CHAPTER IV
In the morning White Buffalo was the first to awaken, and without arousing the others, he started up the fire and put on some water to boil. It was snowing and the new fall covered the old snow by several inches.
"Phew! this is quite a storm!" cried Barringford, as he peered from the shelter. "An' comin' down more yet, too," he added, with a look at the dark sky.
"I hope we don't get snow-bound," was Rodney's comment, as he started to boil what was left of the coffee. "We're not situated for anything of that sort—unless we want to live on bear meat and venison."
"Be thankful we've got the meat, an' rabbits an' turkeys," said the old frontiersman. "It's a heap sight better nor to be snow-bound with nuthin' at all."
For breakfast they fixed up a pair of the rabbits, and these went very well with the remainder of the coffee and the bread. The snow kept coming down steadily, so they ate the meal under the protection of the shelter. The wind had died down utterly, consequently it was not nearly as cold as it had been.
"Do you think we ought to start for home in such a snow-storm as this?" questioned Dave. "If it comes down any heavier we might lose our way."
"Humph! this ain't nuthin' to the snow-storm I got caught in the winter I found them twins," said Sam Barringford. "I don't want none like thet again, not me! We can get git home in this, right enough."
The storm the old frontiersman referred to had occurred two years before. It had been little short of a blizzard, and while out in the worst of it Barringford had come to a spot where a man and a horse lay dead and partly devoured by the wolves. A bundle rested in a tree near by, and much to the old frontiersman's amazement it contained two baby boys, in all probability twins, by their close resemblance to each other. With the bundle clasped to his breast the old hunter had tried to fight his way through the blizzard to the Morris homestead, three miles away. He had almost reached it when he found himself exhausted, and had been rescued by James Morris and his brother Joseph. At the cabin, the twins had been cared for by Mrs. Morris. Nothing could be learned concerning their identity, or the identity of the man found dead beside them, and they had at last been adopted by Barringford, who was an old bachelor, and who called them Tom and Artie, after two of his uncles. We shall learn more of these twins as our story proceeds.
About eleven o'clock there was a slight lull and Barringford announced that they had better start without further delay. The others were willing, and in a short space of time the camping spot was left behind, and they were crossing the first of the hills which separated them from the Morris homestead.
"This is the sort of storm to keep up for several days," observed Rodney, and he was right, the fall of snow lasted for forty-eight hours longer and made all the roads in that vicinity impassable for the time being.
It was nightfall when they reached the Morris homestead, standing as my old readers know, in the midst of a rather large clearing. It was a rude but comfortable cabin, long, low, and narrow, with the back roof sloping down to a kitchen porch. There were four fair-sized rooms, all on the ground floor, and above them a loft used occasionally for a sleeping room, and stored with seeds and with supplies for the winter. Not far from the house was a rude shelter of logs and sods for the cattle, back of which, in the summer time, flowed a gurgling brook of the clearest spring water.
As they approached the cabin Dave and Rodney set up a loud shout. This brought Joseph Morris from the cattle shed, and likewise brought Mrs. Morris, little Nell, and the twins to the doorway of the homestead.
"Hullo! back again, eh?" sang out Joseph Morris. "Good enough. And Sam and White Buffalo, too. Glad to see you once more."
"I didn't know you expected to be back from town so soon, father," answered Rodney.
"I had an accident that made me cut my trip short," answered Joseph Morris. He limped forward. "Bess got frightened at a wildcat and threw me over her head. In coming down my foot struck a sharp rock, and I gave my ankle a bad twist."
"That's too bad," said Dave. "I hope the wildcat didn't trouble you."
"I didn't give him a chance. I had my old Spanish pistol with me, and I blazed away at such a close range that I about blew the wildcat's head off. I had a time getting home, I can tell you. Bess wouldn't come near the dead cat, so I had to hobble after her the best I could for several rods."
"Ye had better keep off the foot for a few days," put in Sam Barringford. "A twisted ankle ain't nuthin' to fool with."
"I'm going to rest—now the boys are home again. But I couldn't let my wife look after the cattle in such a storm as this," returned Joseph Morris. He gazed at the drag and the various game bags. "A deer and a bear, and rabbits and turkeys! You've had luck, that is certain."
"Yes, and a narrow escape in the bargain," answered Rodney.
The two young hunters passed toward the house, leaving the men to talk the matter over between them. As they approached the twins set up a cry of welcome and little Nell joined in.
"Uncle Davey tummin'!" cried one twin.
"Uncle Roddy tummin'!" echoed the other twin.
"Did you get a deer?" asked Nell, eagerly. She was a sweet-faced girl, with dancing eyes, and curly hair that hung far down over her shoulders.
"Oh, Nell, you mustn't expect a deer every time," remonstrated her mother. "I am glad to see you back, boys. I see you got some rabbits and turkeys," and she gave each a warm smile.
