"Whoop! there she goes over with a crash!" shouted Sandy, throwing his cap up into the air, as the tall sycamore came down just as they had planned.
He started to dash forward as soon as the tree had struck, eager to ascertain what sort of prize they had drawn in the lottery; but his more careful brother laid hands on him.
"Don't try it!" he exclaimed. "Why, they are so wild just now, they'd sting you to death!"
"But how are we going to get at the honey, Bob?" demanded the younger lad.
"You run to the house, and tell the others the good news. I'll be making veils out of this thin cloth. Then we have the gloves we used last winter. Bring a lot of pails back with you; for I think we'll need all you can find."
Sandy hastened back to the cabin, where he electrified his father and mother and little Kate with the joyful news. They got together every available vessel for carrying the expected spoils; and then Sandy led the way back to where his brother awaited them.
On the trail he was compelled to explain just how they had taken Pat O'Mara's advice with regard to tracing the honey gatherers; and what splendid success had resulted. Kate was singing with delight over the anticipated store of sweets that would reward their skill in locating the bee tree, for, in those early pioneer days, as a rule the only sugar the settlers had was obtained through boiling down the sap of the sugar maple tree in the early spring; or in discovering some secret store of honey in the forest.
Bob had arranged things completely to his satisfaction while his brother was away. Both of the young pioneers donned the veils and gloves, so that the bees might not take a terrible revenge on the destroyers of their home.
Bob had also made a smudge with which he expected to partly stupefy the angry little creatures. Smoke always frightens bees, for they seem to think that fire is about to devastate their hive. Nature influences them to immediately load up with all the honey they can possibly carry, with the idea of taking it to some new retreat; and while in this condition they are comparatively harmless.
Presently Sandy came back to the spot where the others were standing in safety. He had a bucket almost full of broken combs from which the richness was oozing in a manner that set little Kate wild with delight. As for the good mother the sight was undoubtedly a pleasant one for her, since it promised many a delightful treat in the long winter months ahead.
David Armstrong immediately started home with the bucket, so as to empty it, and once more put it into service. Bob was still working there in the midst of the ruined hive.
"And he says there are, oh! ever so many more buckets of better honey than this!" Sandy had cried, as he brought out a second supply, in which the combs were less broken than before, and seemed newer.
"The whole air is filled with the perfume of honey," remarked Mary Armstrong. "It hardly seems right to rob the poor little workers in this way, after they have stored it up so carefully; though we do need it badly, for there will be little sugar in our home except what we make next spring."
"Oh! Bob says there'll be just oceans of it left, spilled on the ground," Sandy went on, "and the bees will get it all, sooner or later. Plenty of time for 'em to seal it up for this winter. They always have ten times too much, and that's why some of it is so old and dark looking. Bob says he is not taking that if he can help it."
"Why, I could smell the honey half way to the house," remarked Mr. Armstrong, as he came up just then. "And, if there happens to be a bear within half a mile of this place, you can depend on it that he'll be prowling around here this very night."
"That was just what Bob was saying, father!" declared Sandy. "He showed me marks on the smooth trunk of the sycamore, where a bear must have climbed up ever so often, as if trying to reach in at the honey that was just too far away for him to steal. And some of the scratches were so fresh Bob says they must have been made only last night."
After numerous trips to the cabin to empty the buckets the pleasant task was finally completed. Bob declared that he had secured about all of the honey that was worth carrying away. There still remained a great store of the sticky stuff; but it was either spilled on the ground, or else so darkened by age that it did not seem worth while carrying it off.
"We'll leave it to the poor little fellows," laughed Bob; "for they're as busy as beavers right now loading up and flying off to another hollow tree one of 'em has found. And I think we're pretty lucky to get off as easy as we did, eh, Sandy?"
Sandy had removed the thin cloth veil that covered his face, and by this action revealed the fact that at least one angry bee had found a way to pierce his armor; for his left cheek was swollen so that his eye seemed unusually small. Some wet clay took the pain out, however, and in due course of time the swelling would go down.
It was not the first time Sandy had felt a sting from a bee, nor did he expect it would be the last. And, when he looked at the glorious fruits of their raid on that big sycamore hive, he forgot that he had suffered in the good cause.
"Well, do we try for that bear to-night, Bob?" he asked of his brother, later on in the afternoon, when he could see once more fairly well with both eyes.
"I think we would be silly not to," replied his brother; "especially since we set the trap ourselves when we cut down that bee tree."
"He's just sure to come nosing around, don't you think?"
"Don't see how any bear could stand back, with all that odor in the air. Besides, it looked to me as if the old fellow might have been paying a visit to that tree every single night for a whole month, there were so many scratches on the bark. So you can just depend on it that he's got his mouth set for honey."
