On the Trail of Pontiac Part 42

come!"

On they went, faster than ever. The branches of the trees struck Dave in the breast and in the face, and once he was almost thrown from the saddle.

They were pa.s.sing down into an open s.p.a.ce, where the snow was blowing furiously. Jean Bevoir hailed the falling flakes with satisfaction. They would surely cover the trail which so badly needed obliteration.

Beyond the open s.p.a.ce was another patch of timber. But here the trees were further apart, so progress was easier. On and on they went, with the Wyandots and Ottawas still in pursuit. The horses were almost out of breath, yet were urged to do their utmost by the Frenchmen and the Wanderers, who knew that if the pursuers came up to them a fierce pitched battle would surely result, with perhaps a number killed and wounded on each side.

Dave was tugging at the cords which tied his hands, and now to his satisfaction they came loose, leaving him free. He wondered what he had best do. Should he risk a rush to the right or the left? That would place one set of enemies in front of him and one behind. But all might pa.s.s on, leaving him to s.h.i.+ft for himself.

While he was deliberating a shout rang out ahead, followed by a rifle shot.

Then, as if in a dream, he heard a yell in Sam Barringford's voice:

"Stop, Jean Bevoir, you everlastin' rascal! Stop!"

"Sam! Sam!" he screamed, and rode forward. "Sam, is it really you!"

"Dave!" came in the voice of Henry. "Dave! What can this mean? What are you doing here?"

The cry came from the left, and Dave turned his horse in that direction.

More shots rang out, and he saw an Indian go down. Then Jacques Valette turned toward the young pioneer.

"You shall not get away!" cried the rascally French hunter, and raised his gun. But before he could use the weapon James Morris fired upon him, and Valette pitched into the snow, shot through the thigh. Then Dave went on, and in a moment more found himself among his friends and relatives.

There was no time to answer questions. The Wyandots and Ottawas were coming up swiftly, and once more the Wanderers and Jean Bevoir attempted to outdistance them. Jacques Valette also attempted to remount his horse, but ere he could do so a Wyandot reached him and struck him down again. The blow crushed the Frenchman's skull, and he died before sunrise.

"We must get out of this," said Dave, when he could speak. "The Indians are after us! If we stay here we may be caught between two fires."

"Come with me!" came from White Buffalo. "White Buffalo knows a good hiding place."

James Morris' party turned back, and with Dave by his father's side, all rode through the forest to the southward. Here they reached a small brook, backed up by rugged rocks and a thick patch of timber. In the timber they halted, and in a short while the snow, now whirling in every direction, hid their trail completely from view.

Listening intently they heard many shots at a distance and knew that a fierce fight was on, between those from the village and the party under Jean Bevoir. The fighting kept on for a good half-hour, then gradually died away to the northward.

Safe in the shelter near the brook, Dave told his story, to which his father, Henry, and the others listened with great interest.

"You can be thankful that we came up as we did," said James Morris.

"I am thankful," said the young pioneer. "I never want to see Jean Bevoir and his rascally companions again."

"Perhaps Jean Bevoir is dead," put in Henry. "That shooting must have meant something."

"I brought down Jacques Valette," continued Mr. Morris. "But I don't believe I killed him."

"I hit Bevoir in the arm," came from Barringford. "He'll remember it a while, I'll warrant."

"It was all Pontiac's fault," came from Dave. "I think the authorities ought to bring him to book for it."

"Perhaps they will," answered James Morris seriously.

Let me add a few words more and then bring to a close this story of pioneer life, and of adventures while "On the Trail of Pontiac."

The snowstorm that started that evening proved a heavy one, and it was not until nearly a week later that the Morris party managed to get back to Fort Pitt. Here the commandant listened to what they had to relate with close attention and said he would report to the proper authorities at the first opportunity. But means of communication were now almost entirely cut off; and in the end little or nothing was done to make Pontiac and his followers explain their actions, matters of greater importance coming up in the meantime.

When they felt able to do so, Dave and Barringford continued on the trip to Will's Creek, taking White Buffalo and some of his followers with them. The others of the party returned to the trading-post, anxious to learn if matters there were quiet. They found no cause for alarm, but a few days later two trappers came in with news that nearly all of the Bevoir party had been killed, Bevoir himself escaping after being wounded both in the arm and the side.

"The Wyandots and the Ottawas are very angry at the Wanderers," said the hunter who furnished the news. "They say the Wanderers must hereafter keep to the hunting grounds in the far west. The Wyandots say there was some mistake made about Dave, and they are going to bring in, next spring, the goods they got away from Bevoir, and which were stolen from the pack-train."

"I trust they keep their word," answered James Morris. "But I reckon that fifty pounds is gone for good."

"I think they will keep their word," said Sanderson, who knew many of the Wyandots well. "They want to be at peace and they'd be all right if only the Ottawas would leave them alone."

"Pontiac will never rest until he has united the Indians in a regular war against the English," said James Morris, and how true his words were will be shown in another volume of this series, to be ent.i.tled, "The Fort in the Wilderness; or, The Soldier Boys of the Indian Trails." In this volume we shall meet all of our old friends again, and learn what more was done toward establis.h.i.+ng the trading-post on the Ohio, and of how Jean Bevoir again crossed the path of the Morrises and made himself more odious than ever.

The home-coming of Dave was made a joyous time at the Morris cabin. His Aunt Lucy came out to greet him warmly, followed by Rodney and little Nell.

The twins stood in the doorway, gazing shyly at him and Sam Barringford.

"I am so glad you are safe!" said Mrs. Morris, as she kissed her nephew.

"And I'm glad myself," answered Dave, but she did not fully understand all he meant until he had told his story.

"Reckon as how this is my family," came from Sam Barringford, as he took one of the twins in each arm. "No news of 'em, is thar?" he asked.

"No news, Sam," said Rodney. "Reckon they are yours right enough." But Rodney was mistaken, as later events proved.

"Well, I'll try to give 'em a father's care," went on the old frontiersman.

And he gave each twin a half-dozen hugs and kisses, at which both crowed loudly. They were the pets of the household and all loved them dearly.

"You can't imagine how good it feels to be at home once more," said Dave, later on. "The trading-post is all well enough, but it can't touch a place like this."

"If all goes well, I am going out to the trading-post next year," came from Rodney. "I am now as strong as any of you."

"Do not talk of spring yet," said Mrs. Morris. "We have still a long, hard winter to face."

What she said was true, and winter started in earnest the very next day, snowing for the best part of a week, and then turning off bitterly cold.

Yet firewood was to be had in plenty and the cabin was kept warm and comfortable for all.

"We've had some great times this past season," said Barringford, as he warmed himself by the cheerful kitchen blaze. "Great times, eh, White Buffalo?"

The Indian chief, who had come in to smoke a friendly pipe, nodded. "My brother Sam is right," he said. "But all has gone well, so let us be thankful."

"Yes, let us be thankful," came from Dave.

And they were thankful; and here let us leave them, wis.h.i.+ng them the best of luck for the future.

THE END