Colonial Series TRAIL AND TRADING POST OR THE YOUNG HUNTERS OF THE OHIO

PREFACE

“Trail and Trading Post” is a complete story in itself, but forms the sixth and last volume of a line known under the general title of “Colonial Series.”

As I have mentioned before, when I started this series I had in mind to write not more than three volumes, telling of colonial times during the war between France and England for the possession of Canada and the territory bordering the Great Lakes. The first book, entitled “With Washington in the West,” told of the disastrous Braddock campaign against Fort Duquesne; the second, called “Marching on Niagara,” gave many of the particulars of General Forbes’s advance against the same French stronghold and likewise the particulars of the advance of Generals Prideaux and Johnson against Fort Niagara; while the third volume, “At the Fall of Montreal,” told of the heroic fighting of General Wolfe at Quebec, and that last contest which brought this long-drawn struggle to a close.

The war with France was now over, but the viIndians were very bitter against the English, and in a fourth volume, called “On the Trail of Pontiac,” were given the particulars of how that noted red warrior formed a conspiracy among a number of tribes to exterminate the English. The first conspiracy failed to come to a head, but Pontiac was not disheartened, and in a fifth volume, “The Fort in the Wilderness,” were related how the warriors under him laid siege to Fort Detroit and Fort Pitt, and how the English under Colonel Bouquet won the bloody battle of Bushy Run,—the last regular contest with the red men for some years to come.

With the Indian struggle at an end, the English were more eager than ever to push forward to the west, to establish trading posts and settlements, and it is with this movement that the present volume concerns itself. The advance of the whites was watched with hatred by the Indians, who lost no opportunity to do them injury. Among those to push onward, to the fertile country bordering the Ohio River, were our old friends, the Morrises—and what they did to make our glorious country what it is to-day I leave the pages which follow to relate.

In closing this series I wish to thank the many thousands who have shown their appreciation of my efforts to amuse and instruct them. In penning the viivolumes I have endeavored to be as accurate historically as possible, and I trust the perusal will do my young readers much good.

Independence Day, 1906.

CHAPTER I A GLIMPSE OF THE PAST

“If we can only get that buffalo, Henry, it will be a feather in our cap.”

“Right you are, Dave. But the animal may be miles and miles away by this time. As you know, they can run a long distance when they are frightened.”

“Oh, yes, I know that well enough,” answered Dave Morris, as he rested for a moment on the paddle he had been using. “I haven’t forgotten the buffalo that once knocked our tent flat and ran away.”

“And I haven’t forgotten how I went after him and nearly lost my life tumbling over the rocks and down the big hill,” added Henry. “I can tell you, I don’t want another such experience!”

“Do you think the buffalo went around the head of the lake?”

“He was headed that way—the last I saw of him. 2Let us paddle up to the brook and go ashore. If the tracks are there we can follow them: if not, I reckon we’ll have to give up the hunt and content ourselves with some small game.”

“You don’t suppose that there are any unfriendly Indians around,” resumed Dave Morris, after a few minutes of silence, during which time both young hunters applied themselves to the paddles of the canoe they occupied. “I’ve had enough of fighting to last me for a long time to come.”

“There is really no telling about that, the redskins are so treacherous. Down at the fort they seem to think the district for fifty miles around is clear, but Sam Barringford told me to keep my eyes peeled—that there is no telling yet what may happen. The war is over, but Pontiac isn’t dead, and neither is Moon Eye, and a lot more of the other chiefs.”

“Don’t mention Moon Eye to me,” said Dave Morris, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. “That Indian will never forgive me for escaping from him with Nell and the twins. I suppose he’d give a whole lot to get his hands on me again.”

“As for that, he’d like to get his hands on any of the men who fought against him and his followers. The Indians think——Wait, Dave! Turn in to the shore, quick! I just saw the buffalo. He is back of the rocks over yonder!”

3The canoe was turned in the direction indicated with all possible speed. Soon it glided under some overhanging bushes, and the paddles were stowed away noiselessly. Then each of the young hunters caught up his flint-lock musket, looked to the priming, to make certain that the weapon was ready for use, and stepped ashore.