"And then there's another thing in our favor," Sandy went on saying, as he glanced upward toward the heavens, an action that caused his brother to remark:
"I'd wager a shilling that you are thinking of the moon being nearly full to-night, which is a fact. That is in our favor, and, on the whole, I'd be inclined to believe that we may be tasting a bear steak by to-morrow."
"One good thing leads to another with us, Bob. First a prize in the way of gallons and gallons of prime honey, and then, to finish, perhaps a fat bear in the bargain! But, remember, you said I was to have the first shot at the old honey thief, if he does make his appearance?"
"All right," answered Bob, good naturedly; "and I'll keep my word; but if I were you I would go slow about calling names. Please remember that there are some others in the same boat. Only, in our case, we succeeded in getting the spoils; and there we have the better of old Bruin, who climbed that tree so very many times only to have his trouble for his pains."
Of course the lads took their parents into their plans, for it might be their absence would worry the little mother, who sometimes still thought of that wild ringing of the alarm bell, and all it might have meant.
Shortly after they had had their supper, the two lads took their muskets, and passed out into the night. As they had said, it promised to be just a glorious opportunity to carry out such a plan as they had in mind.
The moon rode high in the eastern heavens, being not very far from full. Not a cloud seemed to dim the bright light, so that, for a short distance around them, things looked almost as plain as in the daytime.
As the two boys had done considerable hunting in common there was little necessity for talking things over, or arranging any programme. When the honey-loving bear came along, eager to satisfy his craving for sweets, of course Sandy would wait for a favorable chance to get in a fair shot. And, unless his aim were poor, or some accident occurred to otherwise mar the arrangements, that would wind matters up.
Arriving at the fallen bee tree, the young pioneers quickly decided just where they should secrete themselves. In doing this they exercised their knowledge as woodrangers, for much depended on the direction of the wind.
"It seems to be blowing toward the home quarter," remarked Bob, as they stood there, fixing certain facts in their minds. "That favors us finely, because the chances are ten to one he will come from the other side of the opening made by our felling the big sycamore. So you see he won't be able to smell us."
"How will this place do, Bob?" suggested the younger brother, pointing to what in his mind made a splendid hiding-nook, from which they could peer forth, and see anything that took place just beyond.
"Could hardly be better; and so there is no use for us to look further," Bob remarked. "Pick out your stand, Sandy, where you will be able to shoot best. I'll be satisfied to take what is left."
This was soon arranged, and, having once settled down to wait, they tried to keep as still as though made out of marble. Talking was forbidden, even in whispers; and a cough would very likely have ruined the whole affair, since the bear, if near-by at the time, must have been warned of his danger, and with a "wuff" would turn to rush away.
An hour passed in this way. Fortunately the two lads were good waiters, and had proved this on many another occasion in the past.
Sandy had allowed his thoughts to go out to other scenes, and was even thinking of that fine young frontiersman, Simon Kenton, whom he admired so much, when he felt his brother touch him softly on the shoulder. The contact thrilled him, since it was the signal agreed on to denote that the lumbering bear was coming!
"Listen!" said Bob, his lips placed as close to the ear of his brother as he could possibly get them.
"I hear him! He is over there, just where you said," replied the younger hunter, the words being whispered so low that they could not have been detected six feet away.
"Get ready then—have your gun up, so he won't see the movement. 'Sh!"
Bob said this because he knew that, with that bright moonlight flooding the opening, there must always be a chance that its rays would glint from the metal barrel of a moving musket. And even such a little thing as this might serve to startle a suspicious bear into making a sudden retreat.
The sounds now became more pronounced than before. Some heavy body was undoubtedly pushing through the underbrush, and in such haste as to be utterly unmindful of what noise was produced.
Of course nothing but a clumsy bear could be guilty of such an advance, caution being thrown to the four winds because of that tantalizing odor of honey in the heavy night air,—an odor which was making Bruin fairly wild with eagerness to be at the anticipated feast.
A panther would have crept slily forward, so that not even the rustle of a leaf might betray its presence, and even a buffalo would have advanced with a certain amount of caution; but a bear depends on its sense of smell to give warning of danger, and seldom moves with any degree of care.
Presently Sandy could hear him sniffling at a great rate as he pushed closer. The animal evidently could not understand why there should be such a pronounced odor of honey in the air. Many times had he come to this same spot in the hope of being able to bag some of the bees' store; but always to meet disappointment. But now there must be a great change in the arrangement of things.
Somewhere amid the foliage covering the bushes across the glade the big beast must have stopped, to look in surprise at the fallen bee tree. Perhaps he suspected a trap of some kind, knowing that his mortal enemy, man, had been there lately. But that distracting smell drowned all his caution. Unable to hold out against it any longer, the bear suddenly lumbered forward.
Sandy saw him coming, but held his fire. In the first place the bear was head on, and he wanted to get a chance at the animal's flank, so that he might make sure to plant his bullet back of the shoulder, where he could reach the heart, and so bring his game down with that one shot. Then again, it chanced that there was something of a shadow, which served to partly hide the beast as he advanced.
