With Washington in the west;

It was a happy meeting, and for some time Dave could think of but little excepting that his father was restored to him. While the two compared notes upon what had passed, Barringford, White Buffalo, and the other Indian went on guard, to prevent a surprise by any enemy who might be moving toward them.

But no one came near them, and an hour later the whole party moved off, toward a trail which White Buffalo was certain would sooner or later, bring them to the encampment of what was left of the English army.

“It was a sad disaster,” said James Morris, after telling his story and after listening to all Dave had to say of himself and those left at the homestead. “Barringford told me how General Braddock walked into the trap, which was set with the greatest of care by the French and the Indians.”

“Washington would not have been caught that way, had he led,” returned Dave. “I suppose this campaign is done for,” he added, soberly.

“More than likely, Dave. The victory will elate the French, and our people will be correspondingly cast down. It will take a good while before anything more is done, I feel certain.”

“And what of the post?”

“As you know, part of it was burnt down during the attack. I heard at the fort that Jean Bevoir was repairing it and had taken possession. Well, such are the fortunes of war,” and James Morris sighed deeply.

“Didn’t you save anything, father?”

“Oh, yes, I saved my furs and a good part of the stores. I suspected the attack and sent the things by pack train to Lambert’s post. Yesterday I heard, through a soldier, that Lambert sent everything of his own and mine to Winchester. So the loss is not near so great as it might otherwise have been,” concluded Mr. Morris.

The march through the wilderness was slow and painful and at every half mile Dave had to rest, and most of the others were glad enough to do the same. Once there came an alarm, and Barringford and White Buffalo went forward to investigate. They discovered two grenadiers and a Ranger, who had lost themselves in the woods. These soldiers were glad enough to join them, and this made the little party correspondingly stronger.

They did not dare to fire at any game, and lived entirely on fish taken from brooks flowing into the river and on some corn bread Mr. Morris had with him. Thus three days were spent in the wilderness when, late one afternoon, they came in sight of a soldiers’ camp.

“The Rangers!” cried Dave, and he was right, and soon they were among the Virginians, or rather among what was left of them, for the Rangers had lost nearly three-quarters of their command.

All was still in confusion, for those in charge of the baggage train had fled as soon as the news of the defeat reached them, and the drivers had taken a large number of the horses along. The camp was filled with the wounded, and so many officers were down that in some instances the oldest private had to command what was left of his company. The grenadiers, especially, were utterly downcast and their one thought was to return to some safe English town without delay. They were brave, and on an open field of battle would have done well, but the Indian method of fighting from behind trees, rocks, and bushes unnerved them.

At Will’s Creek there had been erected Fort Cumberland, and to this place of safety the army now directed its footsteps and Washington sent on ahead for extra horses to carry the wounded. The worst of the panic over, Colonel Dunbar assumed command, but this English officer was still so full of fear that he would not listen to any plan of Washington’s for a stand at Fort Cumberland. It would be foolhardy, the French were too powerful and the Indians aiding them too numerous, to dream of such a thing, was the way in which Dunbar reasoned, and in the end he did not stop until he had pushed his way across Pennsylvania to Philadelphia. His sick and wounded he left at Will’s Creek, under the care of the colonists.

Yet no other attack came from the French, and for a good reason. The garrison at Fort Duquesne was much reduced, and as a matter of fact, the “army” that had attacked Braddock’s troops had been nothing but a detachment of several hundred French regulars and Canadians and six or seven hundred Indians! Had this detachment been met as Washington and others wished to meet it, victory it is likely would have been upon the side of the English. As it was, while the fight was going on, the commander at the fort was considering whether he should withdraw in secret or wait and surrender upon honorable terms!

The long, weary march to Will’s Creek told upon poor Dave and when the settlement was gained he looked but the shadow of himself. He was glad to find his Uncle Joe awaiting their arrival and equally glad to obtain permission from Washington to go home on sick leave. With him went Barringford, who was now attached to his protégé more than ever. White Buffalo had left the party when the fort had been sighted, saying he would come in when the snow came. The next day the Indian and his followers were off to avenge the fall of their brethren.

“It’s not a joyful home-coming,” remarked Joseph Morris, to his brother. “But I am glad that you and Dave are alive.”

“But the loss at the post—” began James Morris, anxiously.

“Let that drop, James. The loss is nothing compared to what it would have been had you lost your life out there. In the future you may be more successful.”

“Then you think we will eventually conquer the French and Indians?”

“I do—and it will not take many years to do it either,” replied Joseph Morris, and his words proved true, as history testifies.

When Dave and the others came in sight of the homestead, all even to little Nell, ran forward to greet them, and it was Mrs. Morris who first folded the young soldier in her arms and kissed him.

“I am so glad to see you back!” she cried. “You must not go away again!”

“Not for the present, Aunt Lucy,” answered Dave. “I think I’ve earned a good rest.”

“I’ve got a little news to tell,” said Henry, after all had entered the cabin. “Do you remember the horses which disappeared? Well, father and I got them back last week, from some Indians who were going to turn them over to the soldiers for thirty pounds apiece.”

“You’ve got Fanny back?” cried Dave, and his face lit up with pleasure. “That’s splendid! Did you have any trouble?”

“No, as soon as the Indians saw father they ran away. One of them was that rascal Turtle Foot, and I suppose he thought father had it in for him on account of the way he treated you at Winchester.”

Henry was quite himself again, and Rodney was also doing finely, and had to tell how he could now work on the farm almost as well as anybody. He had been a great help during Dave’s absence.

“The work seems to strengthen me,” he said. “And, oh, Dave, you don’t know how good it feels to walk around once more like other folks!”

“I can believe you—now I am under the weather myself,” replied Dave.

“The home looks quite natural,” remarked James Morris, as he dropped into a comfortable chair. “Quite natural, and I am very glad to get back to it again.”

“And so am I glad,” murmured Dave. And then, as little Nell climbed up on his knee, he added: “I can tell you what, war isn’t all fun and glory, after all.”

A few words more and I will bring to a close this tale of a young pioneer’s war adventures while “With Washington in the West.”

After the defeat of Braddock came the defeat of English arms in other quarters, and as a consequence the whole frontier was in a state of excitement and terror. At Winchester and at Fort Cumberland there were frequent reports that all of the Indians were rising for a general massacre of the whites. These reports proved, upon investigation, to be untrue, but for many weeks the settlers, including the Morrises, slept upon their arms and kept their horses in readiness for immediate flight.

There could be but one result of all this, and early in the year following war was formally declared between France and England, and each nation set to work to send large forces to America in the hope of conquering its rival. These forces united with the colonists, and once again the tocsin of war sounded, spreading gradually from Virginia on the south to Canada on the north. Excitement was again at a fever heat, and in the midst of this, Dave Morris and his cousin Henry, now as well as ever, thought it their duty to go again to the front, and with them went old Sam Barringford. What their further adventures were will be related in a second volume of this series, entitled: “Marching on Niagara; or, The Soldier Boys of the Old Frontier.”

Yet for the time being Mrs. Morris was glad to have the boys at home, and shook her head sadly when they spoke of going away.

“You must stay here for a long time,” she would say. “You did your duty nobly. Let others do as much.”

“Thet’s right,” Barringford would add. “The lads have the blood of their fathers in ’em, God bless ’em!”

“Well, who wouldn’t want to fight, when following such a leader as Washington?” came from Dave. “Why, a fellow simply can’t help himself.”

“A wonderful man—truly a wonderful man,” put in the youth’s father reflectively. “I feel certain we shall hear a good deal more of him in years to come.”

And we have heard a good deal more, haven’t we, reader?