“As you saw him first, you lead,” whispered Dave Morris to his companion, and Henry led off, with the other youth close at his heels. Both had their eyes and ears on the alert for whatever might turn up.

As the old readers of this “Colonial Series” know, Dave and Henry Morris were cousins, of about the same age, who when at home lived near Will’s Creek, Virginia—close to where the town of Cumberland now stands. Dave was the only son of a widower, James Morris, who was a well-known trapper and fur trader. Henry came of a more numerous family, he having an older brother Rodney and also a sister Nell, a bright miss of tender years.

In the first three volumes of this series, entitled, respectively, “With Washington in the West,” “Marching on Niagara,” and “At the Fall of Montreal,” I told how Dave worked for the first President of our country when the latter was but a humble 4surveyor, and how the youth also served under his former employer during the memorable and disastrous Braddock advance on Fort Duquesne—held at that time, 1755, by the French, and located where the prosperous city of Pittsburg stands to-day. This was really the opening of the fourth intercolonial war, and was followed by an attack on Fort Niagara, and then by assaults on Quebec, Montreal, and other points, in which fights both Dave and Henry took active parts, doing their duty as common soldiers to the best of their ability.

With the close of the war between England and France, both of the young soldiers were glad enough to return home, which they did in company with a number of others, including Sam Barringford, a frontiersman who had been their friend through thick and thin, and also White Buffalo, an old chief of the Delawares, who was very friendly with all of the Morrises and who had done them more than one service.

Previous to the war Dave’s father had established a small trading post in what was then considered the “far western country.” This was on the Kinotah, a small but beautiful stream flowing into the Ohio River. The trader had a good deal of trouble with a rascally Frenchman, who claimed the post as his own, and who hired a number of Indians to make 5war on Mr. Morris, and at last the post had to be abandoned.

“I shall go and re-establish myself in the west,” said James Morris, to his son and to his other relatives, and soon he set forth with a pack-train, as related in the fourth volume of this series, called “On the Trail of Pontiac.” Dave and Henry went with him, and after a number of more or less thrilling adventures, the site of the post was reached. The place had been burned down, and the forest for a long distance around was a mass of blackened tree-stumps. Seeing this, the party journeyed further, presently reaching the Ohio, where a new post was established and held, despite the warlike attitude of Pontiac and many other Indian chiefs. Once the trader and his men had to retreat to Fort Pitt (formerly Fort Duquesne) for protection. A fierce fight was had with the enemy under Jean Bevoir, the rascally French trader who had caused the Morrises so much trouble, and nearly all of the enemy were killed, Bevoir himself being wounded both in the arm and the side.

Pontiac’s first conspiracy against the English had come to naught, but the wily Indian leader was not dismayed, and soon he plotted to fall upon many of the settlements simultaneously. What this led to has been related in detail in the fifth volume of this 6series, entitled “The Fort in the Wilderness,” Fort Detroit was besieged and likewise Fort Pitt and many other points of lesser importance, and had it not been for the advance of an English army from the east, with victories at Bushy Run and other points, there is no doubt but that the massacre of the settlers would have been appalling. As it was, James Morris had to abandon his new trading post, and he and Henry, with some others, reached Fort Pitt only after a desperate struggle to escape the red men.

Dave, during this trouble, was at the home near Will’s Creek. Here the effects of the uprising were also felt. White Buffalo, the ever-faithful friend, brought word to the Morrises, and they took their flight to Fort Cumberland just in the nick of time.

During a previous winter, when the snow lay deep upon the ground, the old frontiersman, Sam Barringford, had made a curious discovery. Wrapped in a bundle swinging from a tree he had found two boy babies, evidently twins. He had carried the twins to the Morris cabin, where Mrs. Morris had taken care of the babes, who, later on, were named Tom and Artie. Barringford learned through White Buffalo that a Frenchman at Detroit knew something about the twins and he determined to visit the fort, taking Dave with him. The trip brought 7to light little that was new, but the old frontiersman and the young soldier saw how Fort Detroit was besieged and had much trouble in getting away. Then, in company with Rodney Morris, the two joined the English army marching westward to relieve Fort Pitt. After the battle of Bushy Run Dave was made a prisoner by some Indians under Moon Eye and taken to a village, where, to his surprise, he also found the twins and Nell, they having been stolen some time previous. Watching his chances, the young soldier managed to escape in a

