In a moment more something happened which changed the tables of fortune. Unable to bear the pain of her twisted ankle, Mrs. Risley drew in a sharp, rasping breath which sound reached the ears of one of the Indians. Instantly he stepped in that direction and spoke to the warrior with the torch. Three of the band came forward with swift steps and arrows pointed. A yell rent the air, telling that those in hiding were discovered.
Seeing it was useless to remain prostrate Henry leaped up. An arrow whizzed past his shoulder and would have struck him fairly in the breast had he not leaped to one side.
He, too, blazed away, and saw the leading Indian go down, shot through the breast, a serious if not a mortal wound. Then he pulled Mrs. Risley to her feet.
"Run!" he cried. "Run! It is your only chance. Hide in the woods!"
She limped off, but ere she had gotten a dozen steps two of the warriors were after her, and she was made a prisoner. In the meantime Henry retreated to a clump of birch trees and there made a stand against the remaining Indians.
The struggle, which lasted but a few minutes, was an unequal one. Another arrow was fired, and it grazed his left hand, causing the blood to flow freely, and making the stains afterward discovered by Dave. Then one of the red men came up behind the trees, and reaching out struck him with the flat side of a tomahawk. Henry tried to turn and grapple with his assailant, but suddenly his senses left him and he knew no more.
"'Tis one of the Morris family," said the Indian with the torch, in his native tongue. He made an examination. "He is not dead."
"A good capture," said another. "We must take him along. Gonawak, you must help to carry him."
"And what of the woman?" asked the warrior addressed as Gonawak, well known throughout that territory for his extreme cruelty.
"Talking Deer will take care of her," was the answer. "He is to take care of all of them until this raid is over."
But little more was said, and in a few minutes the unconscious form of the young hunter was picked up and borne through the forest in the direction of the nearest stream. As has been said, water leaves no trail, and for this reason the redmen instinctively used the shallow stream for a roadway.
When Henry regained his senses he found himself strapped to the back of a horse and moving slowly westward through the forest. The wound on his hand had been allowed to bleed itself out. He felt both weak and stiff and had a dull ache in his head, where the tomahawk had landed and raised a good-sized lump.
By a blaze on the animal's neck, Henry recognized the horse he rode as one belonging to a pioneer living in that vicinity. He was in the company of nine redmen, four of whom were mounted on stolen horses. From this he inferred that the Risley cabin was not the only one which had been attacked on that fatal night.
He looked around, but could see nothing of Mrs. Risley nor of any other captives. He was alone with the savage warriors, and what they intended to do with him there was no telling. But he had good reasons for believing that a horrible fate was in store for him.
"I must get away if I can," he thought. "They can't do any more than shoot me if I try to escape, and even that will be better than to be burnt at the stake."
The Indians now noticed that he had recovered consciousness, and one of them rode closer and said sharply:
"White hunter boy must keep still. If yell will strike him!" And he flourished his tomahawk threateningly.
"Where are you taking me?" questioned Henry. But the Indian would not answer and only told him to keep quiet.
It was growing morning when the small band came to a halt, at the bank of a wide stream where there was a series of rapids among the rocks. Henry was cut loose and ordered to dismount. Then he was led to a nearby tree and tied up once more.
"Will you give me a drink?" he asked of one of the Indians, but for answer the redman slapped him sharply over the mouth and told him to hold his tongue.
Suffering much from thirst and from the wound on his left hand, which had now begun to swell, Henry watched the Indians as they prepared an early morning meal, for the light of dawn was now showing in the east. A fire of very dry wood, which would give little smoke, was lighted and over this two of the redmen prepared some deer meat they had been carrying. The smell of the cooking venison was tantalizing to Henry, but he knew better than to ask for a portion of the repast. Once or twice the Indians came up to him but only to jibe at him and poke him with their guns or their bows, while one made a move with his hunting knife as if to cut out the young hunter's heart.
While the Indians were busy eating Henry tugged at his bonds with all the strength he could muster. But he was too weak, and the warriors had bound the rawhides too firmly, for the youth to budge them. He only made his wound break out afresh, and then had to stop, well-nigh exhausted with his effort.
"Getting away is out of the question," he thought, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. "They will keep a sharp watch on me until they get back to their village and then they will take great delight in torturing me in every way they can think of. Oh, what savages they are, every one of them!"
Thus musing, Henry watched the Indians eat their meal. When they had finished one warrior came to him with some of the scraps and with a cup full of dirty water.
"White hunter boy can eat," said the Indian, and untied one of his hands. It was far from an appetizing meal and was decidedly scant. But it was better than nothing, and not wishing to starve to death Henry ate all that was offered him and drank the water to the last drop. Then his loose hand was once again fastened behind him.
The Indians were now holding a consultation, sitting close to the dying embers of the fire and smoking their long-stemmed pipes. But little of what was said reached Henry's ears, yet he caught the words "big feast" and "burn at stake" spoken in the Indian tongue. At this he had to shudder in spite of every effort to control his feelings.
"I must get away!" he thought. "I must! I'm not going to allow them to burn me at the stake! It's horrible. I've heard all about old Sol Harper and Dick Waterbury, and how they suffered. I'd rather be shot. They'll—Oh!"
His thoughts came to a sudden end, and for the instant he felt that he must be dreaming. His eyes had strayed to the bushes on the opposite bank of the stream. A white hand was raised warningly and the bushes parted slowly, showing the face of his old friend, Sam Barringford. Henry nodded, to show that he had seen the old frontiersman. Then the bushes closed again and Sam Barringford disappeared.
The appearance of his old frontier friend gave Henry's hopes a bound upward. He felt that he could rely upon Sam Barringford to do his utmost for him in securing his release. He felt equally sure that Barringford had been following the band for some time, trying to gain a chance to rush in and cut his bonds.
It was true that Barringford numbered but one against nine, and would have stood small chance against them in an open fight, but Henry knew the old frontiersman too well to imagine that Barringford would thus expose himself to a stray shot that might kill him. His friend had learned the value of playing a "waiting game," and would do nothing rash unless the occasion actually demanded it.
The best part of half an hour went by, and still the Indians remained around the camp-fire, smoking and discussing the situation. Occasionally one would glance toward Henry and perhaps raise a tomahawk threateningly, meaning thereby that an attempt to escape would be punishable by death. To these movements Henry paid no attention.