Straight into the midst of the broken honeycombs did Bruin hasten, grunting in evident delight as he commenced to lick up the spilled sweet fluid, so dear to the heart of every bear.
Sandy managed to repress his excitement to a great extent. He had been hunting so often, boy though he was, that he no longer experienced the same intense thrill that would have almost overwhelmed him a couple of years ago, had he been thrown into such a position as this.
Slowly his cheek dropped down until it rested against the butt of his faithful old musket. Well did he know that the priming was in the pan, and that, when the flint struck the steel sharply, the spark would communicate to the charge, with the result that the bear must be considerably astonished.
Unfortunately, however, Sandy could not see in that deceptive moonlight that a fair-sized twig happened to be just between the muzzle of his gun and the object at which he aimed. Had it been daytime he would have detected this fact, and avoided taking the chances of his bullet being slightly deflected in its swift passage.
The report of the gun was deafening. With his usual impulsiveness Sandy instantly leaped to his feet, giving a boyish shout as he saw the bear kicking on the ground, in the midst of the branches of the fallen tree.
Then, to his utter astonishment, and not a little to his chagrin as well, the dark, rolling object seemed to scramble once more to its four feet, and, attracted by his movements, immediately started to advance directly toward him, growling in the fiercest possible way.
It could no longer be said that Bruin was making a clumsy and slow advance, for, inspired by a sudden rage toward the object from which his painful wound had evidently sprang, the animal was rushing furiously forward.
Bob fired in the hope of checking this advance, that promised to upset all of their fine plans; but just then Sandy, in jumping back, chanced to jostle his brother, so that, even if the second bullet struck the bear at all, it certainly did no great damage. At least his swift if lumbering advance was not materially checked.
"Run, Sandy!" shouted Bob, as he realized that they were now facing an infuriated and wounded beast, with only their hatchets and knives to use in defence of their lives.
Sandy was not slow to take the advice thus given. He sprang away in one direction, while Bob took the other. Just why the bear should have picked out Sandy to follow, neither of the brothers could ever say, though they really believed the old fellow was keen enough to understand which of the fleeing lads had sent that first stinging pellet that bored under his skin, and made him so uncomfortable.
Bob was dismayed when he found that the animal had ignored him, and was chasing Sandy. With his usual generous way of taking burdens on his shoulders, Bob had really hoped to attract the bear; indeed, with this idea in view, he had even made more noise than was necessary, as he floundered along through the bushes.
When, however, he found that he had not been followed, he immediately changed his tactics. From running away he now started to follow after the bear, and, as he thus pushed through the woods, the boy tried to reload his musket, always a difficult task in those days of the primitive powder-horn, when the charge had to be measured out into the palm, poured into the long barrel, and the bullet in its patch of greased cloth pushed down with the ramrod; after which the priming had to be adjusted.
Bob was not making any particularly good headway in reloading, since he could not stay his hurrying steps long enough to do the right thing.
From the noise ahead he judged that Sandy must have succeeded in drawing himself up into the friendly branches of a tree, and that the furious bear was following close on his heels.
At least this would give the fugitive a little time, and perhaps, meanwhile, he, Bob, could come on the scene with his gun, ready to take a hand in the game.
"Hi! Bob, this way!" Sandy was shouting, at the top of his voice, as though his situation was rapidly becoming desperate.
"All right!" answered the one who was pushing along through the brush as best he could. "I'm coming, Sandy! Hold on a little longer!"
A minute or so later he found himself on the scene. Just as he had guessed, Sandy, being hotly pursued, and fearing lest he be overtaken by the angry beast, had on the spur of the moment clambered hastily into the branches of a tree. It was the result of sudden impulse, for surely the boy knew that an American black bear is always at home wherever he can dig his sharp claws into the bark of a tree.
Perhaps Sandy would never fully realize how he came to escape the animal's last rush; but it must have been almost by a miracle. Once among the branches, the boy did not stop an instant. The bear immediately showed an inclination to follow him aloft, and Sandy hardly cared to try conclusions with Bruin in his present winded condition, and with only his hatchet to depend on.
So he had hastily climbed upward. Looking down, he had been dismayed to see that the bear was making quick progress after him. He could hardly go to the top of the tree, and, as a possibility leaped into his mind, the boy started out on a large limb that was some twenty feet or so above the ground.
Bruin did not hesitate a moment when he reached this limb, but started out after the young hunter. It was at that moment Sandy had sent out his appeal for help. He realized that he was in a bad fix, since the bear would either follow until he could reach his intended victim with his sharp claws; or else the combined weight of the two must break the limb, sending both to the ground.
