THE FORT IN THE WILDERNESS

OR

THE SOLDIER BOYS OF THE INDIAN TRAILS

BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER

Author of "With Washington in the West," "Larry the Wanderer," "American Boys' Life of William McKinley," "Old Glory Series," "Pan-American Series," etc.

ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. SHUTE

BOSTON LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.

Published September, 1905. Copyright, 1905, by Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Company All rights reserved

The Fort in the Wilderness

Norwood Press Berwick and Smith Co. Norwood, Mass. U. S. A.

PREFACE

"The Fort in the Wilderness" is a complete tale in itself, but forms the fifth volume in a line known under the general title of "Colonial Series."

When I began this series I had in mind to pen not more than three volumes, embracing colonial times during the fourth intercolonial war, when Canada, and the territory lying between the Great Lakes and the Mississippi, were wrested from the domination of France. The first volume, entitled "With Washington in the West," told of the disastrous Braddock campaign against Fort Duquesne; the second, called "Marching on Niagara," related the particulars of General Forbes's expedition against Fort Duquesne, and also the advance of Generals Prideaux and Johnson against Fort Niagara; while the third volume, "At the Fall of Montreal," took our youthful heroes down the mighty St. Lawrence, to fight under General Wolfe and to witness the conclusion of a struggle which had lasted for years and had been bloody in the extreme.

After this war the Colonists hoped for peace, but this was not to be. The Indians were enraged to see the English occupying territory which they considered their own, and soon, led by the wily and resourceful Pontiac, they entered into a conspiracy to fall upon all the frontier forts and settlements simultaneously and massacre all who dared oppose them. There was a demand that I relate something of these times to my youthful readers, and in the fourth volume of the series, called "On the Trail of Pontiac," I told of what was done by Indians and whites during the years 1761 and 1762, when the great conspiracy was slowly drawing to a head and more than one small settlement was wiped out in the crudest manner imaginable.

Early in the year 1763 Chief Pontiac considered the time ripe to strike, and in the present volume are related the particulars of the siege of Detroit, the attack upon Fort Pitt, and the uprisings at numerous other points, followed by the advance of Colonel Bouquet against the red men, the memorable battle of Bushy Run, and other contests, by which the Indians were forced to give up a struggle they at last realized was hopeless. In this volume the Morris boys do their duty as of old, helping to make this grand country of ours what it is to-day.

In writing this volume the author has tried to be as accurate, historically, as possible. May the reading of the work prove an inspiration to all who have the good of our land at heart.

Edward Stratemeyer.

July 15, 1905.

CHAPTER I

OUT IN THE FOREST

"There's your chance, Rodney. You can't miss him if you are careful."

"I'll do my best, Dave. But you must remember I haven't had as much experience at hunting as you and Henry," answered Rodney Morris, as he examined his long rifle, to see that the flintlock and the priming were in proper condition for use. "Hadn't I better try to get a little closer?"

"Just a little, but don't wait too long, or that deer will get away from you," returned Dave Morris. "Remember, the wind is blowing almost toward him, and if he scents us he'll be off like a streak."

"Perhaps you had better do the shooting, Dave. If I miss him——"

"Never mind, Rodney. Do the best you can. You've got to get into practice sooner or later, and you might as well begin right now."

"But you were the one to see the deer first."

"And you saw the tracks in the snow. Go ahead. I'm sure you can bring him down if you are careful," urged Dave Morris.

"You stand ready to give him a second shot, if I miss," answered Rodney, and then moved off through the snow, with his cousin at his heels. The two young hunters were in the depths of a Virginia forest, and had crossed the tracks of a deer but a short while before. The animal was now in sight, stripping the bark from a young tree several hundred feet away.

Such a shot as now presented itself would have been easy for Dave Morris, but with Rodney it was different. The latter had been a cripple for several years, and had had scant opportunity for going out after game. His eye was not as trained as that of his younger cousin, nor was his nerve as steady.

"Make for the clump of hemlocks," whispered Dave. "You ought to get a fine shot from there."

Rodney did as directed, and in a few seconds more was in a position to draw an excellent "bead" on the deer, that was feeding as peacefully as ever.