canoe during a violent storm, taking the little twins and his cousin with him. Later he was aided by White Buffalo, and though the Indians under Moon Eye did their best to retake their captives, they were soon halted by James Morris, Rodney, Barringford, Henry, and some of the English regulars, and were forced to leave that section of the country. Dave continued on his way to Fort Pitt with his relatives and friends; and there the whole party rested for the time being. In the meantime word was received from the east that matters had quieted down around Will’s Creek, so that Joseph Morris and his wife could return to the old homestead, for which those at the fort were thankful.

“I’d like to be back home myself,” said Rodney. In years gone by he had been almost a cripple and 8the campaign against the Indians had told greatly upon him.

“I think you had better start before long,” his uncle had answered. “Your father will need you, and besides Nell and the twins must get back.”

While at Fort Pitt the Morrises and Sam Barringford had come in contact with Benoit Vascal, the Frenchman who knew something about the twins. They thought Vascal had stolen the children from their parents, but the Frenchman laid the blame on one Paul Camont, who had been killed by the wolves at the spot where Tom and Artie were found. Benoit Vascal said the children belonged to a Mr. Maurice Hamilton, a gentleman who had visited America to look up some land claims. It was said that Mr. Hamilton had returned to London almost a year before. A letter was sent to England, but in those days it took a long time to cross the ocean, and so far no answer had been received. It had been decided to keep Benoit Vascal a prisoner at Fort Pitt, but the wily Frenchman slipped away and left for parts unknown.

CHAPTER II A BUFFALO AND A BEAR

Two weeks had passed quietly at Fort Pitt when Dave suggested to Henry that they go out on a hunt for large game. In the meantime it was arranged that Rodney, Sam Barringford, and a number of others should journey to the east, taking little Nell and the twins with them. The start was to be made on the following Monday, and this was Thursday.

“You must be very careful,” said Mr. Morris, when the two young hunters set out on their quest for big game. “Run no needless chances, and if you see any unfriendly Indians lose no time in returning to this fort.”

It was the middle of September—a clear, cool day, with a faint breeze blowing from the northward. Dave and Henry had set out directly after breakfast, each armed with his long flint-lock musket and his day’s rations. Both wore their old army uniforms, which were much the worse for the hard usage received. But, as Dave remarked, anything was good 10enough for the forest, where nobody was likely to see them.

Three hours of tramping had brought them to a small body of water, called by the Indians Lake Kashaka. Here, drifting about, they came across an Indian canoe containing two good paddles. Without hesitation they entered the canoe and crossed the lake, where they came upon the track of several deer. They were deliberating upon whether to follow the trail or not when Henry chanced to look up the lake and see a buffalo near some rocks. The animal was gazing at them with lifted head, and almost instantly ran from sight behind some bushes.

“There’s our meat!” cried Henry, and dashed back to the canoe. Then he told of what he had seen, and the boys made after the game, as already described. Buffaloes were not so plentiful in this section of the country as they had been previous to the coming of the English and French hunters, and the idea of bringing down so much good meat at a single shooting filled the youths with keen enthusiasm.

It took the two young hunters but a few minutes to reach the spot where Henry had seen the buffalo. The game was not in sight, but the marks of his hoofs were plainly to be seen and some young and tender bushes showed where he had been browsing.

“’Tis only a question of how far he had traveled,” 11said Henry, who had always been considered the best hunter among the Morris boys. “It may be only a quarter of a mile, and then again it may be six or eight miles.”

“Let us follow the trail, at least for awhile,” answered Dave. “It is plain enough. He must be a pretty heavy fellow, by the depth of the marks he has left.”

“I imagine all full-grown buffaloes are rather heavy,” answered Henry. “Come on, and do not make any more noise than is necessary. We don’t want him to get scared again—if he is within hearing.”

