On the Trail of Pontiac | Page 2

HUNT
XXVI. STRANGE INDIAN MAGIC
XXVII. THE TRAIL OF PONTIAC
XXVIII. AN UNDERGROUND STOREHOUSE
XXIX. PONTIAC'S TRAIL ONCE MORE
XXX. IN THE CAMP OF THE ENEMY
XXXI. HELD AS A SPY
XXXII. A FIGHT AND A VICTORY--CONCLUSION
ILLUSTRATIONS
The dance of the magicians lasted fully a quarter of an hour (Frontispiece)
The report was followed by a mad yelp of pain
Henry ... rolled over and over down a long hill
"Let go!" cried Dave. "Let go, I say!"
"Where are your furs?" asked James Morris
He let the animal have a bullet directly in the head
"Tis one of the English" said the taller of the Indians
"The white young man is sorry to be a prisoner," he said slowly
CHAPTER I
A GLIMPSE AT THE PAST
"Two wild turkeys and seven rabbits. Not such a bad haul after all, Henry."
"That is true, Dave. But somehow I wanted to get a deer if I could."
"Oh, I reckon almost any hunter would like to bring down a deer," went on Dave Morris. "But they are not so plentiful as they were before the war."
"That is true." Henry Morris placed the last rabbit he had brought down in his game-bag. "I can remember the time when the deer would come up to within a hundred yards of the house. But you have got to take a long tramp to find one now."
"And yet game ought to be plentiful," went on his younger cousin. "There wasn't much hunting in this vicinity during the war. Nearly everybody who could go to the front went."
"There were plenty who couldn't be hired to go, you know that as well as I do. Some were afraid they wouldn't get their pay and others were afraid the French or the Indians would knock 'em over." Henry Morris took a deep breath. "Beats me how they could stay home--with the enemy doing their best to wipe us out."
"I can't understand it either. But now the war is over, do you think we'll have any more trouble with the Indians?" continued Dave Morris, as he and his cousin started forward through the deep snow that lay in the woods which had been their hunting ground for the best part of the day.
"It's really hard to tell, Dave. Father thinks we'll have no more trouble, but Sam Barringford says we won't have real peace until the redskins have had one whipping they won't forget as long as they live."
"Well, Sam knows the Indians pretty thoroughly."
"No one knows them better. And why shouldn't he know 'em? He's been among them since he was a small boy, and he must be fifty now if he's a day."
"I can tell you one thing, Henry," continued Dave warmly. "I was mighty glad to see Sam recover from that wound he received at Quebec. At first I thought he would either die or be crazy for the rest of his life."
"It's his iron constitution that pulled him through. Many another soldier would have caved in clean and clear. But hurry up, if you want to get home before dark," and so speaking, Henry Morris set off through the woods at a faster pace than ever, with his cousin close at his heels. Each carried his game-bag on his back and a flint-lock musket over his shoulder.
The time was early in the year 1761, but a few months after the fall of Montreal had brought the war between France and England in America to a close. Canada was now in the possession of the British, and the settlers in our colonies along the great Atlantic seacoast, and on the frontier westward, were looking for a long spell of peace in which they might regain that which had been lost, or establish themselves in new localities which promised well.
As already mentioned, Dave and Henry Morris were cousins, Henry being the older by several years. They lived in the little settlement of Will's Creek, Virginia, close to where the town of Cumberland stands to-day. The Morris household consisted of Dave's father, Mr. James Morris, who was a widower, and Mr. Joseph Morris, his wife Lucy, and their children, Rodney, several years older than Henry, who came next, and Nell, a girl of about six, who was the household pet. In years gone by Rodney had been a good deal of a cripple, but a surgical operation had done wonders for him and now he was almost as strong as any of the others.
James Morris was a natural born trapper and fur trader, and when his wife died he left his son Dave in the care of his brother Joseph and wandered to the west, where he established a trading-post on the Kinotah, a small stream flowing into the Ohio River. This was at the time that George Washington, the future President of our country, was a young surveyor, and in the first volume of this series, entitled