Bob, having arrived under the tree, was making desperate efforts to finish loading his gun, so that he might bring the little drama to a close. But the bear all the while kept on creeping out closer and closer, balancing his bulk with wonderful skill upon the limb.
Sandy was impulsive in his ways; at the same time that bright mind of his was apt to originate many a clever ruse on the spur of the moment, and when desperation pushed.
Bob, keeping one eye anxiously turned upward while he pushed the bullet hastily into the chamber of his gun, saw his brother suddenly back still further away, so that the limb began to bend downward with his weight. The bear halted, as if loath to make any further forward move, and watching to see what his human adversary might be contemplating.
Suddenly Sandy let go his hold of the outer branches. He had seen that he might break his fall by passing through the foliage just below, and was willing to accept the chances of receiving sundry scratches in consequence.
Bob fairly held his breath as he saw this bold action on the part of his brother. The bear crouched closer to the limb above, as though declining to be shaken from his hold. But, when the danger of this had passed, the beast started to back to the trunk of the tree, intent on reaching the ground again as speedily as possible.
Sandy had come through the lower foliage with a great scramble, very much after the manner of a floundering wildcat that had been shot while perched in a tree.
Bob waited only long enough to assure himself that his brother had reached the ground, even in a sadly dishevelled condition. Then he began to add the necessary priming to his gun, for Bruin was already starting to descend to renew hostilities.
Taking several steps forward, Bob arrived at the base of the big beech with its wide-spreading branches. It was evidently his intention to wait for the coming of the bear, and give him a warm reception.
Bruin, in his ignorance of such things as explosives, since his only adventures up to now had probably been with the arrows of the red men, gave little heed to this suggestive action on the part of the young hunter. He kept backing down with all possible haste, anxious to avenge his injuries upon these human foes.
But, after all, Bob found himself mistaken when he supposed that it was up to him to end the big beast. While the bear was still at least ten feet above him, the musket was suddenly taken forcibly from his hands.
"You promised me, Bob, please remember!" cried Sandy.
With his face bleeding from the scratches he had received in his fall, Sandy must certainly have presented a strange appearance just then; but the spirit of the hunter rose superior to any and all discomforts. That bear was his by rights, and he did not mean to be cheated out of his triumph.
Down came Bruin, looking over his shoulder as he dropped, and probably measuring the capacity of these two foes. But he failed to figure on the terrible power that lay in the odd looking stick one of them pointed up at him.
There was a sudden flash, a stunning report, for Bob in his nervousness had overcharged his gun, and while Sandy fell back with a bruised shoulder, the bear dropped like a stone at the foot of the tree. Sandy had clapped the muzzle of the musket close to the animal's ear when pulling the trigger, so that the result was never in doubt.
"Whew!" he exclaimed, as he scrambled to his feet, still clutching Bob's gun. "Did you empty your powder-horn in that charge, Bob? I'll be black and blue for a month after that recoil. But I got him, didn't I? He'll never have a chance to chase a fellow up a tree again. And, Bob, we're going to have that bear steak all right to-morrow, I reckon."
Which they did, sure enough, though, as Bruin was no youngster, it probably required pretty sharp teeth to enjoy the meal.
It was just three days after the strange bear hunt that the boys, on returning from a little trip to see what their traps might contain thus early in the season, found that the home circle had been widened by the coming of the Irish trapper, Pat O'Mara.
He was a jovial fellow, with a fiery red beard, and hair of the same hue falling far below his coonskin cap. His blue eyes generally twinkled with humor; but, for all that, he had long since proved himself a fit companion for such woodsmen as Daniel Boone, Simon Kenton, James Harrod, Jo Daviess and John Hardin, foremost in the list of pioneers who had carved their names on the pages of history by their brave deeds along the disputed border countries.
Pat was delighted to see the two Armstrong boys again, for they had been favorites of his ever since the days when, acting on his advice, David had decided to leave Virginia and cast his fortunes with the bold settlers along the upper Ohio. But wise Bob soon saw that, under all his fun, there was a seriousness about Pat that he could not remember noting before.
The trapper examined what few pelts the boys had taken up to now, and gave more or less advice about curing them to the best advantage.
"As the sa'son grows older the fur wull be thicker," he observed, smoothing the soft pelt of a red fox that had been recently taken. "And, av ye obsarve what I'm tillin' ye, 'tis a better price ye'll recave for the same from the trader, unless by the same token it happens till be a Frinchman ye be d'alin' wid. They do be wantin' to gobble the hull airth, I do be thinkin'."
This was always a subject upon which Pat felt deeply, for he was known to have a bitter prejudice against the French trappers and traders generally. At this time the French were in complete mastery of the valuable fur regions around the Great Lakes, and, being also located far in the south, at the mouth of the Mississippi at New Orleans, it was the announced intention of the companies controlling these half-breed trappers to form a chain of trading posts from Canada to the distant Mexican gulf.
