THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE MISSISSIPPI

By HARRISON ADAMS Author of “The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio,” “The Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes,” etc.

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[v]

PREFACE

Dear Boys:—Those of you who have read the earlier volumes in this series of backwoods stories may remember that I half-promised to follow the “Pioneer Boys on the Great Lakes” with a third volume. I now have the pleasure of presenting that story to you. In it you will renew your acquaintance with the two stout-hearted lads of the border, Bob and Sandy Armstrong, as well as several other characters you met before, some of whose names have become famous, and are recorded in the history of those early days that “tried men’s souls.” Besides this, there are some new characters introduced, who, I hope, will appeal to your interest.

It was hardly to be expected that such a restless spirit as that of David Armstrong, the Virginia pioneer who built his log cabin on the bank of the beautiful Ohio, would long rest contented when wonderful stories constantly reached his ears concerning the astonishing fertility of the black soil, as well as the[vi] abundance of fur-bearing animals, to be found in the valley of the great river which De Soto had discovered—the mighty Mississippi; and, as you will learn, his first serious set-back caused him to start upon another long pilgrimage toward the “Promised Land.”

It was this constant rivalry among the early settlers, this never-ending desire to find better homesteads in the new country, always toward the setting sun, that gradually peopled our Middle West, and finally reached out far across the plains to the shore of the Pacific.

Trusting that you may enjoy reading the present volume, and that at no distant day we may again renew our acquaintance, believe me, dear readers, to be,

May 1st, 1913.

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

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[1]

CHAPTER I CAUGHT IN HIS OWN TRAP

“Paddle harder, brother. The current is stronger than I ever knew it to be before.”

“But, Bob, we must be very near the place where we always land when we come over to look after our traps?”

“Once we are in the lee of that point ahead, Sandy, we can go ashore. The river is so high that it’s hard to recognize the old landmarks.”

“Both together, then, Bob. There! that looks like business! and, just as you say, our dugout can lie safely under the shelter of that tongue of land, while we’re off ’tending our traps. Another week, and we must stop setting any snares, for the fur will be getting[2] poor; so Pat O’Mara said the last time he came to the settlement.”

Five minutes later, the two Armstrong boys sprang ashore on the Ohio side of the river, at a little distance below the spot where, across the now unusually wide stream, their parents, together with other bold pioneers from Virginia, had, not more than a year before, started a frontier settlement.[1]

The clumsy, but staunch boat, fashioned from the trunk of a tree, was drawn partly out of the water. They had made the passage of the river with considerable hard labor, because of the vast volume of water which the heavy spring rains had brought out of the hills all the way up to and beyond old Fort Duquesne.[2]

Both boys were dressed after the fashion of that time among hunters and trappers, who, scorning the homespun clothes of the Virginia settlers, found garments made of buckskin, not unlike those worn by many of the Indians, to give them the best service when roaming the great forests that stretched from the Alleghanies, off to the border of the mighty[3] Mississippi, in the “Land of the Setting Sun.”

Having picked up their guns, the brothers started through the thick woods; but not before Sandy, the younger, had cast a last wistful look back at the swollen waters of the Ohio, that, seen in the dull light of the overcast afternoon, flowed steadily toward the west. Truth to tell, that unknown western region was drawing the thoughts of the pioneer boy very much of late; and, even as he tramped along at the side of Bob, his first words told how he envied the rushing waters that were headed into the country he longed to see.

“Abijah Cook is back at the settlement for a short spell, I heard Mr. Harkness say,” he remarked, with a long sigh that caused his brother to turn an uneasy glance in his direction.

“And has he given up ranging the woods with young Simon Kenton?” the older boy asked.

“Oh! no; but he brought his winter’s catch of pelts in for Mr. Harkness to dispose of, when he found the chance,” Sandy replied.

“And I suppose the old woodranger has been talking again about the region of the[4] Mississippi,” remarked Bob, who could guess what was on the mind of his brother.

