CHAPTER XVI
DAVE’S DEPARTURE FOR THE WEST
A week after the arrival of Sam Barringford at the Morris homestead Dave was much surprised and delighted to see White Buffalo making his way along the creek. Dropping the hoe he was using at the time, the youth ran to meet the friendly Indian.
“White Buffalo is welcome,” he said, as he shook hands. “I have been looking for you a long time.”
“How-how!” returned the Indian, as he bent a kindly glance on Dave. “White boy was afraid White Buffalo would not come back, is that so?”
“You are right. How is my father?”
“He was well a moon ago. Since that time I have not set eyes upon him.”
“Has he had any trouble with the French, or with those other Indians?”
“The French have ordered him away, but it was only with their tongues, and he paid no attention to them. He has with him now four white men and ten Indians—of White Buffalo’s tribe—and the French were but three in number.”
“Then there was no fight?”
“No. The French remained but one night and stole away ere the sun was up.”
“You say you saw him a moon ago. Then you did not come direct to here from his post?”
“I could not come. The braves of White Buffalo’s tribe have had trouble with the skunks under Fox Head, the Indian who made trouble for the white boy’s father when he first went toward the setting sun. Two fights we had, and three of our braves were slain. We followed Fox Head and killed six of his skunks and left their bodies by the river side for the wolves to feed upon.”
As White Buffalo concluded he thrust his hand under his blanket and drew forth a letter. It was addressed to Dave and written by the boy’s parent. The communication was as follows:
“My dear Dave: I am writing this in haste, for White Buffalo is anxious to get away, saying there is trouble between his tribe and the cowardly curs under Fox Head.
“I suppose you and your uncle have been wondering why you did not hear from me. The truth is, I have been off scouting most of the time, for I was afraid the French and Indians were planning to surprise me and wipe out our post.
“All now seems to be quiet and although I have been warned by the French to go away I think it will end in talk. At any rate, I am doing very well and I shall not move until actually forced to. I have strengthened the post and now have constantly a guard of four whites and ten Indians. Every night I send one man up the river, one down, and another to our rear, so it will not be an easy matter for anybody to surprise us.
“About your coming out here at present I do not know what to say. I would be much pleased to have you with me, but I do not wish to expose you to peril, should this post be attacked. If you wish very much to come, you can do so, providing you can get Sam Barringford or some other reliable hunter to come out with you. I would have you come with White Buffalo but he is at present interested in the troubles between his own tribe and that of Fox Head, and might not be able to bring you through in safety.
“Above all, consult your uncle Joe about this previous to making any move, for he may know more about these troubles with the French and Indians than I do. Tell him that the goods came through safely and that they have helped me to make many good trades. I have shipped goods by pack train to Annapolis, but not by way of Will’s Creek, for the man in charge, Isaac Fraley, wanted to go by way of Pontona instead.”
This was the main portion of the letter. There was another sheet, written principally for Joseph Morris and his family, in which James Morris hoped they were all well and said he had not been sick a day since opening the trading-post. He ended by stating that if Dave did come on, in company with Barringford or somebody else, they might bring along the goods mentioned on a separate slip—the articles being mainly glass trinkets and medicines.
This letter put Dave in high feather and he lost no time in hunting up his uncle Joe, who was getting the barn floor in readiness for threshing.
“A letter from father!” he cried. “And I can join him if I want to.”
Joseph Morris read the communication with as much interest as had his nephew. He was glad to learn his brother was safe.
“Then you still want to go, Dave?” he asked.
“To be sure, Uncle Joe. Do you blame me?”
“Can’t say as I do, lad. It’s natural that you should want to be with your father. But if war comes——”
“If war comes I would rather be with father than be away from him,” broke in Dave, quickly.
“I don’t know if you can get Sam Barringford to go with you.”
“I’m sure I can—Sam will do anything for me. Of course father will pay him for the trip, and for bringing along those goods.”
“We’ll have to get the goods at Annapolis—that’s a trip in itself, and I can hardly spare the time now—with harvesting coming on.”
“If you’ll let me, I’ll buy the goods myself. I know I can do it and not get cheated.”
“Perhaps you can buy them, Dave. But how about the trip to Annapolis?”
“I wouldn’t mind it, in this fine weather. I came on alone from the Shenandoah, remember.”
“Yes, I haven’t forgotten that, nor how you were ’most lost in that snowstorm.”
“We’re not likely to have a snowstorm now, Uncle Joe.”
“Henry has been bothering me about a trip to Winchester,” went on Joseph Morris, slowly. “I might let him take the trip with you, if he wasn’t away from the farm too long.”
“Just the thing! I’d like Henry along and he ought to have a vacation—he has worked so hard all spring and summer.”
“Well, come in the house, and you too, White Buffalo, and we’ll talk the matter over.”
They entered the cabin, and here White Buffalo was entertained with the best at hand, and also paid for his services. Soon Henry Morris came in and was told of what was proposed. He said nothing would please him better than a trip to Annapolis, and was willing to start the next day. Sam Barringford had gone off on a hunt, but both Dave and his uncle felt certain that the old hunter would willingly make the journey to the trading-post on the Kinotah.
“He spoke of going out there only yesterday,” said Joseph Morris. “He will jump at the chance of having Dave along.”
So it was arranged before nightfall that Dave should go west and should first make the trip eastward with his cousin Henry.
The day following was one full of bustle and excitement for the two cousins, and it must be confessed that Mrs. Morris was equally affected, for this was the first time Henry had left her, to be gone a week or more. The weather was all that could be wished for, and the boys wanted to make the most of it.
It is not my purpose here to go into the details of the trip. Each of the lads was provided with a good horse and consequently they made rapid progress. On the way they shot a deer and also aided a plantation owner to overcome a negro who had run amuck and was threatening to kill everybody in sight.
At Annapolis their trading took somewhat longer than expected, and while Dave did not strike any great bargains, yet he was shrewd enough not to get cheated and his purchases, on the whole, were as satisfactory as if his uncle had made them. The two boys went sight seeing and also spent one evening at the theater, where they witnessed a performance of Shakespeare’s “Merchant of Venice,” at a shilling an admission.
On the day they were leaving Annapolis Dave fell in with a man he had met there before and learned from him that Lawrence Washington was dead, having departed this life at Mount Vernon, shortly after coming back from Barbadoes, on July 26. He had left a wife and a little daughter, and these were consigned to the care of his brother George, who was now called Major Washington, on account of his attachment to the militia.
When the boys got back as far as Winchester, they found Sam Barringford there, waiting for them. Through another settler, Joseph Morris had heard of a skilled surgeon who was stopping at the post, and he had sent Barringford to interview the medical man, in hope of getting him to doctor Rodney’s lameness. The old hunter had met the surgeon, and now the four journeyed to the Morris homestead together.
“To be sure I’ll go west with ye, Dave,” said the old hunter. “Nothing would suit me better.”
The arrival of the surgeon at the homestead put Mrs. Morris in a flutter, and preparations were at once made to operate upon Rodney, who was willing to undergo any amount of pain if only he could be cured. Dave would have liked to see the operation, but Barringford advised that they take advantage of the fine weather and push on.
“With some of the Indians on the warpath it may take us some time to get to the post,” he said. “And we don’t want to be caught in the heavy fall rains.”
A day later saw them on their way, all those left behind wishing them God-speed.
“Take good care of yourself, Dave,” were Joseph Morris’ last words. “And tell your father to give up the post, even if he is making money, rather than run the risk of losing his life.” And so nephew and uncle parted, not to meet again for many a long day.