The young hunter's ears were on the alert, for he half expected that Barringford might be coming up behind him to cut his bonds. At last he heard his name mentioned in a low, guarded tone:
"Henry!"
"Sam," he returned, without apparently moving his lips.
"I'm right behind, lad. Do as I tell you and gittin' away may come easy. I'll cut yer rawhides, but don't you attempt ter move till yer hear a noise in the woods an' the Injuns run fer the spot. Then dust straight back, an' I'll jine you fast as I kin. Do you understand?"
"Yes," answered Henry, as softly as before.
"All right. Now tell me when them measly critters ain't lookin'. I can't see 'em from here."
After this there was a few minutes of silence. Henry watched the nine redmen as never before. Several faced him, but now they turned away for a moment and he communicated that fact to Sam Barringford.
Instantly a hand glided around the side of the tree and a sharp hunting knife slid along the rawhides which bound the youth's hands and feet. The bonds about the tree were already severed.
"Now I'm goin'," whispered Barringford. "Don't run till they ain't a-noticin' of you—unless, o' course, they come straight at you."
As silently as he had come Sam Barringford retreated, keeping the tree and some brushwood between himself and the enemy. Once more Henry was left alone, and again many anxious minutes passed.
Suddenly from a distance up the stream came a shot, followed by another, and then a well-known Indian war-whoop. The voice of a white man, calling out loudly, was heard, followed by another war-cry, and a crashing and splitting of a tree branch.
Throwing down their pipes all the Indians around the camp-fire leaped to their feet and seized their weapons. With one accord they bounded up the stream to learn what the encounter so close at hand could mean. The war-whoop used was their own. Some of their own tribe must be making an attack or must be in danger.
No sooner had the Indians turned to leave him than Henry dropped his bonds and leaped behind the tree. With all possible speed he rushed straight into the woods. As he progressed he jumped from one rock to another, where this could be done, in order to leave as imperfect a trail as possible.
He felt that the shots, the cries and the war-whoops, coupled with the crashing of the tree branch, were all a part of the ruse employed by Sam Barringford to make the Indians leave their captive, and in this he was not mistaken. The Indians had gone off to a man, and now, when he felt safe for the time being, Henry was sorry that he had not stopped long enough to gain possession of his gun.
"I can't go back now," he muttered. "They'll return soon—or send one or two back to watch me." He listened for a second. "Hullo! some of 'em are back already! Now they'll make it warm for me, if they can!"
He pushed on until he heard a low but clear whistle, not unlike the sound of certain night birds of that locality. He whistled in return and soon saw the form of a man in the distance waving an arm for him to come up.
"Fooled 'em nicely, didn't I?" chuckled Sam Barringford. "They lit out soon as they heard thet war-whoop, didn't they?"
"They did," answered Henry. "But some of 'em are back, so we mustn't lose any time getting away."
"Right you are, lad—'t won't do to try to fool 'em too much—it's too much like playin' with the teeth o' a wildcat, now they hev their war-paint on. O' course you know the hull country's riz, don't you?"
"Yes, and Risley's cabin has been burnt down and Mrs. Risley is a captive I'm afraid."
"I'm a-feered fer your own folks, Henry. The Injuns is headed that way, seems to me."
As they hurried on through the woods, with ears on the alert for the possible appearance of the Indians left behind or of others, Henry told his story, to which the old frontiersman listened with close attention. In return Barringford related his own doings during the past forty-eight hours.
"I was up to Timber Ridge, back o' Siler's place, lookin' fer deer, when I spotted some o' the Injuns makin' fer the old meetin' ground. I made up my mind they was up to no good, and so I followed 'em. They held a meeting with Little Horn's warriors, and one of 'em had a message from thet rascally Jean Bevoir who robbed yer uncle o' that trading-post on the Kinotah, and the message said not to forget the Morris cabin in the raid."
"Our cabin!" burst out Henry. "Then they will surely attack it."
"Yes, and jest because Jean Bevoir wants 'em to, Henry. Thet rascal ought to be hung. He's wuss nor any redman, to my way o' thinkin'."
"Anyway, we can't get home too quick—at least I can't, Sam."
"I'm with you, Henry. Your folks are my best friends. Besides, I want to learn what has become of Dave. You know what a sight I think o' him," concluded Barringford.
They advanced with caution until Henry felt compelled to rest. Then they sat down by the edge of a tiny stream and here obtained a drink, and the frontiersman washed and bound up Henry's wounded hand. At last they went on once more, taking a semi-circle which brought them in sight of the Morris cabin.
"Too late!" burst from Henry's lips, and his heart sank within him. Against the early morning sky was a heavy cloud of smoke curling lazily upward from the ruins of the cabin and the out-buildings. Around the ruins half a dozen redmen were prowling, on the hunt for anything of value which might have escaped their notice during the darkness of the night.
"Yes, lad, we're too late," responded Barringford, mournfully. "I only trust your folks escaped."
"Let—let us creep closer and see if there are any—any bodies lying around," faltered the young hunter. He was so agitated he could scarcely speak.
"Be careful what you do," was the warning. "Follow me—I think I know a safe lookout place."
Barringford led the way, and presently they found themselves in a clump of brushwood not over two hundred feet from the cabin. The brush was on a rise of ground, so that they could survey the situation with ease.
"Nothing in sight," said Henry, after a long and painful pause. "What do you say to that, Sam?"
"It's encouragin', lad. More'n likely your father got away with your mother an' the others. I don't see none o' the hosses around. Thet's a good sign, too. I believe they struck out fer Fort Lawrence or Will's Creek—most likely the first, fer the trail to Will's Creek is chuck-a-block with Injuns."
Feeling that nothing could be gained by remaining in the vicinity, they started to retreat to the friendly shelter of the forest. They had hardly covered a hundred yards, when Henry gave a cry of warning.
"An Indian! Coming straight for us!"
He was right, and a moment later a painted warrior confronted them. He, too, was surprised at the meeting, but quick as a flash raised the tomahawk he carried to strike Barringford down.
Had the blow landed as intended the frontiersman's skull would have been split in twain. But if the Indian was quick Barringford was quicker. He leaped to one side and in a twinkling had the warrior by the throat and was bearing him backward. At the same moment Henry advanced.
