CHAPTER VI
Leaving Ira Sanderson to recover and tell his story to those at the Morris homestead, let us journey westward and learn for ourselves what had occurred at James Morris's trading-post during the months in which Dave had been absent.
The new trading-post, built on the bank of the Ohio River after the first post, located on the Kinotah, twenty miles away, had been destroyed, was a substantial affair of heavy logs. The main building now consisted of four rooms, and not far away was a storehouse of two rooms, to which was attached a horse stable of fair size. The post was built on a tiny bluff overlooking the broad Ohio, and close at hand was a small brook backed up by rocks. A strong palisade of sharpened logs driven into the soil ran around a portion of the grounds which was not protected by the water, and here was located a heavy pair of gates, ten feet wide, secured by two strong crossbars. At convenient distances loopholes were cut in the palisade, to be used for shooting purposes in case of an attack.
On all sides of the trading-post the forest stretched for miles, broken only by the river and smaller streams, with here and there a tiny waterfall or a lake. In some spots the wilderness of trees and underbrush was so dense that to cut a path through was next to impossible. For miles and miles the only settlements were those of the Indians, who wandered from place to place, as their fancy pleased them. And this was but a hundred and forty odd years ago. To-day this same section of our country contains numerous towns and cities, the river counts its hundreds of steamboats, and the luxurious railroad trains dash by well cultivated farms. Truly the progress of our country has been marvelous.
For several weeks after Dave was rescued from the Indians, and left to continue his journey eastward, matters moved along smoothly at the trading-post. Henry missed his cousin greatly, for the two young soldiers had been like brothers since childhood. But he did not complain, for he knew that his Uncle James must feel equally lonely.
Every day the hunters and trappers who made the post their stopping-place came and went. Some were kind and considerate enough, but others were brutal, and a few wished to carouse and fight, something which Mr. Morris would not tolerate. A great many had been to the war and found it difficult to settle down after so much fighting.
"The war spirit gets into a fellow's veins," said one old trapper to Henry. "It seems so quiet with nothing going on."
"I know the feeling," answered Henry. "I was in the war myself."
"So Tony Jadwin was telling me, Henry; he said you saw lots of fighting, too, you an' your cousin Dave."
"We did—more than I want to see again."
"The Injuns ain't done makin' trouble, Henry."
"I believe you," answered the youth, seriously.
It was the next day that the three strange Indians put in an appearance, as described in James Morris's letter. Henry saw them, and he and his uncle talked the matter over after the red men had departed.
"They certainty did act suspicious," declared the youth. "And they were wicked-looking customers, too."
"I shall notify Jadwin to keep a sharp lookout in the future," answered James Morris. Tony Jadwin was now his right-hand man at the post, a hunter and trapper as well known as Sanderson and Sam Barringford.
Following this visit came the visit of the two other Indians. They caught Henry cleaning up several guns and pistols, and this made them speak of buying some firearms.
"They were actually angry because we wouldn't sell to them," said Henry. "Uncle James, they certainly mean mischief."
"Just my notion, Henry. But they can't do much single-handed."
"Don't you think there are other Indians around?"
"Jadwin hasn't seen any—I mean any that are strange. Those Delawares who train with White Buffalo are here, but I don't fear them."
"Have you any idea what has become of Pontiac?"
"A French trapper told me yesterday that Pontiac is reported to be in the vicinity of Fort Detroit. They say he has some sort of a home on an island in the Detroit River."
"If he was down here he'd be certain to make trouble."
"Pontiac isn't thinking of us just now, Henry. I believe he is plotting to attack the big forts. He'll leave the under chiefs to attack the little posts and the settlements."
For several days after Sanderson's departure for the east, matters ran along smoothly at the trading-post. Only a few well-known Indians came in, to exchange furs for other commodities. These Indians reported having seen some Ottawas on the Ohio, moving to the northward.
"Perhaps they have left the vicinity," said James Morris, and breathed a short sigh of relief. He had seen so much of excitement he wanted no more of it.
On the following day Henry went out to do some fishing. He had with him a strong pike pole and also the necessary lines and bait. He traveled a short distance down the river, and finding a spot that suited him, cut a circular hole in the ice with his pike pole and then started to fish.
It was a clear, cold day, and as the fish did not bite very lively the youth occasionally walked around to keep his blood in circulation. Once he walked a short distance up the shore, to look around a bend, and there to his surprise saw six Indians, hurrying into the depths of the wilderness with a heavy bundle among them.
"Can they be going to our post?" he asked himself. "If so, they are taking a roundabout way of getting there."