Daniel Boone knew all about this tremendous scheme, and it was partly with the idea of blocking it that he had pushed out so far into the western wilderness, and influenced others to follow his example.
Dangers without number they must face in so doing; but, surely, if the wonderful wide-reaching valley of the Mississippi might be saved for English-speaking people, their efforts would be worth while.
While Bob watched the face of the Irish trapper, he came to the conclusion that Pat must have brought some unpleasant news along with him. This turned out to be the exact truth. As the two boys had now reached an age when they were to be depended on as defenders of the home, David Armstrong only waited until Kate happened to be sent on an errand to a neighbor, when he had Pat recount the matter for the benefit of Bob and Sandy.
There was much talk of a big Indian uprising all through the country between the Ohio and the lakes. Pontiac was again endeavoring to form a coalition of the many tribes, from the Six Nations, or Iroquois, in New York and Ohio, to the Pottawottomies and Sacs in the west, and the Creeks and Shawanees in the south.
Already, in many places, the red men were said to be on the warpath, and a trail of burning cabins marked their passage.
Pat had heard of these things, and, thinking of the good friends who had settled on the Ohio only the preceding spring, he had lost little time in making his way back again to the settlement that was flourishing so finely.
"It wull not be apt till come till ye, right away," he said in conclusion; "but 'tis just as well that ivery sowl be made aware av the danger. Niver belave thot ye are safe from attack here. It do be a foine place to defind, located on a hill as ye are; but remimber that the rids are backed up by more or less av thim treacherous Frinch trappers and traders; and that they are sworn to wipe out ivery English post wist av the mountains."
The news quickly spread until it was known in every home. Men got together and talked it over, trying to so arrange their plans that, in the event of an attack, the defence of the blockhouse would be conducted in the best possible manner.
Scouts were sent out whose business it was to scour the forest many miles around, on both sides of the river. And, should one of these discover that they were threatened with an inroad of the Indians, it must be his duty to hasten to send up a signal of warning.
This was to be in the shape of certain columns of black smoke, which, seen by the next scout, would be repeated, until in this manner the startling news might be received at the settlement hours in advance of the coming of the fleetest messenger.
It was employing the tactics of the Indians to a good purpose.
These precautions having been taken, the settlers went about their daily duties, confident that they would receive ample warning should danger arise, and also that they would be able to give a good account of themselves in battle, did the reds venture to attack the post.
But it was the policy of every man, woman and child, from that time forth, to keep an uneasy eye on the sky line, especially toward the east and west. Men, as they worked in their maize fields, would pause every little while to sweep the horizon with anxious gaze; and, should one of them at any time happen to discover any sign of smoke rising, it was apt to be an anxious moment for him until he had assured himself that the column was a single one, and not triple.
Even such a hovering cloud as this could not keep the two venturesome Armstrong boys from going forth every day. Sometimes they had business along their trap line, for work grew pretty brisk as the season advanced. Then again it might be a hunt that engaged their attention. Whenever they had any extra meat on hand it was their provident habit to dry the same for use in the hard winter months ahead.
As yet the settlers knew not what awaited them, once the snows of winter closed in, for they had never spent such a season on the Ohio. Tales of bitter weather had come to them; but they were hardy souls, and believed that, if the Indians could come through such a yearly experience unscathed, they ought to be able to do the same.
Nevertheless, every good housewife started early to lay in all such extra stores as could be procured. The stock of simple herbs, drying in bunches from the beams overhead in the living room of the Armstrong cabin, testified to the fact that the careful mother was prepared for any ordinary sickness that might arise. And there, too, could be seen various packages of the tough jerked venison, which would sustain life, when gnawed, as the Indians were accustomed to doing when on the trail, though the more civilized settlers preferred to use it in soups or stews.
For two days Bob and Sandy had not been out in the forest save to look after their traps. True, only the preceding day, a fine fat wild turkey had fallen before the gun of Sandy, and been greatly enjoyed; but both lads felt an eagerness to once again go forth on a genuine hunt for larger game.
The tender-hearted and fearful little mother could not forbid them venturing forth, even though she sighed after they had gone, and wiped a furtive tear from her eye. Food was a necessity, and they had no other means for procuring it than in this manner. According to their belief, Providence had stocked these woods with game in order to provide sustenance for the pioneers who must blaze the trail of civilization.
Warned to be unusually careful, Bob and his brother once again wended their way through the mysterious aisles of the solemn forest, which had now become so familiar a field to them. Did they not know nearly every little animal that had its home there; and were they not on good terms with many that they scorned to injure, since their flesh was not wanted for food, nor their fur for trading purposes?
Two hours after leaving home the young pioneers came across the tracks of a deer, and, finding that the trail was fresh, they started to follow. The wind was in their faces, so that everything seemed favorable for stalking the quarry, should they find that the animal was browsing in one of the little grassy glades which they knew were close at hand.