“Well,” Sandy went on, “Abijah has seen that wonderful country, and he knows how different it is from this hilly place, where the corn washes down the sides of the slopes whenever a big rain comes. Out there it is mostly prairie, and the soil, he says, is black and rich. It will grow maize twice as high as your head. The stories he tells of what he saw on those prairies fairly make my heart ache.”

“But Sandy, you must try to forget all that,” returned Bob, who often found it necessary to restrain his impatient young brother. “You are needed at home, for father is not able to hunt and trap, besides taking care of his crops. Nobody in the whole settlement brings in as much game as you do. Wait a few years, and then, when we are grown men, perhaps we may strike out for that country you have been hearing so much about; where De Soto discovered the greatest of rivers, and lies buried under its waters.”

Sandy sighed again.

“I suppose I must wait, just as you say, Bob,” he observed, “but it may not be for years, as you seem to think. Already some of[5] the men are beginning to talk of making a flatboat, and floating down the Ohio until they reach the father of all the waters. They do not like the idea of the rascally French taking possession of all that fine land, which is a part of our own Virginia. And it may not be so very long before we will lose some of our people in that way.” (Note 1.)[3]

These brave men, who had already successfully braved the dangers that beset them on their journey across the mountains to the Ohio valley, had heard stories from the lips of trappers who had penetrated far into the western land in pursuit of the rich skins of otter, beaver, fox, mink and marten. When their crops failed to turn out as well as they had anticipated, a spirit of unrest began to pervade the little community; and these wonderful tales were repeated, from lip to lip, always with a longing to obtain a glimpse of the country that offered such astonishing opportunities.

It was this spirit of unrest that peopled our great West. Those who found themselves out-distanced in the race, unwilling that others should get ahead, gave up their holdings, partly improved as they might be, and once[6] more started out to get in the van of the procession headed toward the setting sun.

“Do you think we will have any trouble getting back to the other shore of the river, this afternoon?” Sandy asked, after they had walked along for a few minutes in silence, headed for the first of their traps.

“I admit that I don’t just like the way we were buffeted around on the voyage over,” replied Bob; “and, if the waters keep on rising to-night, as I think they are going to, we will not be able to visit our traps on this side for several days.”

“Then had we better take them along with us?” asked Sandy.

“No, they would bother us in the dugout,” replied Bob; then, noticing the quick glance his brother shot in his direction, he added: “Yes, I am figuring on the chance of our boat being upset in the flood; and, if that happened, we’d have all we could do to save ourselves and our guns, let alone half a dozen heavy traps. They can stay here until we find a chance to cross again, after the water goes down.”

“But, I wonder if Colonel Boone knew about such a thing as a flood when he led us[7] to where the settlement now stands?” remarked Sandy, with a frown. “Because, if the water rises very much more, we, as well as some of the other settlers, stand to lose our cabin. Already the water has covered the land where open fields lay, ready to be planted in maize this spring. All Mr. Bancroft’s new fence has been taken down, to save it from being swept away.”

“No, I do not believe such a rise has been known for many years,” Bob went on to say. “You know how it flows between banks that are covered with trees. These countless hills are crowned with great forests, and under the trees the ground is carpeted with moss and dead leaves. This is like a great sponge, father says, that soaks up the water during rainy seasons, and lets it out again in time of drought. I heard him say only this morning that the Indians never knew of a flood like this one. They believe that the Great Spirit is angry because they have not driven the palefaces from Kentucky. And there will be a renewal of the fighting, after this rainy spell is over, he fears.” (Note 2.)

“Well, here’s where we set our first trap,” Sandy cried. “And the next is only a short[8] distance along the trail. I’ll take a look at this one, while you go on and attend to the next.”

“That is the best way, Sandy,” returned Bob, with a quick glance toward the darkening heavens. “I do not like the looks of those clouds, and it may be that the rain will set in again. If that happens, we would find it all we could do to make a safe passage across the river, for the darkness will fall early to-night.”