"Never mind—I've got the consarned critter!" cried Barringford, as he held the Indian in a grasp of steel. "See if more are a-comin'!"
Henry looked, but not another redman was in sight. The one in Barringford's grasp squirmed and struggled and drew up a knee to plant it against the frontiersman's breast. But even this did not break that deadly grip, and now the Indian's tongue fairly lolled from his wide-open mouth. He clutched Barringford's throat, but his hand was thrown aside and the wrist pressed back until it was almost broken. Then the Indian gave a strange gulp and suddenly collapsed in a heap.
"Thet settles his account," panted Barringford, as he staggered away. "An' he didn't git no chance to make any noise nuther. Serves the critter right, don't it?" And he led the way onward once more.
"Yes, it served him right," answered Henry, but even as he spoke he had to shudder, and he wondered if the Indian was really dead or only partly choked to death.
Having decided to move in the direction of Fort Lawrence, Sam Barringford led the way by the very route Joseph Morris had pursued. Both he and Henry were now exhausted by their long walk, and both would have rested had it not been that they were so anxious to know how matters were going at the fort. On they stumbled as best they could. Each was hungry, yet neither complained on that score.
It was nearly noon when they heard a number of shots in the distance. A fierce yelling followed, and the shooting was continued for the best part of half an hour.
"The Indians have attacked the fort!" cried Henry. "A big battle must be going on!"
"I reckon you are right, Henry. Come," and Barringford set off at an increased rate of speed.
They did not go far, however, for only a little while later they heard a murmur of voices ahead.
"An Injun camp," whispered Barringford. "Come, we'll go around," and he moved to the left.
But here the way was also blocked by Indians. Then they made a wide detour, only to find more warriors encamped between themselves and the fort.
"The way's blocked," said the frontiersman at last. "The critters have entirely surrounded the fort. We're out of it, and it looks as if we'd have to stay out."
At the time this story opens George Washington had been on the frontier for nearly two years, with what was little more than a handful of rangers and militia, doing his best to protect a section of country extending through Pennsylvania, Maryland and Virginia. His headquarters were at Winchester, where the fort was in a good state for defence, but he was frequently away from that place, directing minor operations against the Indians, who, urged by their French allies, were continually attacking isolated settlements.
At this time the future President of our country was still a young man, strong, resolute, and full of the fire of ambition. There was no thought of independence in those days. He was a subject of the King of England, and as a subject willing to do his utmost to sustain British authority in America. He was dearly beloved by all the soldiers under him, but it must be confessed that some of these soldiers were not as willing to remain in the army as was desirable.
The trouble over the soldiers is easily explained. In the first place the settlers objected to doing military duty when called upon to "play second fiddle" to the soldiers brought over from England, and in the second place the pay was poor and uncertain, and the pioneers, much as they wished to defend their frontier and whip the French and Indians, could ill afford to neglect their farms and crops.
"I'd like to enlist again," said one old pioneer to Washington, "But I have a wife and four little children at home, and if I don't care for them they'll have nothing to eat. You know, sir, that I haven't received a dollar of pay for three months." This explanation was typical of many, and while Colonel Washington was sorry to have his men desert him thus, deep down in his heart he could not blame them for wishing to provide for those they dearly loved.
Thus far the conduct of the war with France had been a series of disasters to England's cause, extending over a period of three years. Braddock's bitter defeat, in July, 1755, had been followed by Shirley's abandonment of the plan to take Fort Niagara, and after a bitter battle at Lake George, Sir William Johnson, of whom we shall hear much more later, was forced to give up his hope of pushing on to Crown Point. This closed the fighting for the year, leaving the outlook for the colonies gloomy indeed.
War between France and England was formally declared in May, 1756—just twenty years before that memorable Revolution which separated the United States from England. The Earl of Loudon was sent out to take command of a new expedition north, but his work in that territory was no more victorious than Johnson's had been, and as a consequence the French commander, General Montcalm, captured Oswego, with all the guns and supplies left there the year previous by Shirley, and in his defeat General Webb, with a large portion of the British troops, had to fall back to Albany.
Early in the following year the English made greater preparations than ever to bring the war to a satisfactory close. Loudon sailed from New York with six thousand men, and was joined at Halifax by Admiral Holborne with a fleet of eleven warships. The object of the expedition was to attack Louisburg, but when the English arrived in the vicinity of that French stronghold they found seventeen of the enemy's warships awaiting them, backed up by heavy land fortifications, and to attack such a force would have been foolhardy; so Loudon returned to New York much dispirited.
In the meantime, Montcalm was not idle. While Loudon was proceeding against Louisburg the great French general came down with a strong force from Crown Point and attacked Fort William Henry. The fort was compelled to surrender, and did so with the understanding that the soldiers be allowed to march out with the honors of war. But the Indians with the French would not agree to this, and upon a given signal they fell with great fury on the English, slaughtering them right and left, butchering not only the soldiers but also about a hundred women and children who had fled to the enclosure for safety. The barracks were battered down and burned, and the cannon, boats, and stores carried away. For these outrageous proceedings Montcalm was held responsible, but he claimed that the Indians could not be controlled.
The effect of so many disasters to British arms in other quarters, could leave but one impression on the minds of the Indians who threatened the frontier which Washington was trying to defend. These warriors came to the conclusion that the English were too weak to defend themselves, and, consequently, they could rush in and kill, burn, and loot to suit themselves. They were well aware that the French still held Fort Duquesne, and that if the English came too far westward (in a chase after the redmen,) the French would rouse up in an effort to drive them back from whence they had come. More than this, there were among the Indians such rascally traders as Jean Bevoir, and these men, in order to further their own interests, told the Indians to go ahead and do as they pleased against the English, and that the French would never interfere, no matter how barbarous was the warfare thus carried on.
At this time the population of Pennsylvania, Maryland and Virginia was reckoned at about half a million souls, yet from such a number Washington could only obtain two thousand militiamen and rangers, and, as stated before, this number was constantly decreasing, as one after another refused to re-enlist, for reasons already given. The young commander did all in his power to protect the numerous settlements from attacks, but to cover such a wide expanse of territory was, under the circumstances, impossible. The best that could be done was to station parts of the army at various forts and hold the soldiers in readiness to march forth in any direction from whence should come an alarm.