He watched the Indians out of sight and then returned to his fishing. But he had lost interest in the spoil, and soon wound up his lines and hurried back to the post, where he told his uncle of what he had seen.
"Six Indians, and all strainers, eh?" said James Morris. "If they are coming here they ought to arrive soon."
He hurried out and made his preparations to receive them. At the post at the time were Tony Jadwin and three other frontiersmen—all the others, and the friendly Indians, being out hunting or trapping. James Morris called the crowd together.
"They may be friendly, but we must take no chances," he said. "Load your guns and keep on guard."
These orders had been given so many times before, that the men knew exactly what was expected of them. Jadwin took his station at the stockade gates, and the others lounged around, each with his gun and a pistol ready for instant use, should any shooting be necessary.
But the Indians did not come, and by nightfall the temporary alarm was over. One of the frontiersmen began to poke fun at Henry and said he "reckoned as how" the youth had made a mistake.
"No, I didn't make a mistake," answered Henry. "I saw them as plain as day. Perhaps they were going to some other post."
"If so, they have a long tramp before them," returned the frontiersmen. "No other post nigh to thirty miles from here." This was true.
On the following day two friendly Indians reported seeing a fine herd of deer a short distance down the river. This interested those at the fort, and two of the men went off shortly after noon to see if they could bring down some of the game. Henry wanted to go along, but Mr. Morris demurred.
"I would rather have you here," he said to his nephew. "With those men gone we may need you. You can go some other time."
Henry saw the wisdom of his uncle's reasoning and so contented himself by working around the post, taking care of some hides which had recently come in, and in exercising one of the horses. Henry loved a good horse almost as much as he loved hunting, and he spent a full hour in the saddle.
"Rides as ef he was born to it," remarked Jadwin, who was looking on. "Just see him stick when the horse makes that sharp turn!"
"Henry is an out-door young man if ever there was one," answered James Morris. "And my Dave is about of the same nature," he added.
The winter sun was almost setting when two Indians appeared at the stockade gates. They were strangers and set up a cry for admission.
"What do you want?" demanded James Morris, as he appeared at the top of a small ladder, gun in hand.
"Want to sell skins," grunted one of the red men, a dirty individual with particularly repulsive features.
The Indians had a big bundle on a drag, and each carried his bow and arrows on his back. Seeing this, James Morris called to the others in the post to be on guard, and then descended the ladder and opened one of the gates.
"Where do you come from?" he asked, as the Indians came in, dragging their big bundle.
"Come from the south," was the answer. "Two moons of hard hunting," and the Indian pointed to the bundle, meaning that the latter contained the results of a two months' hunting tour. "Make trade to-morrow," he continued.
"To-morrow?" queried James Morris. "Don't you want to trade now?"
"No. Black Ear not here. Black Ear own some skins. He come to-morrow, den all trade."
"You mean that some of the skins belong to Black Ear?"
"Yes."
"And he will be here to-morrow?"
"Yes."
"All right then, you come in to-morrow and trade. You can't stay here overnight. I don't allow that sort of thing any more."
"Indians no want to stay. But want leave big bundle skins. Heavy bundle, Indians tired. Put bundle in dare," and the red man pointed to the storehouse.
"All right, you can put the bundle in there if you wish," answered James Morris, carelessly.
"Bundle safe dare?"
"Yes."
"No touch bundle—Black Ear say wait—he angry if touch bundle skins."
"I shan't touch 'em, so don't worry," answered the owner of the post. "Come on," and he showed the Indians where they might deposit the big bundle. It was placed in a corner of the storehouse, and then, with a sharp look around the post, the strangers prepared to depart.
"Give Indians rum?" said the one who could speak English.
"I haven't any rum."
"Give Indians a little tobacco."
"I'll do that," said James Morris, and handed over a fair-sized pouch full. For this the red men seemed to be very grateful, and hurried away, saying that they would come back with Black Ear in the morning and do their trading.
"Very well," said Mr. Morris. "I'll do the best I can by you."
He followed the red men to the gates, and after they were gone barred the barriers as carefully as before. The Indians did not look back, but plunged at once into the depths of the forest. When they were out of sight of the post one Indian looked suggestively at his companion.
"Think you did the white trader suspect?" asked one, in his native tongue.
"He suspected nothing," was the reply. "The plan was too well laid."
"We must hurry and tell Rain Cloud and let him gather the others. At the cry of the whip-poor-will we must stand ready to fall upon the post and kill all who are stationed there."