The trail of the buffalo led up a small hill and then down into a bit of meadow, where the grass was thick and damp. As the youths progressed a flock of birds started up directly in front of them and presently they caught sight of three fair-sized rabbits.

“Now just look at that!” cried Dave, in vexed tones. “They seem to know that we are afraid to shoot at them, for fear of disturbing the bigger game.”

“Puts me in mind of what Ira Sanderson once said,” returned his cousin with a grin. “He argued that a fellow always saw the best game when he was out without his shooting-iron.”

12“I reckon he was right, Henry; I’ve seen some fine deer when I didn’t have anything to shoot with.”

The two young hunters now relapsed into silence, as the meadow came to an end and they entered the forest. Here there was a buffalo trail well defined, having been used by the animals for many years. The trail in general was old, but the fresh hoofmarks of the single animal that had just passed were easily followed by Henry, who was as good on a trail as the average Indian.

The forest was a primeval one, with great trees stretching their branches in all directions. Monstrous roots lay sprawled over the trail, and they had to watch out that one or the other did not take a tumble. The air was filled with the songs and cries of birds, while here and there they heard the steady tap-tap of the woodpecker at his work. They could have brought down a dozen squirrels had they felt so inclined, and not a few chipmunks also showed themselves.

“That buffalo must have gone quite a way,” remarked Henry, as they came to a halt in the midst of a forest glade. “We have already covered a good mile and a half.”

“Don’t give up yet,” pleaded Dave, who had set his heart on returning to Fort Pitt with the news of laying low the bison.

13“Oh, I’m willing enough to go on, Dave. But we have got to leave the regular trail now.”

“Where is the new trail?”

“Over yonder,” and Henry pointed with his hand.

“It seems to me he left the regular trail rather suddenly,” remarked Dave, walking over to the spot indicated. “Don’t you think so?”

“I do.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know, excepting that something must have scared him—some rabbits in the brush, or something like that.”

Once more the two young hunters pushed forward, the trail now leading among some rocks, where walking was anything but agreeable. In some places there were sharp brambles which scratched them not a little.

“Henry, that buffalo didn’t come this way for nothing,” whispered Dave.

“Just what I think. He was scared, and scared good and proper too. I wish I knew what did it.”

“Can there be any other hunters around here?”

“That isn’t impossible. A number of the men who were at the fort have gone away in the last few days. Some of them may be in this vicinity.”

“If they are I trust we shoot that buffalo first.”

They now reached another rise of ground, beyond 14which was a depression encircled by bushes and rocks. As they mounted the rise they heard a peculiar snort.

“Listen!” whispered Henry, and held up his hand.

“It’s the buffalo!” answered his cousin. “And hark! Some other animal is there!”

“I think I know what it is, Dave. Be careful now and don’t make any more noise.”

Guns to the front, they crawled up the rise and peered through the fringe of brushwood. A sight met their gaze that thrilled them to the heart.

The buffalo was there, heavy-set and shaggy as to head and shoulders, and with a look of fierceness in his staring eyes. He was crouched beside a rock, and directly in front of him was a small she-bear, standing on her hind legs, and with her jaws dripping with blood. Behind the bear were two half-grown cubs, both whining because of wounds in their sides.

To Henry’s practiced eye the scene told its own story. In leaping over the rise of ground the buffalo had come close to the den of the bear and had stepped on both of the cubs, who were probably playing around at the time. This had aroused the ire of the mother bear, and she had sprung to the rescue and bitten the buffalo in the flank. The big beast, unable to proceed on his flight, had turned around and struck the bear in the side. Then both had separated, and were now getting ready to renew the contest between them.

Both had separated, and were now getting ready to renew the contest.—Page 15.

15The mother bear now uttered a peculiar sound, and at this the cubs retreated to a hole under some rocks, which was their home. The next instant the buffalo charged once more, hitting the bear squarely on the head and knocking her over. But as she tumbled, she caught her enemy by the neck and sank her teeth deeply into the buffalo’s throat.

“What a fight!” whispered Dave. “What shall we do?”

“Wait—but be ready to shoot,” answered Henry. “I think the buffalo will try to run for it in another minute.”