CHAPTER XXVII

HOLDING THE TRADING POST

All ran out of the main building, looking in every direction for the enemy. They expected to be confronted by at least a dozen Frenchmen and Indians, and when these did not appear James Morris and his followers were much perplexed.

The Indian at the stockade fired on them, and so did the Frenchman at the gate. Our friends fired in return, and the Frenchman went down with two bullets in his breast. The Indian was slightly wounded, and as he saw the others pouring from the main building, he turned back to the stockade, ran to one of the corners, climbed up and over, and disappeared from view.

“He is running away!” cried Dave. “Something is wrong here! Where can Jean Bevoir be?”

Nobody attempted to answer that question, just then. The party scattered throughout the grounds and the buildings, looking in all directions for the enemy. But nobody was found outside of those already seen.

“They have disappeared,” said Joseph Morris. “Can it be possible that they have gone out to follow us up?”

“That’s it!” shouted Henry. “They didn’t want us to go to Fort Pitt for aid.”

“Henry must have hit the truth,” said Sam Barringford. “It’s a lucky thing fer us. We have gained the post with no loss at all.”

“But it remains to be seen if we can hold it,” answered Joseph Morris, quickly.

“Don’t forget that Indian who got away,” added Dave. “He will carry the news to the others as soon as he can, and they will be about our ears in no time.”

“We must prepare to defend this place,” said his uncle. “I will call the men together, and we can go over our plans. Dave, you know more of this post than I do. How had we best distribute the men?”

Dave told of what had been done in the past, and soon the men were put on guard, two at the gate, one at each corner of the stockade, and the others at a point in the center of the grounds, from which they could run to any spot where they were needed. Each man was armed with two rifles, and some of them had a pistol besides,—old Spanish weapons and extra long.

“We must not forget that our horses are still in the forest and likewise that sick man,” said Joseph Morris. “If possible, we ought to bring them in.”

“If you say so, I’ll go after them,” answered his son. “I am not afraid to do it.”

At first the planter demurred, but finally consented to let Henry go, accompanied by Sam Barringford. They did not wish their pack-train to fall into the hands of Bevoir and Moon Eye, for that would give the enemy a great advantage. Besides, they felt it their duty to care for the stranger who had sought their aid.

“You must return with all possible speed,” said Joseph Morris, when Henry and Barringford were departing. “If you hurry you will likely get back before Jean Bevoir starts to return to this post.”

The two departed by climbing the stockade at one of the corners, and lost not a moment in getting into the shelter of the timber. Here they looked around carefully, but could not find a single trace of their enemy or of the Indian who had vanished.

The Indian who had been wounded in the short fight at the post refused to speak when questioned. Dave recognized him as one of Moon Eye’s followers whom he had met before. When the red warrior saw the youth he merely scowled and turned his face away. A little later he lapsed into unconsciousness, and nobody paid further attention to him, thinking he was about to breathe his last.

The Frenchman who had been captured was a man Henry and Barringford had met several times. He was a lawless and brutal fellow, given to heavy drinking, and he took his capture with an air of bravo and told them to do their worst if they chose.

“What has become of Jean Bevoir?” asked Mr. Morris of the man.

“Jean, he ees ze big fool,” was the answer. “He go to catch you—you come here an’ tak post. By gar! dat ees big fool t’ing!”

“Tell me about my father,” said Dave. “How was he wounded and how did he die?”

“Vat I know ’bout dat? I no keel heem! I no see heem ’t all. Jean, he fix dat, I tell you!” And the Frenchman winked suggestively.

“I suppose you mean that Bevoir killed my father,” went on Dave, bitterly.

“I no say dat, no. You ask Jean—he tell truth—I haf noddings to do wid dat, no!” And then the Frenchman would say no more on the subject, nor would he say what had become of the others who had accompanied James Morris. Evidently he did not wish to render himself liable in any manner if it could be avoided.

Slowly the night wore away and morning dawned, bright and clear. To the chagrin of those at the post neither Henry nor Barringford showed himself, nor did they see anything of the sick man or the horses.

“I hope they have not gotten into trouble,” said Joseph Morris. “Yet, if all went well, they should have been here long before this.”

It was about nine o’clock in the morning when they heard several shots at a distance. They watched eagerly, and presently saw Sam Barringford, on horseback, riding with might and main for the post.

“Sam is coming!” cried Dave, running to the gate. “Put down the bars and let him in!”

The bars were loosened and the big gate opened, and a minute later the old frontiersman swept through the opening. He was so exhausted he almost dropped from his steed.

“Is Henry here?” were his first words.

“No,” answered several.

At this announcement the face of the frontiersman fell. He glanced back toward the forest.

“It’s too bad, but we can’t do nuthing now. Bar the gate ag’in, afore they git in on ye!”

His directions were followed, and soon after this the party under Jean Bevoir and Moon Eye swept into view. They were in a great rage, and doubly so when they saw how they had been tricked out of the possession of the trading post.