It must be admitted that Rodney's hand trembled slightly as he raised his long rifle and gazed along the shining barrel. There was a brief pause, during which Dave also brought up his weapon. Bang! went Rodney's piece, and up into the air leaped the deer, shot through the shoulder.

"Good!" shouted Dave. "You've got him, Rodney."

"I—I don't know about that," was the quick reply. "See, he is trying to run away."

"I'll finish him, but he's your game," was Dave's answer, and an instant later his own weapon spoke out, and the deer leaped once more, and then fell dead in its tracks.

Hurrying up, the young hunters surveyed the haul with interest. The deer was of good size, but rather lean, for the winter had been severe, and food was scarce.

"I'm glad we got him," said Rodney, with a quiet smile. "Mother was wishing for fresh venison only yesterday. He's not as fat as he might be, but that can't be helped. Do you think there are any more around?"

"If there were, they ran off at the shots," answered Dave. He walked a few feet away. "See here, Rodney!"

"What is it?"

"The track of a bear, unless I am greatly mistaken."

"A bear!"

"Yes, and the track isn't very old either."

"Let us go after him, Dave!" cried his cousin. "I'd give almost anything to bring down a bear. It would give us so much meat,—and the skin would come in handy, too."

"I'm willing. But we must be careful. A bear at this time of year is an ugly creature to tackle. Don't you remember how old Bard Donaldson was chewed up by one last winter? And how that old she-bear tackled Nat Striker in his own dooryard the first year I went to the war?"

"Of course, I remember. But a fellow on the hunt must take some chances. I'll wager you and Henry have taken many chances when out."

"That is true, and we got into more than one tight hole, too. But I'm willing to go after his bearship as soon as we've reloaded. Let us throw the deer into a crotch of a tree, so the wolves can't get at him. Those wolves are getting pretty bold lately," added Dave.

The game was soon hoisted to a place of temporary safety, and then each of the young hunters inspected his rifle with care, and reloaded the weapon. This done, they began to follow up the tracks of the bear, with eyes on the alert for the first sign of the creature. While they are on this trail, let me introduce them more specifically than has already been done.

Dave Morris was the only son of James Morris, a trapper and fur trader, who, when at home, lived at Will's Creek, Virginia, close to where the town of Cumberland now stands. Dave's father was a widower, and the pair made their home with Mr. Morris's brother Joseph, whose household consisted of his wife Lucy, his son Rodney, already mentioned, Henry, a sturdy youth of about Dave's age, and little Nell, a girl of tender years, dear to the hearts of all.

James Morris was a natural trader, and when his wife died he left Dave in charge of his brother, and drifted to what was then called the West, or "Western Countries," where he established a trading-post on the Kinotah, a small stream of water flowing into the Ohio River. This was at the time when George Washington, our first President, was a young surveyor, and in the first volume of this series, entitled, "With Washington in the West," I related how Dave worked for Washington, and later on became a soldier, to fight under General Braddock and under Washington during the ill-fated expedition against Fort Duquesne, afterwards called Fort Pitt, and located where the great manufacturing city of Pittsburg stands.

The colonial war between England and France had now become a certainty, and with the repulse of General Braddock at Fort Duquesne, the French, aided by the Indians, sought to drive out every English settler and trader in the north and west. As a consequence, James Morris's trading-post was attacked, and he was made a prisoner. During the conflict Dave was also captured, but both were rescued from the enemy by the clever work of Sam Barringford, a frontiersman well known to them, aided by White Buffalo, a friendly Indian.

Thinking that the English settlers would have their hands full fighting the French, the Indians became very bold, and plundered many settlements, and not infrequently massacred the inhabitants. In some cases children were carried off into captivity, and this was what happened to little Nell Morris, much to the horror of all her relatives.

Aroused to the situation at last, strong forces were sent against the enemy, and in the second volume of the series, entitled "Marching on Niagara," I related how Fort Duquesne was finally captured, and what was done to bring about the surrender of Fort Niagara, a French stronghold on the Great Lakes. In this campaign Dave Morris and his cousin Henry took an active part, accompanied by old Sam Barringford, and when the fighting was over, succeeded in rescuing little Nell, who was found in the custody of some Indians under the command of rascally French trader named Jean Bevoir, who had caused the Morrises a great deal of trouble in the past.

