thet’s ahead. When we go through below they reckoned to shoot us down with bullets an’ arrows, an’ roll some big rocks down on us. I waited to learn jest what they war up to an’ thet kept me from gittin’ back to camp afore.”

Sam Barringford, after that, related his night’s adventures in detail. At no time had the Indians seen him or suspected his presence, and he had been so close that he had even stolen a gun belonging to one of them, a weapon of ancient French make, which he now had with him.

Having no desire to run into the “hornets’ nest” which the old frontiersman had described, Joseph Morris determined to move onward by another route. This suited Barringford, but he was of a mind to attack the Indians because of the plot they had concocted.

“We must teach ’em a lesson,” he said. “If we don’t, it won’t be safe travelin’ for us at any time.”

This was considered sound advice by many present, and in the end it was decided that six men should climb the hill ahead, coming out above the Indians if possible. The rest of the expedition, in the meantime, was to move onward around the cliff, making a wide detour, to avoid all possible contact with the enemy.

“I want to go with Sam,” said Henry to his father, and was at last permitted to accompany the old frontiersman. Dave had to remain with the others, to help take care of the horses and the sick man.

Sam Barringford knew exactly where he was going, having traveled the ground several times in the past. He was a natural-born woodsman, and never forgot a locality once he had visited it. To him trees and rocks were the same as signboards to a dweller in the city. The only time he got lost was when a territory was entirely new to him.

The way was by no means an easy one and, when the top of the hill was reached, the tramp through the snow had taken the wind out of more than one of the detachment. The men and Henry rested for a few minutes, and then, cautioned by Barringford, moved slowly and cautiously over the hilltop in the direction of the trail far below.

“Halt!” whispered Sam Barringford, presently. “I see an Injun!” And he pointed out the red warrior two hundred feet or more below them.

The Indian was watching the trail below, and soon he was joined by ten or a dozen others. The Indians were totally unconscious of the fact that some white men were looking down upon them, and their eyes were fixed steadfastly upon the trail below, watching for the first appearance of the Morris expedition.

“What a trap!” murmured Henry. “Had we been caught in it, nothing could have saved us.”

“Right you are, Henry,” said another of the party. “Sam deserves a good deal of credit for saving us.”

To give the others of the expedition time to get as far as possible from the scene of action, it was decided to wait awhile before beginning an attack on the Indians. The latter waited patiently for over an hour, when they began to show some uneasiness, thinking their plot had miscarried.

“Now we’ll show ’em a trick or two,” said Sam Barringford, and gave the order to advance.

The Indians were taken completely by surprise, and at the first fire of the English three fell, one dead and the others mortally wounded. One other was struck in the thigh and rolled down the hill on to the trail below.

“Give it to ’em again!” roared Sam Barringford. “Give it to ’em, the sons o’ Satan!” And he fired a second time, while some of the others did the same. Another Indian went down, and then the rest fled, in several directions. The whites went after them, and in the end fully half of the band under Eagle Nose were exterminated. Eagle Nose himself was struck in the left forearm, and withdrew with the rest of his warriors, vowing bitter vengeance.

Of the whites, strange to state, not one was injured, although the red men fired arrows and shots at them many times. One arrow went through the hunting shirt of one of the frontiersmen, and a bullet clipped the cap of another, and that was all. The Indians fled to the northward, and that was the last seen of them for a long while to come. Some were very bitter against Eagle Nose for leading them into a trap, as they expressed it, and there was some talk of deposing the chief, but nothing came of this.

“Sam, you saved us from utter annihilation,” said Joseph Morris, when the two parts of the expedition had been once more united. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart,” and he gave the old frontiersman’s hand a tight squeeze.

“I wish I had been in that fight,” said Dave to Henry. “It must have been exciting.”

“It was, but not as much so as some of the fights we had during the war,” answered his cousin. “We had the Indians on the run from the very start.”

No time was now lost in moving forward, it being Joseph Morris’s wish to leave the Indians as far behind as possible. They traveled until late at night, when they reached a safe shelter among the rocks and trees. It was now cloudy once more, and soon after they went into camp it began to snow.

“We are in for a heavy fall,” said Dave, and he was right. The snow continued all night and all of the next day, and still there was no let-up to the storm. They remained in the temporary camp, watching the fall anxiously.

“Dave, I really believe we are going to be snowed in!” cried Henry, as he walked outside, to get a good look at the sky. “It doesn’t seem to brighten up a bit!”

“Just what I am thinking,” answered his cousin. “It is certainly coming down as thickly as ever.”

All were now watching the snowfall, and they went to bed with anxious hearts. Dave woke up just at dawn. The snow had stopped, but there was more overhead, as he could easily see.

“If only this storm had kept off a few days longer,” sighed Joseph Morris. Three days of fair traveling would have brought the expedition to the vicinity of the trading post.

Breakfast was had, and all were wondering if they could make any headway in such a depth of snow when the flakes began to come down again. The whole landscape was blotted out in a sea of whirling flakes.

“That settles it; we remain here,” grumbled Dave. The nearer he drew to the trading post the more anxious he became to learn the whole truth of the situation there.

The men of the expedition made themselves as comfortable as possible, and not to be caught without provisions, some went out on a short hunt. They managed to bring down a few birds, but that was all—not worth the powder and shot, as Barringford declared.

Dave was greatly interested in the sick man, who dozed away the greater portion of the time. Once or twice the youth tried to engage the man in conversation, but the effort was a failure.

“I’ll have to wait till he feels more like himself,” said Dave to Henry. “One thing is certain, he is not used to a life in the open or used to roughing it in any way.”

“It is queer how he came among the Indians, Dave. He will most likely have quite a story to tell—if he is ever able to tell it.”

“Oh, I think he will recover, don’t you?”

“Yes, physically, but——” And Henry shrugged his shoulders.

“You think it will affect him here?” And Dave tapped his forehead.

“Perhaps. Don’t you remember Dick Barsbee? He went crazy from the Indian tortures he endured.”

“Yes, I remember that.” Dave shook his head. “I hope the man comes around all right. I must say there is something about him that interests me a great deal.”

“Does his face look familiar to you?”

“It certainly does,—but I can’t trace the likeness to save myself.”

“It’s the same way with me, and Sam Barringford says the same. Now what can it mean?”

“We may find out when we learn who the man is.”

The snow continued all of that day and far into the night. Then the wind arose, sweeping great drifts of white across the landscape. The expedition was under the shelter of a cliff and some trees, and was snowed in beyond a doubt.

“Snowbound!” cried Sam Barringford, grimly. “Here we be an’ here we are likely to stay fer some time to come.”

“We are certainly shut in pretty well,” returned Joseph Morris. “At the best, we’ll have to dig our way out.”

“The hosses could never git through on the trail,” put in one of the frontiersmen. “It would be cruelty to try it. Why, the snow must be ten an’ twelve feet deep in some o’ the hollows.”

“And we’d lose our way,” said another. “Might as well stay where we are and be comfortable until it clears a bit.” He was troubled with soreness of the feet, and found traveling very hard.

“We can’t stay here very long,” said Joseph Morris. “We have lost so much time our provisions are running low.”

The matter was discussed for an hour, and they decided to remain in the camp and make themselves as comfortable as possible. The snow was banked up for shelter, and pine boughs cut for couches, and a roaring fire was kept going all the while.

“It’s a pity we must stay here,” sighed Dave. “I think if we could reach the post in such weather as this we would take Jean Bevoir and his crowd completely by surprise.”

“I think so myself,” replied Henry. “But we must be patient, and take matters as they come.”