“And we must not forget to keep our eyes open for a sight of those rascally French trappers, Jacques Larue and Henri Lacroix,” remarked Sandy, with a suggestive movement of his gun. “They have been reported as being seen not far away from here of late, and you know, Bob, they have never forgiven us the way we managed to outwit Larue last fall, and bring Henri Lacroix’s brother to justice.”[4]

“But they also know,” Bob replied, “that because you and I were able to do the great Indian sachem, Pontiac, a favor, he gave us his wampum belt, which has served to keep the Indians who were on the war-path away from our little settlement. Those Frenchmen understand that, if either of us were hurt, the Indians[9] would visit vengeance on the head of the guilty party. Larue learned that before he escaped from the Indians.” (Note 3.)

The boys had learned that Jacques Larue had loosened his bonds and escaped from his Indian captors through the connivance of a young buck for whom he had once performed some service, and was again free to work with Henri Lacroix such damage against the latest English settlers as their evil minds might suggest.

“I am convinced it was they who robbed our traps several times this winter, so that we had to change their location,” Sandy declared, indignantly. “And, when that brush was piled up against our cabin, that dark night, and fired, did we not find tracks that were never made by Indian feet? I seem to feel that we have not seen the last of those French trappers. And Pat O’Mara told me that, if ever I had to shoot to defend myself against either of them, to get the full value of my lead!”

“Well, let us hope that they will go elsewhere, and do their trapping,” said Bob, as he turned and left his brother. “I think it is a great pity that, with a string of trading posts all the way from the big lakes down to the sea, these greedy French from the North[10] cannot let us alone here. They seem to want the earth. But I’ll wait for you at the second trap, Sandy. Be as quick as you can.”

Sandy made no reply, but hastened forward to where they had set the first trap. He was filled with thoughts of the stories he had heard connected with the Mississippi country, and he pictured in his mind the loveliest scene that could ever greet the eager eyes of a pioneer—game waiting to be shot and trapped; the earth so rich that it would grow bountiful crops upon being simply stirred; the fields glorious with myriads of wild flowers; and all to be had by simply reaching out a hand and taking possession, in defiance of the French, who claimed everything from the far North to the gulf.

He found in the trap a fine red fox, which he succeeded in knocking on the head without injuring the pelt. Laying his gun aside, Sandy started to reset the trap, believing that, as it seemed to be a lucky place, perhaps the mate of the fox might come along, and also step into the steel circle.

As he began his task, an accident occurred that had never happened to Sandy before in all his trapping experience, and probably never[11] would again. In some manner, which he could not fully explain, in turning around to secure something, he managed to thrust his foot into the set trap, which he had quite forgotten.

There was a snap, and an acute feeling of pain that caused the boy to give a startled cry. His heavy leggings saved him to a great extent from the cruel teeth of the trap, for at that time the smooth jaws now in universal use had not come into vogue; but the boy knew he would have a sore ankle for some days because of his carelessness.

Sandy tried to get at the trap to release himself, and found that, because of the formation of the ground at that particular spot, it would prove a difficult task. He persisted in his efforts, however, and refrained from calling out to his brother, not wishing the more cautious Bob to learn what a foolish thing he had done.

He was still striving to squirm around so as to get at the double spring, and by pressure release his foot, when he heard a sound close by that riveted his attention. Looking up, what was the boy’s dismay to discover a creeping animal gradually drawing closer and closer to him.

It needed only that one look to tell Sandy[12] that he was being stalked by one of the most dreaded animals of the forest, a gray panther, that had evidently scented the blood of the captured fox, and was bent on securing a supper.

Of course, Sandy’s first thought was of his musket. He remembered placing this against a neighboring tree, and, sure enough, it still stood there; but, when he made a movement to reach the weapon, he found to his dismay that the chain of the fox trap was too short to allow his fingers to come within a foot of the gun!

In vain he writhed and pulled; the trap had been made only too secure, and Sandy realized that there was nothing he could do but lift up his lusty young voice in an appeal for help.

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CHAPTER II THE BIRCH-BARK MESSAGE

When Bob Armstrong parted from his brother he quickened his steps. The next trap was not very far away; but, as he had just said, he did not like the looks of the cloudy sky, and began to fear that, after all, the break in the heavy rainy spell was going to prove of but short duration.