The fall of Fort Niagara and of Fort Duquesne put the English once more in possession of all the territory lying between the Great Lakes and the Mississippi River. But the terrible war was not yet at an end, and in the third volume of this series, entitled "At the Fall of Montreal," I related how Dave and Henry continued to do their duty as young soldiers, fighting under the heroic General Wolfe and others, until the bloody struggle came to an end, and Canada passed into the hands of England.

The home-coming of the young soldiers had been a time of great rejoicing. Everybody was glad that the long-drawn war was at an end, and the boys and Sam Barringford, who had continued to fight with them, had to tell their stories over and over again.

"I sincerely trust you never have to go to war again," Mrs. Morris had said. "This constant turmoil and butchery is enough to drive one insane."

"And it has cost our Colonies a tremendous sum," added her husband. "I do not know if we can ever pay the debt."

"Now the war is at an end, I am going back to the West," James Morris had said. The old trading-post had been burned down, but he was willing to go to the labor and expense of building another, knowing well that fur trading in the immediate future was to become exceedingly profitable. He departed, taking with him Dave and Henry, as well as old Sam Barringford, and some other trappers, and White Buffalo, with his handful of faithful Delawares.

The hope for peace at this time was a vain one. The war was at an end so far as France was concerned, but the Indians who had favored the French were not satisfied, and led by the wily chief Pontiac and other leaders, they soon joined in a conspiracy, which had for its object a simultaneous attack on all the forts and settlements of the English frontier. What effect this Indian war had upon the Morrises, and the new trading-post, is told in part in the fourth volume of this series, entitled "On the Trail of Pontiac." The fighting was exceedingly bitter, and on more than one occasion it looked as if the whites would be totally exterminated. Dave was captured by the red men, and then fell into the hands of the rascally Jean Bevoir. But his father, Barringford, White Buffalo, and some others, came up in the nick of time and saved him, and Jean Bevoir was seriously wounded, and had to ride away at a break-neck speed to save his life. In the meantime, a part of the plot of Pontiac and his followers was exposed, and the Indians had to withdraw for the time being, to rearrange their

bloodthirsty plans. Thus far Pontiac had been fighting for two years; he now resolved that the third year of the conflict should witness the total subjugation or annihilation of the English on the frontier. He laid his plans with greater secrecy than ever; and what the outcome was will be told in the pages which follow.

"He's a crafty one, an' he means business," was the comment of old Sam Barringford. "Ye have got to watch him with both eyes an' ears open."

"My white brother speaks the truth," was what White Buffalo said. "Pontiac is as a fox for slyness, a wolf for plunder, and a buffalo for strength. More than that, he is of the great magicians, and his word is a command to thousands." Even though the others had scoffed at Pontiac's powers as a so-called magician, White Buffalo, in common with all other red men, still believed in his power of magic.

The capture of Dave had occurred while he, Barringford, and White Buffalo, were on the way to Will's Creek. After being rescued, the youth and his friends had continued the journey, arriving finally at the homestead in safety. James Morris had returned to the trading-post, and his nephew Henry remained with him.

CHAPTER II

FACING A BIG BEAR

It was a clear, cold day in early January. The snow covered the ground to an average depth of eight inches, but many spots had been swept clear by the high winds, while other places were buried under huge drifts.

Dave and his cousin Rodney had left the Morris homestead early in the morning, to be gone all that day, and possibly the next also. The stock of fresh meat at the cabin was running low, and as Joseph Morris was away from home on business, it fell to the lot of Dave and Rodney to replenish the larder. It was now well along toward the middle of the afternoon, but previous to discovering the deer they had brought down only two rabbits and a wild turkey.

"That is next to nothing," Dave had said. "Why, we can eat all of the bag at one meal." The bringing down of the deer made him feel better, and the prospect of laying low a bear filled him with enthusiasm. As my old readers know, he was not such a hunter as his cousin Henry, who often went out just for the sport of it, but he loved to bring in meat that he knew was needed.

"I'd like to be as good a shot as Henry is," remarked Rodney, as he trudged along by his cousin's side. "I can tell you, he's a wonder. Sam Barringford says so, and he ought to know."

