On the Trail of Pontiac | Page 4

for the ruin they had
brought to his plans in the past.
"I shall show them that, though France is beaten, Jean Bevoir still
lives," he told himself boastingly. "The trading-post on the Kinotah
with its beautiful lands, shall still be mine--the Morrises shall never
possess it!" Sometimes he spoke to his companions of these things, but
they merely smiled at him, thinking that what he had in mind to do
would prove impossible of accomplishment.
CHAPTER II
THE CABIN IN THE CLEARING
It was already four o'clock and the short winter day was drawing to a
close. On every side of the two young hunters arose the almost
trackless woods, with here and there a small opening, where the wind
had swept the rocks clear of snow. Not a sound broke the stillness.
"Were we ever in this neighborhood before?" questioned Dave, after a
silence of several minutes.

"Yes, I was up here three or four years ago," answered his cousin, who,
as my old readers know, was a natural-born hunter and woodsman.
"Got a deer right over yonder." And he pointed with his hand. "The one
I hit plumb in the left eye."
"Oh, yes, I remember that," came from Dave. "It was a prime shot.
Wish I could do as well sometime."
"You needn't complain, Dave. You've done better than lots of men
around here. Some of 'em can't shoot anything at all. They are farmers
and nothing else."
"Well, we'll all have to turn farmers sooner or later--after the best of the
game is killed off."
"Has your father said anything about going out to his trading-post on
the Kinotah again?"
"Nothing more than what you heard him say on New Year's day--that
he would go as soon as the weather got warm enough, and it was
considered safe."
"I wish I could go out with you. I really believe I could make some
money, bringing in pelts,--more money than I can make by staying
here."
"Perhaps you could, Henry, and, oh, I wish you could go!" went on
Dave impulsively. "Wouldn't we have the best times, though!"
"The trouble is father wants me on the farm. There is so much to do,
you see. While the war was on everything went to pieces."
"But Rodney can help now. He told me only yesterday that he felt
strong enough to do almost anything."
"Yes, I've thought of that. If he can take hold, perhaps I can get father
to consent. Did you say Sam Barringford was going?"
"To be sure. And so is White Buffalo. I suppose father will take not less

than a dozen hunters and trappers with him and six or eight Indians, too.
He says he doesn't want to depend altogether on strangers when he gets
out there, and he hardly knows what has become of the most of those
who were with him before."
"More than half of the crowd are dead, shot down either in the trouble
with the redskins or in the war."
"I've been wondering if there is anything left of the trading-post. Father
has half a notion that the Indians burnt it to the ground, and burnt the
forest around it, too. If they have done that, he won't want to build
again on the burn-over, but at some new spot where the forest hasn't
been touched and timber is easy to get."
"Do you suppose they burnt the post Jean Bevoir had?"
"I reckon not. The Indians were very friendly with that rascal."
The youths had now come to the edge of the woods. Here was a
well-defined trail, running from Will's Creek to a hamlet knows as
Shadd's Run, named after an old Englishman who had settled there six
years previous. Shadd and his family had been massacred by the
Indians at the time of Braddock's defeat, and all that was left of his
commodious log cabin was a heap of half-burnt logs.
Turning into the trail, the young hunters continued on their way to the
Morris homestead. This itself was a new building, for the first cabin
had also gone up in flames during the terrible uprising. On either side
of the road were patches of woods, with here and there a cleared field.
Soon they came in sight of a log cabin.
"Hullo, Neighbor Thompson!" sang out Henry, and in a moment a man
appeared at the door of the house, musket in hand.
"So you've got back," said the man, and lowered his weapon. "What
luck?"
"Two wild turkeys and seven rabbits," answered Henry. He reached

into his game-bag. "Here are the two rabbits I promised you for the
powder." And he handed over the game.
"Thank you, Henry, they'll make a fine pot-pie. Didn't see any deer?"
"No."
"Thought not. Will you come in and