And, true enough, as they thus advanced cautiously, they sighted a noble buck feeding as though all unconscious of danger. Foot by foot the boys crept closer, intent on securing such splendid quarry.
This time it was Bob's turn to fire first, while Sandy held himself in readiness to make sure of the buck if by chance his brother failed.
Bob was looking along the barrel of his musket when, without warning, a shot rang out from a point further away, followed instantly by a second and a third; but the buck, apparently uninjured, leaped off as though about to speed beyond the danger zone.
The instinct of the hunter would not allow Bob to hold back his fire, even though he was startled by this unexpected volley. And, after he pulled the trigger, the buck gave one great leap into the air, to fall a quivering mass on the moss-covered ground.
Both lads hurried forward toward the fallen deer; but Bob felt a quiver of apprehension when he discovered three burly figures hastening to arrive there ahead of them.
"Oh! they are French trappers, Bob!" exclaimed Sandy, though he betrayed not the least symptom of holding back.
"Yes, and we must be careful what we do!" remarked Bob, uneasily.
"But it is your deer, for he fell when you fired!" Sandy declared, stubbornly.
In another minute the brothers had arrived at the spot, to find the foot of a dark-faced forest ranger planted on the dead buck, and three pairs of snapping black eyes looking at them in defiance.
Apparently their right to the game was about to be seriously questioned!
"Keep cool, now, Sandy!" advised Bob, as he felt his brother trembling with indignation because of this bold attitude on the part of the trio of French forest rangers, who evidently believed in the maxim that "might makes right."
"But, Bob, see, they mean to take our game from us!" exclaimed the impetuous Sandy, who could not mistake the intentions of the French trappers.
One of the men was a tall, gaunt fellow, with the eye of a hawk. He seemed to be something of a leading spirit among his comrades. Bob felt that he possessed a cruel nature, and such a man, he believed, would only too gladly conspire with bloodthirsty Indians to surprise the new settlements of the English, and raze them to the ground.
This fellow thrust himself forward, and, scowling darkly, demanded in fairly good English:
"What for you say zat ze game is yours? Haf you not ze eye to see zat aftaire ze first fire ze buck he nevaire run far? And as for zat bullet you send, poof! it haf been waste in ze air!" and with that he snapped his fingers contemptuously, as though that settled the matter beyond dispute.
They were only a couple of half-grown boys, after all, and could hardly hold out against three burly men, accustomed to a strenuous life.
But Sandy was quick to see things; nor did he have the prudence to hold his tongue when he believed he was being wronged. No doubt he had been more or less influenced in his opinion of these French traders and voyageurs by what he had so often heard Pat O'Mara declare—that they were without exception the "scum of the earth, and fit only for treason, stratagem and spoils."
"But see, only one bullet has struck the deer in a place where it would down him—right here behind the shoulder!" he cried, pointing with a trembling hand at the blood on the red hair of the animal.
"Zat is so, young monsieur," said the Frenchman smoothly, and with a mocking bow; "and I assure you it was just zere zat I aim my rifle. Sacre! Andre, and you, Jules, tell me if zis be not one fine shot!"
"But," cried the indignant Sandy immediately, "I tell you that is impossible!"
The tall and ugly Frenchman scowled, and then laughed harshly.
"Say you so, my leetle fire-eater?" he exclaimed. "How it is zat you come to zat conclusion?"
"Because," said the pioneer boy boldly, "if you look you will see that the bullet that killed the buck entered from the right; and we were on that side, not you. So the honor of killing this deer belongs to my brother."
The other Frenchmen evidently understood the point Sandy was making, even though not capable of speaking much English. They grinned, and cast quick glances at the dark-faced leader, as if wondering how he would take this thrust.
The tall trapper scowled savagely, and half raised his empty gun menacingly. But Sandy never gave way a particle. He knew that his gun was still loaded, while, in all probability, those of the others had not been recharged; three shots had sounded, proving that all had taken a chance at hitting the elusive buck.
"Zat is a great meestake," the fellow ejaculated, fiercely; "and it vould be well for you nevaire to repeat it to me. It makes me out von liar, and think you I vill stand for zat from a boy like you? My bullet he come out on ze right side, but he go in at ze left!"
"Prove that, and neither of us will offer any objection to your claiming the game," said Sandy, quickly; but the French trapper's scowl grew blacker than ever, for no doubt he caught the chuckling of his companions.
"It does not mattaire in ze least," he remarked, with his teeth snapping together. "Zis buck is my property. I take it as my right. All ze game in zis country is ours, and ze Eenglish steal every time zey shoot even von deer. Soon shall zey know who is ze real master here. Soon will zey repent zat zey come over ze mountains to zis land of the red men. Zey haf not take ze warning, let zem beware!"