Colonel Washington had been out on a long tour of inspection, and was just settling down for a much needed sleep, when an orderly entered and told him that an Indian messenger had arrived with news.
"Who is the messenger?" questioned the commander, for in those days it was necessary to guard against all possible treachery.
"An under chief named White Buffalo, sir."
Washington knew White Buffalo fairly well, and at once commanded that the chief be brought in. This was done, and the warrior delivered the message written by Captain Tanner with all the ceremony the occasion, to the Indian, seemed to require.
"White Buffalo, my brother, has done well to bring this message so quickly," said Washington. "Fort Lawrence needs help and I shall give all the help in my power. You know much of the Indians who are friendly to the French. How soon will they attack the place, do you think?"
"That White Buffalo cannot tell to his brother Washington," was the chief's answer. "They are eager for plunder and will hold off only so long as they think they are too weak to make the attack. But when they feel strong enough they will rush in, and if they take the fort, White Buffalo is sure the massacre at Fort William Henry will be repeated."
A few words more followed, and Washington hurried forth to notify several of his officers of what was happening at Fort Lawrence. A force of only thirty-six men could be spared from Fort Winchester, and these were placed under the command of Lieutenant Baldwick, an old Indian fighter. With the whites went nine Indians, who, after some little urging, consented to act under White Buffalo, although they belonged to a different tribe. Washington was greatly tempted to take command himself but felt that he would soon be needed in other directions.
The rangers chosen for this expedition were all on horseback, and Lieutenant Baldwick started them off just as soon as they could be gotten together, and the necessary food and ammunition could be distributed. The Indians were on foot, but they were all good runners, and as the trail was a rough one for horses the warriors kept up without great difficulty.
The expedition was yet within sight of Winchester when James Morris came riding into the post, having been on a business trip a mile further eastward. Dave's father met Colonel Washington at the entrance to the stockade and took the liberty to ask what the departure of the soldiers meant.
"They are on the way to Fort Lawrence," was the answer, and Washington told of the message received and of what White Buffalo had had to relate.
"That's bad!" ejaculated James Morris. "Did he say anything of my folks, Colonel?"
"He mentioned your brother Joseph as being with Captain Tanner, but that is all. I sincerely trust your family are in the fort and safe," answered Washington.
Dave's father had wished to see the commander about the purchase of a number of horses needed by the British army, but now the business was forgotten, and without delay the trader dashed off on his steed after Lieutenant Baldwick's command. As soon as he gained the expedition he sought out White Buffalo and asked concerning Dave.
"He is at the fort," said the Indian. "And so is your brother Joseph and his wife and Rodney and little Bright-face,"—meaning Nell.
"And what of Henry?"
"He was missing—but he may be at the fort when we get there." And as well as he was able the warrior told of what had happened at Uriah Risley's cabin and afterwards.
Although the expedition moved on as rapidly as possible, it was high noon before half the distance to Fort Lawrence was covered. The mid-day meal was eaten on the march, and the only stop made was one to water the horses. Two white scouts and two Indians went ahead as spies, and half an hour later discovered the camp of four Indians, who had with them one warrior who was suffering with a broken leg. A skirmish ensued, and two of the Indians, including the wounded man, were killed and the others taken prisoners. After that the expedition moved onward with greater vigilance than ever.
It was nearly three o'clock, and the soldiers were still a mile from the fort, when one of the advance guard set up a shout. He had caught sight of two white men creeping along the edge of a ravine to the north of the trail. A halt was ordered and another batch of scouts went forward to learn who the whites could be.
A short game of hide-and-seek now ensued, each side not knowing whether the other was a friend or an enemy. But at last there came a yell of joy from Sam Barringford as he swung his coonskin cap in the air.
"I know you, Dick Hoggerly!" he shouted, to one of the scouts. "Don't let 'em shoot at us. I've got Henry Morris with me."
"Hullo, so it's you, Sam," was the answer. "All right; we ain't shootin' no friends if we kin help it." And then the word was passed around and soon the two wanderers were made welcome, Henry especially so by his Uncle James.
The pair had but little to relate outside of what is already known. They told Lieutenant Baldwick that the Indians surrounded Fort Lawrence completely and that some sort of an attack had already taken place. This was enough to arouse the spirit of even the most sluggish, and once again the expedition moved through the forest, determined to save the fort and its defenders, if such a thing were possible.
"It doesn't look much like an attack now."
It was Dave who spoke, as he leaned against the rocks and gazed sharply out into the forest, beyond the tiny stream of water flowing beside the improvised fort.
"When the redskins come they won't blow a trumpet," replied Rodney, grimly. "The more vicious the attack the more quiet they'll go about it. Isn't that so, father?"
"You're about right, my son," returned Joseph Morris. "I shouldn't be surprised if the Indians are much closer than we think."
"If only we knew where Henry is, and father," said Dave. "Perhaps the redskins have captured them both."
"They won't get your father so easily, Dave," came from Joseph Morris. "They may——"
The pioneer broke off short and suddenly raised his gun. He had seen some war-like feathers floating above a fringe of brushwood between a number of stately walnut trees. He took careful aim and fired.
A yell rent the air and in a trice that cry was echoed by half a hundred others, filling the air with a sudden noise, which no pen can describe. As Dave said, it was truly "a hair raiser," and he felt a quick chill creep down his backbone. That yell told only too well how the Indians were aroused, and what they would do could they but gain the chance.
The report of Joseph Morris's gun was followed by the discharge of Rodney's weapon and then shots from several others. Rodney had seen a warrior running from one tree to another and had brought the Indian down midway between the two. But the fellow was only wounded and he lost no time in crawling to cover.
Spat! spat! A bullet and an arrow hit the rocks directly in front of the Morrises and caused Dave to dodge quickly, although so far there was small danger of being hit. Then came other shots from both sides and for several minutes the air inside and outside the fort was filled with smoke.
"There's a good number of them, that's certain," observed Joseph Morris, as he paused to reload. "I believe every Indian for a hundred and fifty miles around has gathered here. Hark!"
They listened, and from a distance came other yells, gradually circling around in the forest to the other side of the fort. But this ruse did not deceive those within.
"It's an old dodge," observed Joseph Morris. "They want us to look for them on that side while they make a dash on this. See, here they come now!"