"Yes, and we got the deer, too," added Rodney, with a touch of pride in his tone. "But Dave is to be thanked for that."
"Nonsense," cried the youth mentioned. "Rodney had as much to do with bringing him down as I did. But we got more than that, Aunt Lucy—that is, the whole crowd did. Sam Barringford and White Buffalo are with us. They stopped at the shed to talk to Uncle Joe."
"And what more did you get?" questioned little Nell, eagerly.
"A bear—a great big bear—one of the biggest ever shot around here."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Mrs. Morris, while Nell shrank back, as if half expecting bruin would come after her. "That was certainly luck. I'm glad the bear didn't getyou."
"He came close to it," said Dave, and after kicking the snow from his feet, he entered the living room of the cabin and told his story, while Rodney did the same. The latter was rather winded from his long tramp through the snow and glad to sink down in his old chair by the open fireplace and rest. Dave hung up the guns and powder horns, and placed the small game in a pantry, and by that time the older men came up to the door.
"That certainty is a big bear," was Mrs. Morris's comment.
"Oh, I'm almost afraid to go near him," said Nell, with a shudder. "Think of being out in the woods all alone and meeting such a creature!" And she shuddered again.
The twins, however, were not so fearful, and both ran out in wild delight and climbed directly on top of the game. Sam Barringford caught up first one and then the other and gave each a squeeze and a kiss, which made them crow loudly.
"Nice Uncle Sam!" said each. "Love Uncle Sam!" And then he gave them another kiss. In his way, the old frontiersman was as fond of the children as if they were his own flesh and blood.
"White Buffalo did not bring his little lady any pappoose this time," said the Indian, when Nell greeted him.
"Never mind, I've got the other doll yet," answered Nell, and brought it forth, dressed in a gown she had just been making. "Isn't it grand, White Buffalo?" The old Indian chief had presented her with this doll of his own making two years before.
"White Buffalo bring this for his little lady," and slowly and cautiously he brought forth from under his heavy winter blanket several strings of highly ornamental beads.
"Oh, how beautiful! How very, very beautiful!" screamed Nell, gazing at the beads with wide-open eyes. "Oh, White Buffalo, are they really for me, really and truly?"
"Yes. They belonged to White Buffalo's little cousin. But she is dead and so are all of her folks, and so now they are to go to my little lady, if she will have them."
"This is kind of you, White Buffalo," said Mrs. Morris. "As Nell says, they are very beautiful."
"Then let her wear them, let her wear them always," returned the old Indian chief, gravely. "Always," he added. His words meant much, as we shall learn later.
As late as it was, Sam Barringford set to work to skin the bear, while Dave performed the same operation on the deer. Then the carcasses were hung up in the cold pantry, where they would be safe from molestation by any wild beasts that might be prowling around. In the meanwhile Mrs. Morris bustled about, preparing a hot supper for all.
Within the cabin, it was a picturesque and comfortable scene. The walls were of rude logs plastered with clay to keep out the wind. The fireplace was large and in it burned a back log six feet long and a foot in diameter, and also several other smaller sticks. Over the fire hung several pots and kettles, and on a spit a good-sized piece of meat was broiling.
The furnishings of this little room were plain, for the first cabin of the Morrises, that containing so many heirlooms of both families, had been burned down by the Indians. There was a long table, without a cloth, several chairs, and two good-sized benches, often called puncheon benches, for they were made of split logs, smoothed off on the upper side and held up by four props, or legs. There was also a shelf, containing the family Bible, several books, and a few gazettes and "almanacks." Back of the door was a loaded rifle, and a shotgun rested on a pair of elk antlers not far away. In one corner stood a spinning wheel, which Mrs. Morris used whenever she had time to do so. A rude wooden box hanging close to the fireplace contained a few knives, forks, spoons, and kindred things, and another shelf contained some plates and bowls.
When the meal was ready, the boys and men washed, and all sat down at the table. Joseph Morris said grace, and the food was passed around, so that each might take whatever he wanted. Only White Buffalo waited to be served by Mrs. Morris, and during the repast the Delaware said not a word, nor did he open his mouth until after a "pipe of peace" had been passed around by Mr. Morris, to himself and Sam Barringford.
"White Buffalo has been well received, his heart is glad," said the old Indian to Mrs. Morris. This was all he ever said after dining at the cabin, but his words had the ring of truth in them.
The meal over, all gathered around the fire, to talk over matters in general, and to tell of their various experiences. Rodney was glad to rest and retired early. Joseph Morris had to admit that his twisted ankle hurt him not a little, and he bathed it with some liniment and bound it up. When all of the others had withdrawn, Sam Barringford and White Buffalo made themselves comfortable on the cabin floor before the cheerful blaze. Outside the snow came down as thickly as ever, and occasionally the rising wind swept mournfully through the tree branches. As Dave turned over on his rude but comfortable couch, he was glad he was home again and not out in the trackless forest with its many perils.