CHAPTER X
"Uncle Jim, are you—you——" began Henry. He could not finish.
Crack! It was the rifle of one of the frontiersmen that rang out, and Rain Cloud, rushing back toward the forest, gave a shudder, whirled around and fell on his back, stone dead.
"My uncle has been wounded in the head," cried Henry. His heart was in his throat. What if his relative was dead? The thought was a horrible one. He saw that the blood was streaming down over the man's face. There was a wound running over the temple toward the left ear.
Laying his uncle down in the snow, Henry knelt beside him. He heard several shots fired but paid no attention. He took up some snow and soaked away the blood with it.
"Oh!" murmured the wounded man, and opened his eyes with a quiver. Then he started up. "The rascals! What a dastardly thing to do!"
"Uncle Jim! Then you are not killed!" ejaculated Henry. "Oh, thank God for that!"
Now that the blood was away he saw that James Morris had suffered nothing more than a scratch, ugly enough, it is true, but not at all serious.
"It was a close shave," said one of the frontiersmen. "A little closer and he would have been killed on the spot."
"I nailed Rain Cloud for it," came from the other guard. "He has gone to his happy hunting ground."
"I don't know if he was to blame, exactly," began Henry, and shuddered.
"Sure he was to blame. No doubt but that the Injuns had it fixed to fire on your uncle if he wouldn't surrender."
A fierce war-whoop now rang out, drowning all other sounds, and for the first time since coming to the post, the Indians let drive a volley of bullets and arrows. Fortunately not one took effect, although one arrow, sailing up in the air, dropped directly over Henry's shoulder, and another hit the fringe of a frontiersman's jacket.
As soon as he could recover from the shock received, James Morris caught up a rifle and joined in the defense, and Henry did the same. The Indians were now coming forward in a body, and the whooping was incessant. After the first volley shots were fired irregularly, and those inside the post returned the fire whenever a favorable opportunity showed itself.
"They are at the gates!" was the cry, in a few minutes, and there followed a crash. The red men had come up with a big log, which they used as a battering ram. Just as the gates were struck, the defenders of the post sent in a volley and two red men fell lifeless beside the log.
"That's the way to serve them!" cried James Morris. The blood fairly covered his face, making him hideous in the extreme, but he paid no attention. A number of rocks were at hand, which those inside the post seized and hurled on the heads of the red men without. This was too much for the Indians, and once more they retreated, leaving the log and their dead behind them.
"Listen! I hear shots from a distance!" exclaimed Henry, during the lull that followed.
He was right, the shots could be plainly heard, and they kept coming nearer. The war-whoops of the Indians sounded out, and then a yell which they knew must come from the throats of white men.
"Jadwin has found the others, and they are having a fight back there with the redskins," cried James Morris. "We must be prepared to let our friends in if they reach here."
The shouts and shots continued, first working around to the side of the post, and then coming again to the front.
"I see one of our men!" cried Henry at last. "Here they come!"
As he spoke, seven white men and an equal number of friendly Indians were coming along through the snow of the wilderness. At a distance were the enemy, headed by Black Ear. All were fighting desperately and a number had been wounded on both sides.
James Morris was at the gates, and at the proper moment he threw one open and some friendly Indians came rushing in, carrying a wounded comrade between them. Then followed the whites, Tony Jadwin being the last. Three of the latter were wounded, but none fatally. As soon as all were inside, the gates were closed and barred as before.
A howl of rage and disappointment filled the air, coming from the wilderness. Black Ear and his warriors had fought well, but the whites and the Indians of White Buffalo's tribe had outmatched them. With their dead and wounded they withdrew to a considerable distance, to hold a council and decide upon what was to be done next.
"Had a hard time of it getting back," Tony Jadwin admitted, when he could get his breath. "The redskins are worked up to the last degree, on account of the killing of Rain Cloud. I believe they will send off for reinforcement."
"If it hadn't been for Tony we should have been surrounded and shot down in cold blood," remarked one of the hunters. "He reached us in the nick of time, just as we were having breakfast. The redskins could have dropped us like pullets in a barnyard."
"I ran every foot of the way," said Jadwin. "Once I went into a hole up to my waist. But I knew it was for me to do what I did, so I done it."
"Friend Tony, big warrior," said one of the Indians. "No forget him. Tony save us all, yes," and he nodded to emphasize his words.
A count was made, and it was found that nine whites and four Indians were in fit condition to go on guard. Two of the others had been wounded in the legs, but they declared that they would sit by and load the guns, if another attack should come. All realized that they must do their utmost, or run the risk of being killed and scalped.