"Yes, an' thar's fer 'em!" put in a pioneer standing near. His aim was true and a warrior went down just as he leaped out to cross the stream.
"Good for you, Pasney!" exclaimed Joseph Morris. "Never saw a truer shot in my life. You took him straight in the heart."
"Wall, thet's wot I reckoned on doin'," replied Pasney, coolly. He was an old trapper, and had lived among friendly Indians for years. At rifle practice he had often won prizes for marksmanship.
With four of their warriors either killed or wounded, the Indians retreated for the time being. So far nobody in the fort had been touched, consequently the spirits of all, even of the women folks, revived.
"If we keep this up, we'll soon discourage them," said Captain Tanner. "More than likely they'll hang around until to-morrow and then rush off to loot what they can and get back to their own territory."
"If they do that we ought to follow them," said Dave. "They should be taught a good lesson. Just think of our nice home being burnt to the ground for no reason at all. It's a shame!"
Many of the women and children, as well as some of the men, were very tired, but sleep was out of the question for all old enough to comprehend what was taking place. Even little Nell came out of a nap with a scream and clung closer than ever to her mother's skirt.
"Oh, mamma, what will they do with us?" she asked. "Will they scalp us?"
"Let us hope not, dear," answered Mrs. Morris, soothingly. "I think your papa and the others can keep them off."
Half an hour later came another attack. It was now dark, and only a trained eye could see what was taking place in the blackness of the forest surrounding the fort. To get a better view Pasney climbed one of the trees forming part of the stockade.
Hardly had he gained a favorable position than he uttered a cry of alarm. Then came the whizzing of an arrow through the bare branches in front of him and his body came down with a thud just inside the defence. Several rushed to him and raised him up, but it was too late.
"Shot through the heart!" whispered Dave, as he gazed on the body in horror. "He got just what he gave that redskin a while ago." And he turned away, scarcely able to control his feelings.
Again the war-cry was given and once more the Indians made a rush, this time attacking the fort on two sides. There was a constant discharge of firearms, and arrows came freely into the enclosure, one taking Rodney through the fleshy part of the arm and another grazing Dave's face.
"You are hit, Rodney," cried Dave, as he saw his crippled cousin stagger back.
"Reckon it ain't much," was the answer. "But it was a close call," and then Rodney went to his mother, to have the wound bound up.
The fight had been waging for the best part of an hour when those in the fort saw that the enemy were changing their tactics. Through the air there rushed a dozen or more arrows all carrying with them trails of fire. They went up like so many rockets, to fall in graceful curves directly into the fort. One had a horn of powder attached to it, which, on touching the ground, exploded with great violence. Fire was scattered in all directions and for the moment it looked as if some of the women folks and children would be burnt alive.
Rodney was close to his mother and little Nell when the first shower of burning arrows came down. He saw his mother's skirt go up into a blaze and like a flash tore the burning garment from her. Then he brushed some sparks from little Nell and himself and an old woman standing by.
"They intend to burn us alive!" was the cry, and many of the children began to scream louder than ever.
"Let the women take water and dirt and put out the fire!" ordered Captain Tanner. "Every man is needed at the stockade. They are getting ready for another rush!"
Fortunately all the water possible had been brought into the fort and clothes were soaked in this and used for beating out the flames. It was hard work, and soon the women were as smoke-begrimed as the men. To save the children all their dresses were wet down so that the sparks might have no effect. Where the burning arrows fell among the baggage, and water was not handy, the sod was dug up with spades and pike poles and thrown on as a blanket.
In the meantime what Captain Tanner had said about another attack was true. But this time the Indians were more cautious and they hardly exposed themselves, while waiting for the fire to aid them. When they saw that the blazing arrows had little or no effect they fell back once more, with two warriors wounded, one mortally.
Slowly the night wore away. The loss to the pioneers had been one man killed and several wounded, although none seriously. One woman had been burnt across the neck and one little boy had had an ear scorched.
When day dawned the vigilance at the stockade and the rocks was not relaxed, for all felt that another attack might come at any moment. There was no water in the enclosure, all on hand having been used in fighting fire.
"We've got to get water somehow," said Joseph Morris. "I'm dying for a drink and I reckon all of you are about the same."
"Oh, Joseph, do not expose yourself," pleaded Mrs. Morris. "More than likely the Indians know we want water and they'll watch the brooks closely, to see if they can't catch whoever tries to get it."
This was proved to be the case a few minutes later, when a pioneer named Raymond tried to get a bucket of water. Hardly had he showed himself when two arrows whizzed in that direction, one cutting through his coonskin cap. Raymond dropped his bucket in a hurry and lost no time in regaining shelter.
"I know a way to get water," said Rodney. "Dig a hole down between the rocks and then run a pike pole through that dirt bank. Some of the water in that brook will be sure to flow in this direction."
The suggestion was thought a good one and several started to dig the hole immediately. It was made four feet deep and the pike pole was jammed through the soil at as low a point as possible. At first no water came, but presently a few drops showed themselves and then followed a stream the size of one's little finger.
"Hurrah!" cried Dave. "Rodney's scheme is all right. That hole will keep the water here on a level with that in the stream and we'll have all we wish." And so it proved, much to the satisfaction of all in the fort. To be sure, the water was rather muddy, but even muddy water was much better than none and nobody complained.
"White Buffalo ought to be on his way back," observed Joseph Morris, as he and the boys sat on the rocks, eating the scant morning meal which Captain Tanner had had dealt out.
"Yes, and he ought to have some of Colonel Washington's rangers with him," returned Dave.
"Your father will be with 'em," came from Rodney. "That is, unless he struck out for the house instead."
The talking went on in low voices, for all ears were on guard, waiting for sounds from the forest. Captain Tanner had hoped to get some word from the Indians White Buffalo had left behind, but none of these showed themselves.
An hour later an alarm came from the farther end of the stockade. The Indians were gathering for a solid rush upon that quarter. Soon a yell was heard and again came shots and arrows.
"We are in for it now!" cried Captain Tanner. "Every man must do his duty or we are lost. They are coming on us a couple of hundred stronger!"
He was right, and now the enemy advanced boldly as if encouraged by the mere force of numbers. Several carried notched limbs of trees, to be used as ladders in scaling the stockade.