Bob was thrilled by these words; they seemed to contain a threat of coming peril to the settlers. Undoubtedly Pat O'Mara had not brought his warning any too soon, for the crafty French trappers, many of them half-breeds too, had stirred up the Indians to the point of declaring actual hostilities. Why, perhaps the real purpose of these three men south of the Ohio was not to find new trapping fields, but to spy out the settlements, and learn of their weak points, so that later in the season they could lead the hordes of painted savages against them, with torch and tomahawk.
Sandy was not yet ready to give up his claim to the meat. He knew well it had been the bullet from his brother's musket that had brought this noble buck to the earth.
So the boy stepped a pace backward, and raised his musket, covering the form of the tallest French trapper. The fellow was evidently astonished at this show of resistance from those whom he was disposed to treat as helpless, half-grown cubs.
"If you want that deer," said Sandy, plainly, "you will have to prove your right to ownership. Turn him over, and show us the place where your bullet went in! When you have done that I will own up it is your game. But, until you do, we claim it. And I have here a loaded gun to back up my claim, while all of yours are empty! Keep your distance, or I will fire!"
Bob caught his breath. He had known his impetuous brother to do many unwise things in the past; but it seemed that he was now distancing his own record. Nevertheless, since the gage of battle had been thrown down, Bob was not the one to shrink from accepting his share of its responsibilities.
His first act was characteristic of the boy; for it was to slip a charge of powder into the barrel of his gun. If he could succeed in loading before any one of their enemies thought of doing likewise, there would be two guns to oppose any move the French trappers might think of making.
The tall man glared at Sandy as though he would give considerable to lay hands on the boy who dared threaten him. Still, somehow, he did not appear to fancy the way that gun kept pointing in his direction. And the face of the determined lad behind the gun told him that, if he ventured to make a single aggressive movement, Sandy would press the trigger his forefinger was touching.
The tall trapper muttered some words to his companions, who immediately began to back away, one moving toward the right, and the other toward the left.
Faster flew Bob's fingers in the effort to get that obstinate bullet rammed home before hostilities actually opened. Sandy was compelled to keep his eyes fastened on the man directly in front of him, so that he could not watch the others; but all the same he knew how to control the situation.
"Remember, you sir, that, if either of your friends makes a movement, it will cost you your life, for I shall fire instantly; and at this short distance there is no chance for a miss. Tell them to keep back if you want to live!" he said, firmly.
The French trapper spluttered in rage, but he saw something in the face of the determined young pioneer that he did not exactly fancy. So he again spoke in his native tongue to his companions.
They immediately commenced to hastily recharge their own rifles, taking pattern from the actions of Bob. That worthy had, however, by this time succeeded in removing his ramrod, after sending the patched bullet home, and was even priming his gun so as to be in readiness for action.
"Stop!" he exclaimed, as he menaced first one and then the second of the other Frenchmen. "This thing must be settled now and for good! You have forced us to stand up for our rights. Prove that the deer belongs to you, and we will not put in a claim."
The tall man was once more calling out, and how Bob wished that he understood French, so that he could tell what was said, since he feared that it was intended for their undoing.
Sure enough, as he turned once more toward the third trapper, he discovered that the man had disappeared, having dropped upon his face and rolled behind a neighboring tree. And, while he thus stood, filled with chagrin because he had been in a measure outwitted, the second fellow also made a quick leap that gave him temporary shelter behind another stump.
The situation was becoming very much strained, and, with their three enemies thus widely scattered, Bob saw that he and his brother could not long hope to hold the whip hand over the situation.
It seemed too bad to think that, after all, they must draw off, and allow these rascally allies of the Indians to lay hold of the game that by rights belonged to the Armstrong larder. But, perhaps it would be best to believe that "the one who fights, and runs away, may live to fight another day."
"Come, Sandy, we must go, and admit defeat," he said, quickly, fearing lest even now he find some trouble in convincing his hotheaded brother that their best policy lay in retreating while they had the chance.
Sandy shrugged his shoulders as if to show that he did not like to abandon such a fine buck when they had the best right to it.
"If we have to fight for it, let us begin by knocking over this rascal here!" he exclaimed, waving his levelled musket menacingly at the dark-faced trapper.
"Wait, Sandy!" cried Bob. "See, there are other men coming on the run. If they prove to be Frenchmen we must get away! But perhaps they may be friends, and then we shall soon see to whom the deer belongs."
He had hardly spoken when Sandy let out a yell of delight.
"It is Simon Kenton! That is he waving his cap to us. Now hold your own, Bob, and do not think of leaving this game. They will see fair play on both sides. And I say again, if the deer belongs to these men I would not claim it for worlds. Huzza! what great luck we are having!"
Bob, too, was thrilled by the sight of Kenton, with several other men in buckskin, advancing through the forest, and closing in on the scene of the dispute.