“Surrendair!” cried Jean Bevoir, as he came closer. “Zat ees my property, an’ I call upon you to surrendair!”

“Keep your distance, or we will fire upon you!” answered Joseph Morris, and to check the advance he had one of his men fire over the enemy’s head. At this the advancing party lost no time in secreting itself behind the neighboring trees.

“Keep a strict watch and sound the alarm at the first outbreak,” said the planter, and then walked to where Dave was assisting Sam Barringford from his steed.

The frontiersman’s story was soon told. He and Henry had gone straight to where the pack-train and the sick man had been left, to find the man gone and also one of the horses. They were looking around for the individual and the steed when five Indians pounced upon them and made them prisoners. The Indians took them into the forest and also led the horses away. From their talk they were evidently a portion of Moon Eye’s tribe that was journeying to the post to join their chief. What had become of the sick man none of them appeared to know.

“We watched our chances,” continued Sam Barringford, “and jest when we thought as how we could do it, Henry an’ I made a break fer liberty. We got on two o’ the hosses an’ rode as if the Old Nick war after us. The Injuns fired at us, but their aim was no good so far ez I was consarned. In the woods Henry an’ I got separated. I thought he rode straight fer here, but I must have been mistook on that p’int. I was coming along full bent when I spotted Jean Bevoir and Moon Eye and thet crowd. Then I knowed I must ride fer all I was wuth, an’ I did it.”

“Then Henry must be somewhere in the forest,” said Dave.

“Yes, but if he’s alive or dead I don’t know,” answered Sam Barringford, soberly.

“I must find out about this,” said Joseph Morris. “And I must do it at once.”

“You cannot go out now, Uncle Joe,” said Dave, hastily. “They would shoot you on the spot!”

“No, ye can’t go now,” added Barringford.

A short time passed, and then came a hail from without. Looking they saw Jean Bevoir waving a bit of dirty white cloth.

“He wants another pow-wow,” said a frontiersman at the gate.

“If I were you I’d not show myself,” said Dave, to his uncle, but Joseph Morris mounted the short ladder nevertheless.

“What do you want now?” demanded the planter.

“I vish to make terms,” began Jean Bevoir, and then went over his old story of his rights regarding the post.

“Jean Bevoir, I do not wish to listen to you,” answered the planter. “This post belongs to David Morris, and that is the end of it. The best you can do is to take yourself off and be quick about it. All of this land now belongs to the English, and you Frenchmen have no rights here at all. If you want to establish a post you must do it in French territory. The war with your country and with the Indians is at an end, and you must act according to the treaty of peace. You are accountable for the death of my brother, and that is bad enough, without making matters worse. Go away, and never let me see your face again.”

“I vill go—but I shall come back!” shouted Jean Bevoir, in a rage, and shaking his fist at Joseph Morris he retreated once more behind the trees.

“Did he say anything about Henry?” asked Dave.

“No. I will ask him,” answered his uncle, and started to call to Jean Bevoir, when Barringford stopped him.

“Don’t ye do it,” said the old frontiersman. “Maybe they don’t know Henry is still out, an’ if so, it won’t be wise to let ’em know.”

“That is true,” answered the planter, thoughtfully. “I will say nothing. But pray Heaven that my boy is safe!”

After that the best part of the day passed slowly. The only excitement occurred when the French prisoner broke his bonds and tried to escape. He was overtaken by one of the frontiersmen and a desperate hand-to-hand fight ensued, in which the frontiersman was stabbed in the shoulder. But then the Frenchman received a pistol bullet in his abdomen and fell flat. He was picked up and taken to the main building of the post, where he received such medical attention as the limited means of the garrison afforded. This did small good, however, and he died at sunrise on the following day. Before he died he tried to tell Dave something about James Morris, but couldn’t speak clearly.

“What do you want to say?” asked Dave. “Tell me if you can.”

“Your fadder, he ees—he ees——” said the wounded man, and that was as far as he could get. He gasped for breath, tried to sit up,—and a minute later all was over.

“He must have known something,” said Dave, to his uncle. “What was it?”

The planter shook his head. “Do not ask me, Dave,” he said, gently. “It is too bad! First your father, and now it may be Henry!” And he turned away to hide the tears that sprang into his eyes.

Dave could not content himself, and wandered idly from one part of the trading post to another. His father was continually in his mind. He missed his parent as he had never done before.

Suddenly as he walked along one of the men came running towards him.

“I say, Dave, have you seen that redskin that was wounded in the fight?” he called out. “The one your uncle shot?”

“No, I haven’t seen him.”

“He is gone—we can’t find him anywhere. We all thought he was dying, but it looks now as if he had gotten away,” went on the man.

He turned into the stable and then into a small compartment of the storehouse, where the powder for the post was usually kept. A moment later he came rushing into the open yelling wildly.

“The Injun’s in there!” he gasped. “He has got a torch and is going to set off all the powder and blow us sky-high!”