Shots flew thick and fast and inside of a few minutes two more of the pioneers were wounded and a woman was killed outright. The Indians suffered even a greater loss, but continued to come on until more than a score of them were close to the stockade. In the meantime several of the number ran around to the rocks, thinking the pioneers had deserted this end of the fort.
Joseph Morris, Rodney, Dave, and two others met those at the rocks with a rapid volley which speedily put three of the warriors out of the contest. But more were coming, and in a few minutes our friends found themselves in what was almost a hand-to-hand encounter, only a few rough rocks separating them from the redskins.
Dave had just fired, and was reloading with all speed, when he saw an arrow aimed full at his uncle. He gave a shout of warning, but the cry came too late. Joseph Morris was struck in the breast and went down in a heap. He gave a strange little groan and then lay still.
Dave's shout of warning reached Rodney's ears, and the young man turned in time to see his father go down as just described. He gave a cry of horror and then, with set teeth, discharged his gun straight at the warrior who had laid Mr. Morris low. His aim was true and the Indian fell to rise no more.
The fall of his uncle nerved Dave to greater effort, and as the Indians rushed over the rocks he, with several others, met them in a short but bitter hand-to-hand contest, in which blows were freely taken and delivered. The redskins were yelling at the top of their lungs and using their tomahawks with great viciousness. Dave was confronted by a tall warrior who did his best to split the youth's head open with his hatchet, but Dave dodged and the blow merely grazed his shoulder. Then, before the Indian could aim another blow a bullet from the rear cut short the redskin's career forever.
The forest was now full of shouting, and shots were being fired with marvelous rapidity. Those in the fort could not understand this. Had the Indians been re-enforced?
"If more redskins have come up we are doomed!" was the cry which went the rounds, but almost on top of it came a yell of joy:
"The rangers have come! We are saved!"
It was true, the command under Lieutenant Baldwick had come up after a long running fight with some Indians journeying toward the fort. These redskins had been put to flight and with them about a dozen French trappers and traders under Jean Bevoir, one of the trappers having been slain, along with two Indians. Now the rangers were fighting desperately to get to those hemmed in at the fort.
The coming of the soldiers put new life in the pioneers and the battle broke forth afresh. Struck at from both the front and the rear the Indians received a galling fire which filled them with sudden terror.
In the midst of the rangers were James Morris and Sam Barringford. Dave's father was cool and determined and every shot from his musket was sent with deadly effect. Barringford seemed to be in his element, and danced around so rapidly that not an Indian could draw a "bead" upon him.
"Thet for ye!" he yelled, firing his gun at the nearest warrior. "An' how do yer like thet, eh?"—hitting a second with the butt of the weapon. "I'll show ye! Ain't I a roarin' painter when I'm cut loose! Cl'ar the track fer the bustin', roarin' whirlwind!" And thus shouting in the style peculiar to the old-time trappers of that period he rushed in, literally cutting a path over the rocks and into the fort proper. An arrow stuck through his coonskin cap and his hunting jacket was ripped in a dozen places by knives and tomahawks, yet with it all he seemed to bear a charmed life and laid low every warrior who dared to bar his progress.
In less than ten minutes after the rangers had appeared and closed in the Indians began to retreat. Seeing them thus on the run, the pioneers and soldiers increased their efforts and soon the warriors were only too glad to get back into the forest. They left the vicinity of the fort and took up their stand several hundred yards away, behind a small hill, enclosed on two sides by rocks. It is possible they expected the rangers to follow them to this point, but for the time being they were not molested.
The reason for this was easily explained. Both pioneers and rangers were utterly fagged out—the former by their hasty flights from their homes, and the vigilance and fighting at the fort, and the latter because of the forced ride from Winchester, and the first battle in the forest with Indians and French. All needed a rest, and the wounded demanded attention. So for the time being the battle remained a drawn one.
As soon as it was made known that the Indians had retreated, a score of rangers who were unhurt were set to watch their movements, and then began the caring for the wounded. All told, it was found that six men, women and children had been killed outright and that one man was mortally hurt. Of the pioneers five were wounded, and of the rangers three, and of the killed two had been scalped.
"Dave, my son!" exclaimed James Morris, as he rushed up. "Are you safe?"
"Yes, father," was the answer. "And you?"
"I have a scratch on the leg, but it isn't much. How are the rest?"
"Uncle Joe has been shot down. I reckon the others are all right."
"Joe shot down? Is he—he——"
"There he is, over by the rocks. No, he isn't dead, but I think he's pretty bad. He got an arrow right in the breast."
Father and son hurried to the spot, to find Joseph Morris stretched out on a blanket and surrounded by all of his family, including Henry, who during the advance of the rangers had fought as bravely as anyone. The arrow had been extracted and Mrs. Morris was using her utmost skill in binding up the wound.
"What do you think, James?" she wailed. "Will he live?"
"While there is life let us hope, Lucy," answered the brother-in-law, tenderly. "Is he unconscious?"
"Yes," put in Rodney. "I—I'm afraid that arrow point was poisoned."
"Let me see the arrow."
It was passed over and James Morris examined it with care. At this point Sam Barringford also came up and he, too, looked the arrow over.
"Ain't no p'ison thar," said the old frontiersman. "Thet tribe uses blue juice an' if thar war p'ison the blood would turn greenish. But it's rich red, as ye kin see. No, I allow as how he ain't p'isoned."
"I believe Sam tells the truth," said James Morris.
"But it's a fearful wound," said Dave. "I saw the arrow strike. It went in straight."
All set to work to revive the unconscious sufferer and Barringford insisted upon obtaining some liquor and forcing a few teaspoonsful down the wounded man's throat. At last they had the satisfaction of seeing Joseph Morris give a short gasp and open his eyes dreamily.
"Oh!" he murmured and for a moment was silent. "I—I am hit!" he went on.
"Be quiet, Joseph," said his wife, bending over him. "Yes, you were hit in the breast with an arrow. We will do what we can for you, but you mustn't move, or the wound will start to bleed again."
"But the Indians—"
"The Indians have retreated," said Rodney. "The rangers have come, and Uncle James is here, too, and so is Henry."
"All safe?"
"Yes."
"Thank God!" And then Joseph Morris relapsed once more into silence, being almost too weak to breathe much less to speak.
