CHAPTER I
"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.