On the Trail of Pontiac Part 16

"On this burnt-over spot!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jean Bevoir. "No, thank you! I shall go where I expected to go--to the Ohio."

"Rather late in the year to put up a post now," suggested Dave, who could not help saying something.

At this speech Jean Bevoir smiled knowingly.

"Trust me that I know what I am doing," he said. "Come," he added, to his companions, in French. "We can gain nothing by remaining here longer."

He turned his steed around, and rode off, and Valette and Bergerac did the same. Soon the brushwood and forest hid them from view.

"Well, I never!" burst out Dave. "Who would have thought it?"

"It seems we are not clear of that rascal after all," said James Morris bitterly. "Not only is he alive, but he is coming out to his old hunting ground to bother us."

"Do you think he will set up a post near us, father?"

"He did that when I located here. He seems to take savage delight in crowding on my heels."

"That Valette is about as bad a rascal as Bevoir."

"That is true."

"Do you know much of the third fellow?"

"Not a great deal, but I always fancied he was a Frenchman of the better sort. He used to be attached to the fort at Presqu' Isle. I once bought some furs from him, and he was much pleased over what I gave him for them.

He said it was much more than Bevoir offered."

"He seems hand-in-glove with Bevoir now."

"Perhaps, or else it may be that he was simply hired by Bevoir to come out and help establish a new post."

"What can they do with winter so close at hand?"

"Nothing much, son. They will have to work hard to provide themselves a shelter."

"Bevoir didn't appear to be much worried."

"He may possibly have something in mind of which I know nothing," answered James Morris thoughtfully. "It is too bad! I wish he would go away and leave me alone. He might just as well establish himself a hundred miles from here, as to be on top of me."

It was now too dark to continue the search around the ruins, and taking the few things they had found with them, they returned to the new post.

"We had better not say anything about Bevoir and his crowd," said James Morris as they journeyed along. "Let the men and the Indians find it out for themselves."

"All right, father; just as you say," answered Dave. "But when they find it out, what then?"

"Then let the men say what they please. We will try to avoid a quarrel."

"Jean Bevoir hates White Buffalo worse than poison."

"I do not doubt it, for White Buffalo accused him several times of cheating the hunters of his tribe out of a reasonable exchange for their furs.

Bevoir got the Indians drunk and then literally robbed them."

"He dealt princ.i.p.ally in rum, didn't he?"

"Yes; he never gave the Indians anything else if he could help it. All told, I think he was the most rascally trader I ever met in these parts,"

concluded James Morris.

CHAPTER XV

DAVE'S UNWELCOME VISITOR

For several weeks after that nothing more was seen or heard of Jean Bevoir and his party. More than once James Morris questioned the frontiersmen and Indians in a roundabout manner, asking if they had met any strangers, but the replies were largely in the negative. White Buffalo had once run across a small band of Shawanoes, who had said they would later on come to the post to trade, but that was all.

"Perhaps, after all, Bevoir thought best to move away from this district,"

said Dave to his parent.

"No, the rascal is not to be gotten rid of so readily," was the answer.

"Even if he does not build a post, he will loiter around in the shade until he gets the chance to do me some injury."

There was now a promise of snow in the air, and a few days later the ground was covered to the depth of an inch or more. This made tracking game good, and without delay the frontiersmen and Indians set off to see what they might bring in. As a consequence Dave and Mr. Morris were left at the post alone.

"I am glad the snow held off so long," said James Morris. "Henry and Barringford must be home by this time--or else close to it."

"If no accidents befell them," said the son.

With the men and Indians away, it was rather lonely around the post for Dave. But there was plenty to do, and the youth kept himself well employed from sunrise to sunset. Occasionally he went fis.h.i.+ng in the river with fair success. The log house was made as comfortable as possible, and both worked hard over the stable, that the horses might not suffer when the winter set in in earnest.

Extra timbers had been cut at the top of the hill, back of the trading-post, and when another fall of snow came, James Morris decided to slide these down to where he wanted them.

"If you need me, just call or fire a gun," he said, one morning, and then set off up the hill, taking a team of the strongest horses with him.

After his father was gone Dave took a walk around the post, cleaned some fish he expected to fry for dinner, and looked after the remaining horses.

Not a soul appeared to be in sight, and for a little while he felt very lonely indeed. But soon he broke into a cheery whistle, which served to raise his spirits.

"We'll be busy enough as soon as the hunters and trappers begin to bring in their game," he thought. "I hope we do a good business and make some money.

Being a soldier didn't pay very handsomely,--and this war has cost father a neat penny."

Returning to the log house from the barn, he was surprised to find the main door wide open. He felt certain that he had closed it on coming away.

"Father, are you there?" he called out, striding forward.

There was no answer, but a second later came a cras.h.i.+ng of gla.s.s, and looking into the main room of the post he saw Jacques Valette sprawled out on a puncheon bench, with a jug of liquor in his arms and a broken tumbler lying on the floor before him.

"What do you want here?" demanded Dave indignantly.

For the moment Jacques Valette did not answer, but glared at the youth in an uncertain fas.h.i.+on.