Little Nell had been crying bitterly, and now Henry took her in his arms and did his best to soothe her, for he knew his mother would not leave his father's side.
"The bad, bad Indians!" cried the little girl. "Oh, how could they come and shoot at us! And last night they tried to burn us up with their fire arrows! Oh, it was dreadful!" And she buried her curly head in her brother's shoulder.
The hours to follow were gloomy enough, and ones which those in the stockade never forgot. The man who had been mortally wounded died shrieking with pain, and the sounds rang in the ears of both young and old, filling the latter with new grief. The dead were buried together in one deep hole and over their last resting place were rolled several heavy stones, that no wild beasts might disturb their common grave. The service at this funeral was short, for there was no telling when the Indians might make another attack.
Toward the middle of the afternoon word came in through the friendly Indians under White Buffalo that the French Indians, as they were called, were preparing for some new move. Instantly every available man in the fort leaped for his gun and even some of the women armed themselves, determined to fight to the last rather than risk the horrors of becoming captives of the enemy.
But the alarm proved a false one, for the Indians, although they shifted their camp to the opposite side of the fort, did nothing but exchange a few shots with several of the rangers. Yet this move kept the pioneers on the alert all night, so that little or no sleep was had by anyone.
"I must say I'm so tired I can scarcely keep my eyes open," said Henry to Dave. "If we elect to retreat I don't see how I'm going to either ride or walk."
"Take a nap," said Dave. "If another alarm comes I'll call you." And Henry dropped down and was in the land of dreams almost on the instant.
On the following morning a council of war was held by Captain Tanner, Lieutenant Baldwick and half a dozen of the leading pioneers, and it was decided that the best thing to do would be to retreat to Winchester. Provisions were getting low and so was ammunition, and the lieutenant had been ordered not to hold Fort Lawrence, but do his best to bring in the settlers and families in safety.
"The Indians are gathering steadily," said Lieutenant Baldwick. "Every hour makes them stronger. I think the sooner we strike out the better it will be for us." And in this Captain Tanner and the majority of the settlers agreed.
The main difficulty which presented itself was how to care for the wounded. It would be running a grave risk to move Joseph Morris and several others, but there was no help for it, and the family were told to prepare for leaving in an hour.
"We will make a litter between two horses," said James Morris. "Rodney can ride on one of the animals and lead them along the smoothest part of the trail he can find. We will bind the wound as tightly as possible, so that the blood won't get much chance to start afresh."
Mrs. Morris wished to demur, fearing her husband might die ere the journey was completed. But she could not remain behind alone, and so, with a sinking heart, she prepared to move as had been ordered.
The settlers were cautioned to leave the fort as silently as possible and to carry along only that which was absolutely necessary. Before they left the rangers and some of the Indians under White Buffalo went ahead, to make sure that the trail chosen by Captain Tanner was clear. Eight of the rangers remained at the fort, to give it the appearance of still being inhabited and, in case of attack, to rush out and cover the settlers' rear.
As was natural Dave and Henry journeyed side by side. They moved directly behind Mrs. Morris and little Nell, who brought up in the rear of the litter on which Joseph Morris rested, and the horses under the control of Rodney. Dave's father was not with the party, nor was trusty Sam Barringford, both having joined the party of rangers who formed the advance guard.
Following the instructions given them the pioneers and their families moved through the great forest as silently as possible, only the occasional groan of a wounded one, or the cry of some little child breaking the stillness. The route was past the rocks bordering one of the watercourses previously mentioned and then along what in those days was called the Old Buffalo Trail,—a well-beaten path along which in years gone by countless buffaloes had passed in their migrations to the east and return. The buffaloes were now fast disappearing from this territory, as are to-day the deer, wolves, and other wild animals which were likewise numerous.
It was a trying time, for the ears of all were ever on the alert to catch the first sign of an approaching enemy. Onward went Dave and Henry with their guns ready for instant use. Rodney guided the horses with the greatest of care, yet there were many jolts to the litter which more than once caused Joseph Morris to utter a groan he could not suppress.
It was calculated that if nothing out of the ordinary occurred the party would be able to reach Winchester in three days, but if the Indians followed them up and attacked them the journey would take much longer, for they would have to make a stand behind whatever breastworks they could manage to erect, and there remain until the coast was clear or the enemy drove them forth. There was also the ever-present possibility that the Indians would wipe out the expedition entirely, a possibility that made many of the married men shudder, as they thought of their wives and defenseless children.
"We can consider ourselves lucky if we reach Winchester without any more hair-raising," observed Henry, as they trudged along.
"Right you are," replied Dave. "The Indians seem worked up to the last degree. They'll trap us if they possibly can."
"There is one thing in our favor, Dave. Captain Tanner is as good a scout as you'll find in these parts, and with such men with him as Barringford and your father he won't fall into any trap unless it's a mighty slick one."
"To think that Jean Bevoir should be in this neighborhood with his thieving traders," went on Dave, after a pause. "I declare I wish he had fallen instead of one of those Indians we brought down. He isn't as good as some of the Iroquois, to my way of thinking."
"He'll get what he deserves one of these days, Dave. He has cheated so many redskins that some of them will lay for him some night, and that will be the end of him and his band. But I must admit, I can't understand how any redskins can follow the leadership of such a rascal, who gives them liquor only in order to rob them of their hard-earned pelts."
Two miles had been covered when there came a shot from the front, followed by three others. Immediately the pioneers and their families gathered behind a semi-circle of rocks and brush which happened to be near. Several Indians had shown themselves to the scouts, but as soon as one was shot the others fled. The whole party remained on guard half an hour longer, but none of the enemy returned, and the onward march was resumed.
Late that night Dave heard that two more white men had joined the expedition and not long after this he caught sight of Uriah Risley. He ran up to meet the Englishman, and Henry did the same.
"My wife, where is she?" asked Uriah Risley, of Henry. "Tell me quickly!"
"I can't tell you," answered Henry.
"But you were with her—so Dave told me."
"I was with her. But some Indians came and attacked us, and I told her to run and hide in the woods. Then the Indians came at me and I was struck down, and that was all I knew until long afterward when I found myself strapped to the back of a horse and traveling with a band of redskins." And Henry gave the particulars of the encounter, and of how Sam Barringford had afterward come to his rescue.
"Do you think my wife got away into the woods?"