He knew that the little mother in that cabin on the other side of the swollen water would be worried about her boys, and Bob disliked to give her any more reason for anxiety than could be helped.

As he walked along he thought of what Sandy had said about his determination, sooner or later, to follow the river down past Fort Washington, and far away to where it united with the greatest of watercourses, the mighty Mississippi. Bob, himself, was not so indifferent to the beckoning finger of adventure as his words to his brother might lead[14] one to believe. He, too, had listened to those marvelous stories told by trappers and traders, and, when twice a flatboat had landed at their rude little float, giving the settlers a chance to talk with the bold souls who were bent on risking the unknown dangers that lay beyond, Bob had hung upon the adventurers’ words, and had longed to join the party as it continued its voyage down the Ohio into the unknown land. He had, however, always thrust aside the thought, feeling that neither he nor Sandy ought to think of leaving the father, mother and sister Kate, who made up the Armstrong household.

As he approached the spot where the trap lay, Bob once more became the trapper, and forgot all else. He saw that success had come to them, for there was certainly some animal in the trap.

It had been set in a certain little gully, where the boys had discovered the tracks of several mink, together with their holes. The tiny stream that had trickled through this same gully in the preceding fall, was now a rushing torrent, and the trap had lately been set high up on the bank, just in front of a particularly inviting opening, where many tracks told of[15] its being a favorite haunt for the wandering males of the furry tribe he hunted.

Yes, it was a mink he had captured, and really the largest and finest of the whole winter’s catch. Bob felt pleased to make this discovery, for every pelt which they could gather meant more comforts in the Armstrong home.

The mink seemed unusually fierce, and put up a savage fight when Bob started to dispose of him; but the young trapper would not be denied, and he quickly put an end to the animal’s sufferings.

As a usual thing the traps for mink and muskrats were set in such fashion that, after being caught, the animals would jump into the water, and be drowned by the weight of the trap; so that it was seldom they found one alive that had to be disposed of in this manner.

Having reset the trap, Bob sat down to wait for the coming of Sandy, and, while sitting there, he drew something out of an inner pocket of his hunting tunic, which he examined with considerable interest, as well as with many shakes of the head, that told of bewilderment.

The object was a soft and pliable piece of[16] clean birch bark, upon the brown side of which were traced several rude drawings, such as a child might make. This had been done with some sharp instrument, possibly the point of a knife.

Bob Armstrong knew well that these crude figures of men, campfires, streams and trails were not intended to express the idle whim of some white child, beginning to draw the things he saw around him.

Bob had looked upon Indian picture-writing before now; indeed, a young Shawanee brave, named Blue Jacket, whose life he had once saved, and whose friendship the brothers prized very much, had shown them how to read these symbols, by means of which the red men communicated after their own fashion, just as the palefaces did by putting all those queer little signs in a line, and calling it writing.

This was the second time that Bob had found a birch-bark letter left mysteriously at the cabin. No one knew whence they came; but, when the characters were deciphered, on each occasion it was found that some one was warning them against danger that hovered over their heads.

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On the first occasion, they read that two white men were hanging around near the settlement, and meant to do the Armstrong family harm. The careful mother’s first thought was of Kate, her only daughter, a pretty girl, who had already been once carried away by a young chief of the Delawares, and rescued only after much trouble by her brothers, assisted by Simon Kenton and several of the young woodranger’s comrades.

That very night there had come the alarm of fire, with the greedy flames doing their best to devour the cabin where David Armstrong and his little brood lived. Only through the most valiant labor was the fire conquered before it could do much harm. And, now, Bob had found a second strange warning under the door of the cabin, on that very morning, he being the first to arise.

He traced each symbol with his finger as he sat there and mused. There were the same two men again, whom he believed must stand for the ugly French trappers, because they wore hats, which no Indian ever was known to do; and their feet “toed-out,” which was another sure sign. In addition, he could make out the cabins of the settlers, and the two[18] bent figures appeared to be creeping toward them.