But for the time being the followers of Black Ear had had enough of the struggle. They had not anticipated so desperate a resistance, and a few were in favor of marching away altogether.
"The trading-post is too strong—it cannot be taken," said one. "The white men are better shots than Little Wolf thought. They have eyes like eagles."
While the red men were in conference an Indian who had been acting as a guard came running in with the news that fifteen Indians and three white men were approaching from the north.
"One of the white men is a French trader," said the warrior who brought the news. "He once had a trading-post here."
At this news Black Ear's face brightened.
"It must be Jean Bevoir," he said. "He was to join us long ago, but could not get here."
"Will he aid those at the post?" questioned another.
"Not he. James Morris and Jean Bevoir are as the wolf and the wildcat. They hate each other."
After a few words more, Black Ear went out to meet Jean Bevoir, who was coming through the forest accompanied by two Frenchmen named Planette and Delot. The latter two were wild, harum-scarum fellows, out for any deed of daring which might promise a rich reward.
As my old readers know, Jean Bevoir was a crafty rascal who in the past had given the Morris family endless trouble. Years before he had claimed the spot upon which James Morris's first trading-post was built, and ever since he had argued that the profits of the Morris trading-post belonged to him. During the war he had done much to harm the Morrises, and during the uprising of the past year he had done his best to make Dave a prisoner. But he had been driven off and had received wounds which if not serious were decidedly annoying.
Jean Bevoir was now an outcast, so far as the better class of French trappers and traders were concerned, and the English traders wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Under such circumstances the Frenchman had gathered around him a number of Indians belonging to the Wanderers, the Sacs, and the Ottawas, and the two wild fellow countrymen just mentioned, and with these he proposed to plunder whatever place gave him the chance. He did not know yet if it would pay to attack the Morris post, but had resolved to investigate before pushing further to the southward. He knew he could do nothing at the north, for he had learned privately that all the attacks in the vicinity of the Great Lakes were to be under the directions of Pontiac and he and the great Indian chief were no longer on good terms.
"My white brother is welcome," said Black Ear, on meeting Jean Bevoir. He spoke in his native tongue, for the Frenchman understood the Indian language very well. It was said that the rascally trader had Indian blood in his veins.
"What have you been doing?" asked Bevoir.
Knowing that he could trust the man before him, Black Ear related what had occurred. Jean Bevoir listened with close attention. It pleased him to know that James Morris had been shot.
"I trust that you killed him," he said, cold-bloodedly. "And how many do you think are now at the post?"
This was a question Black Ear either could not or would not answer correctly, and he said he thought about nine or ten, of whom several were wounded.
"You know how to fight these white men," said he, in a flattering tone. "Make an attack, and Black Ear will aid all he can." He knew that he could no longer get his own warriors to lead in the onslaught.
Jean Bevoir was only too willing to attack James Morris's post, but said that he and his followers must first have time to rest and get something to eat. A deer had been shot while on the march, and this was cut up and prepared as the Frenchman and the Indians desired. The party also carried a cask of rum, and each person was given a small horn of this. The liquor set the Indians wild and they uttered whoop after whoop as they danced around the camp, tomahawks in hand, shouting out how they were going to capture the post and slay every man in it.
In the meantime, after the Indians had withdrawn from the vicinity of the trading-post, Henry begged his uncle to allow him to go outside and learn, if possible, what the enemy intended to do next.
"I can go out by way of the tunnel," said the youth. "And if it is dangerous I won't go any further than the hollow tree."
At first James Morris demurred, but as he also was anxious to know what was being done outside, he at length consented.
"But you must be careful, Henry," he said. "Those Indians may be up to some of their tricks."
The youth promised to be on his guard, and with a pistol in hand, and hunting knife in his belt, he slipped into the inner end of the tunnel, and worked his way slowly and cautiously along, under the palisade, and in the direction of the hollow tree.
The tunnel was just large enough for the youth to crawl along on hands and knees. The walls were composed largely of rocks, with here and there a patch of dirt, through which numerous tree roots protruded. Some rabbits had made their home in the tunnel, but they had been scared away by Tony Jadwin.
At last Henry gained the foot of the hollow tree. Here he had to squeeze his way between several thick roots. Close at hand was a small opening and through this he gazed, to learn if any of the enemy were at hand.
Not an Indian was in sight, and with increased caution, he drew himself up into the hollow tree until he reached an opening among the branches. Then he stuck his head out and looked around the forest fronting the trading-post.
"Well, I vow!" he muttered to himself. "Jean Bevoir, as sure as I am in this tree! How in the world did he get here, and what is he going to do?"