"I really can't say. I know she ran off as well as her hurt ankle would let her, but it may be that some of the Indians went after her. I had my hands so full I couldn't look," concluded Henry.
Uriah Risley was pale and haggard and said he had not slept for two nights, nor had he had a regular meal for forty-eight hours. He had been to the vicinity of his burnt cabin and had followed up Henry's trail as best he could for several miles, but nowhere had he found a trace of his wife.
"I fear she is either dead or in the hands of those murderous redskins," he groaned, his eyes growing suspiciously moist. "Poor dear Caddy! She never could get used to this life either! It was a sorry day when we didn't remain in England, or in Annapolis." And he turned away to hide his emotion. Several came and offered him food and a portion of this he ate mechanically. Sleep, although he needed it badly, was out of the question.
Strange to say no Indian attack occurred during the following day, and that night found the expedition well on its way to Winchester. Some of the pioneers were of the opinion that the enemy had retreated westward, satisfied with the damage done and the booty obtained, but at this Sam Barringford, Captain Tanner, and a number of other old frontiersmen shook their heads.
"The Injun's at his worst when he's layin' low," was the way Barringford expressed himself. "We've got to keep our eyes peeled or fust thing you know we'll all wake up skulped."
Fortunately for the party one of the advance guard had brought down a deer and another had bagged a number of birds with some fine shot. The birds were made into a stew for the sick and wounded and the venison was cut up and divided all around. The expedition was in the midst of a wide timber belt, at a spot where there was a small clearing. Here, in a hollow, a camp-fire was lit and the meat cooked and stew made, and while one half of the able-bodied pioneers and soldiers remained on guard the other half had their first full meal since leaving the fort. Then the guard was changed and the other half satisfied the cravings of the inner man, after which sentinels were posted and the camp settled down to see if it could not obtain a much-needed night's rest.
Mrs. Morris and the others were gratified to see that while Joseph Morris's wound pained him not a little it did not break out afresh and gave every promise of healing rapidly when once the sufferer should reach a place where he could have a couple of weeks' quiet. Before retiring with little Nell the wife washed and re-bound the wound and gave her husband all the nourishment he cared to take.
Dave was on guard during the first half of the night, with his father on the next post not a hundred feet away. The night was dark and a low wind was rising which betokened a storm. All else was quiet and the camp-fire was allowed to burn low until only a few embers were left.
"It looks as if the Indians had really given it up," said Dave, as he and his father met on their walks up and down the two posts.
"Don't be too sure," answered James Morris. "At this very minute they may be preparing to rush in and overwhelm us. I won't believe we are safe until we come in sight of Winchester."
"Is the fort there in good shape?"
"Fairly good, although Colonel Washington is going to strengthen it all he can. The trouble is, Washington is having trouble with Governor Dinwiddie. The governor thinks he knows it all and won't give the colonel half the soldiers or equipments that are needed. He doesn't seem to realize that if Winchester should fall all the English settlers would be driven back over the Blue Ridge and would lose everything they possess in this locality."
When it came time to turn in Dave was glad enough to throw himself down and go to sleep, with nothing more than a thin blanket to cover him. His father lay beside him, with Joseph Morris, Mrs. Morris and Rodney and little Nell not far off.
How long he slept Dave did not know, but when he awoke it was with a start and a cough. There was a fierce shouting and shooting going on and the forest seemed full of smoke and fire. Hardly had he gained his feet when an arrow whizzed past his head burying itself in the tree trunk behind him.
"The attack is on!" came from James Morris, who was already up. "They have fired the woods on two sides of the camp and they are laying for us on the other two sides. I'm afraid it is going to be a fight to the finish."
There was no time to say more for the confusion on every hand was great. The shouting and shooting continued, and in the midst of this Captain Tanner ran around, followed by Lieutenant Baldwick, giving orders to the men and advising the women and children what to do. To the uproar was added the mad prancing around of some of the horses, who sniffed the smoke, and the screams of the frightened children, some clinging to the skirts of their mothers and others running about looking for their parents, who had become lost to them in the general mix-up.
"Stay with your aunt and uncle, Dave," said James Morris. "They'll need you. I'll go out with the soldiers," and in a second he was bounding away, to learn how bad the situation really was, and what might be done to remedy it.
What happened during the next hour seemed to the boy, afterward, more like some horrible dream than a reality. The war-whoops of the Indians continued to ring out on the night air, punctuated by numerous shots and yells from the wounded, while the fire in the forest grew brighter and brighter, driving the sick, wounded, and the helpless before it. Rodney and the others tried to get Joseph Morris back on the litter, but before this could be done both horses bolted away in the darkness, one upsetting Mrs. Morris and bruising her shoulder severely. Then Henry and Dave locked hands chair-fashion and started to carry the sufferer between them, only to stumble over some tree roots and go sprawling headlong. In the meantime Mrs. Morris looked around her, to discover that little Nell was missing.
"Nell! Nell!" she screamed. "Come here! Nell!"
"Isn't she with you, mother?" came quickly from Rodney.
"No. But she was here a moment ago. Nell! Nell!"
No answer came back to this cry, and now both Mrs. Morris and Rodney ran hither and thither in search of the little girl. Little could be seen, for the smoke was so thick it fairly blinded them.
As quickly as possible Dave and Henry arose and picked up Mr. Morris. The fall had hurt the sufferer's wound and he had to groan in spite of his efforts to choke back the sounds.
"Never—mind m-m—me!" he gasped. "Sa—save th—the others!" And then he fainted dead away.
"Your mother is calling for Nell!" cried Dave. "Here, Henry, put him on my back. I'll carry him somehow, and then you can go back to her." And after an effort Dave mastered his load and staggered on, in the direction already taken by a number of others. He was now more careful where he placed his feet and thus kept from going down again, although the load made him pant and exert himself far beyond his youthful strength. On and on he went, over rocks and tearing through low brushwood. An arrow went by his shoulder but he paid no attention. He heard more shots, and once a blaze of fire seemed to flash up almost in front of him. But he was not struck, and ten minutes later he felt that he had in some marvelous manner left the battleground behind him. He plunged into a hollow filled with wet grass and went down up to his knees. Unable to carry his load further he allowed his uncle's body to slip down beside him, and there he rested, trying his best to get back his breath and wondering what would happen next.