"Henry takes to it naturally," answered Dave. "But you needn't to worry, Rodney,—you shoot better now than many of the settlers do. Look at Brown, and Katley, and Jabbs. They can't hit a thing, although they have tried often enough. Since you've got around again you have done wonderfully well."

"I suppose Henry is doing some tall hunting out around the trading-post these days."

"More than likely—if the Indians will allow it." Dave's face grew sober for a moment. "I wish I was sure that everything was all right at the post."

"Don't you imagine it is?" came quickly from the young man who had been a cripple.

"I don't know what to think—we haven't heard from them in so long. I don't like to talk of these things at home—they only worry Aunt Lucy and the rest. But it's queer father didn't send us some sort of a message around New Year's."

"I was talking to Sam Barringford a few days ago about Pontiac. Sam feels almost certain that Pontiac won't rest until he has one grand fight, and either wins or gets whipped."

"Pontiac is certainly a masterful man—his authority over the different tribes is simply wonderful. When I met him, I could see at once that he wasn't a fellow who would allow himself to be dictated to. Every one of the other chiefs had to bow to him—they couldn't help themselves."

"They are afraid of his magic."

"Perhaps, but some of the other big chiefs must know his so-called magic is simply humbug. No, he's a natural born leader, and they can't help but follow him."

Rodney gave a long-drawn sigh. "Beats all how much fighting we have been having of late year's," he said. "First it was with the French, now it is with the redskins. It seems to me we never will be settled. For two years the crops haven't amounted to anything, because we couldn't attend to them and fight the redskins too. I wish we could have peace."

"You don't wish it any more than I do, Rodney. Look at all Henry and I had to go through with,—when we were in the army. They talk about the glories of a soldier's life. I think there was more hard work than glory."

"Really?" Rodney glanced at his cousin in an odd way, and smiled. "You say that, but I'll wager a shilling that if war came again you'd be one of the first to march against the enemy."

"Perhaps so. It would depend on what the war was about. I've got no use for a fellow who stays at home when his duty is at the front—especially if he's a young man, and hasn't a family depending upon him."

"Well, I agree with you on that, and I should certainly have joined the army myself if I hadn't been so crippled. As you say, if—What's the matter?"

"Wait a minute, and stop talking," answered Dave in a whisper. "These tracks look pretty fresh to me, and if that's so, that bear can't be very far off."

They had covered a good half mile since bringing down the deer. The trail led up to the top of a small hill, covered with a stunted growth of ash and pines, with here and there a dense clump of bushes. On the other side of the hill was a series of rocks, leading down into a small ravine, where, in the summer time, flowed a tiny brook, but which was now partly filled with ice and snow. A stiff wind was blowing, and it pierced them through and through when they gained the summit of the rise.

"Phew! this is cold!" murmured Rodney, who had spent many winters by the fireside in his easy chair. "I suppose you don't mind it, but it cuts me like a knife."

"Come, we'll get behind yonder rocks," answered Dave. "Don't make any noise after this."

"Do you see the bear?"

"Not yet. But I feel certain he can't be far away. Such rocks as these are just the place for a bear's den. We don't want to—Hark!"

Dave broke off, as a distant rifle shot reached their ears. Thus was quickly followed by another, and then all became as quiet as before.

"What do you make of that?" questioned Rodney.

"Somebody else must be out hunting in this vicinity."

"You don't suppose there are Indians around?"

"No,—all the Indians have gone northward for the present, so Lieutenant Plawood was telling me yesterday. They were ordered by the commandant at Fort Cumberland to keep their distance, and they promised to do so."

"An Indian won't hesitate to break his promise if he feels like it."

"That is true; but they are not on the war-path just now. It's too cold for them."

Both of the young hunters now became silent, and after a survey of the bear tracks before them, proceeded along a ridge of rocks overlooking the ravine. Presently they came to a space where the wind had swept the rocks clear of snow, and here the trail appeared to come to an end.

"This looks as if we were stumped," whispered Rodney.

"I'm pretty certain his bearship went off in that direction," answered Dave, pointing with his hand. "Let us climb down——"

Dave got no further, for at that instant the bear burst upon their gaze, leaping suddenly from behind a point of rock not five rods away. He was a big, shaggy beast, with a pair of eyes which were just then looking their wildest. One of his ears was gone, and the blood was flowing from a wound in his neck.