The trio of French trappers, unwilling to risk the chances of flight, immediately assumed a different aspect. Smiling affably, they waited to greet the newcomers, as though now perfectly willing to submit the question to arbitration.
Simon Kenton, tall and lithe as a sycamore, hastened to shake hands with each of the Armstrong boys. They had been favorites of the young woodranger ever since the first day he met them, when, with Daniel Boone, he had joined the pack-horse caravan headed for the banks of the Ohio.
"What's going on here?" he asked in his musical voice, as his keen eyes took in the belligerent attitude of the two lads, and the fact that they were confronted by a trio of French trappers; for the other two had now come out from their places of hiding.
"Oh! only a dispute as to who shot the buck," said Sandy, as though such an event were of every day occurrence with him.
"We were over yonder, while these men came from that direction," said Bob, as he pointed one way and another. "I was just about to fire, when there came a shot. The buck bounded off. Then two more guns spoke; but the deer only leaped the harder. I pressed the trigger and the buck dropped. When we came up, these men met us, and claimed the game. We told them that the only fatal bullet had entered from the right, and offered to prove our claim, or hand the prize over to them; but they said they meant to have it anyway. We were just trying to back up our words when you happened to come up. And, Sandy, we'll let Simon Kenton decide whose bullet killed this fine buck."
Kenton looked toward the three French trappers, whom he seemed to know.
"Fairer words were never spoken, Armand Lacroix, and you know it," he said, sternly. "You would follow out the custom of your partner, Jacques Larue, with whom my young friends are already acquainted, and claim everything in sight because you are French, and they are English. But that sort of game will not go here. Bagstock, take a look at the buck, and tell me whether the bullet has gone clear through the body."
One of his comrades accordingly stooped, and threw the dead animal over on the other side; when it was plainly seen that there was no mark of a wound in the forequarter.
"I knew it!" cried Sandy, triumphantly, as he grinned at the baffled Frenchman.
"There you see, Lacroix," observed Kenton, with a nod and a smile, "the lead that brought this buck low came from the right; and this lad says he and his brother were on that quarter, while you stood on the left. But thar's a fairer way to decide the truth than that. Hand me your gun, Lacroix; I promise that you shall have it again."
The French trapper looked daggers at the young ranger; but the English were now five to three French, and he knew the temper of Daniel Boone's friend too well to test it to the breaking point.
Accordingly he reached out his discharged rifle, one of those long-barrelled affairs that carried so deadly a messenger, when properly aimed.
"Bagstock, dig for the bullet that killed the buck," Kenton went on.
Sandy's face was wreathed in a huge grin; for he instantly saw what the woodsman had in mind.
"Now you will learn the truth, M. Lacroix," he said, exultantly, as the burly forest ranger, laying his rifle aside, took out his hunting knife, and commenced to hack at the side of the deer, following the course of the bullet.
The French trapper did not appear to be at all pleased with the probable outcome. Truth to tell, he had already discounted the result in advance, for he knew full well that himself and comrades had not the first claim on the buck.
Presently Bagstock uttered an ejaculation of satisfaction, and, picking something up, handed it to Simon Kenton. It was the bullet that had brought down the deer, a trifle dented from striking the animal's bones, but apparently in good shape for the purposes of identification.
"Just as I thought," said Kenton, laughingly. "This bullet fits only in a musket such as these boys carry. Nobody could ever get it in a smaller calibre rifle like the ones you and your comrades own, Lacroix. So, that is settled, and settled the right way. And your road lies yonder. Bagstock, you and Andrew keep an eye on our friends, and if they so much as turn around within a mile of this, you know what to do!"
And thus the three baffled French trappers went away. They grumbled not, seeming to accept their defeat as the fortune of war; but the malignant look Armand Lacroix cast toward the two brothers told what was on his mind. If by chance they ever ran across his path again, and fortune was kind to him, the Frenchman would not be apt to forget how he had been baited by a couple of half-grown English-speaking American lads. And perhaps, under such conditions, he might be able to make things rather interesting for Bob and Sandy, particularly the latter.
When the boys returned to the settlement, bringing with them the buck, and accompanied by Simon Kenton and his two companions, they were warmly greeted.
The story of how Sandy had braved the three crafty French trappers soon went abroad, and many congratulated the boy on his firm stand. They knew well that it was this secret French influence which was doing so much to make the Indians dig up the hatchet that had been buried at the treaty of Fort Stanwix some years previous; and in every breast existed the same detestation for the cowardly traders who, for the sake of gain, would encourage the savages to resort once more to the torch, and the murderous tomahawk.
Several men vanished from the post shortly after the boys returned. It was suspected that they had banded together with the idea of pursuing the trio of Frenchmen, and putting it out of their power to carry their news to other Indian villages; for Pat O'Mara, who was one of this band, declared it to be his belief that these men were messengers, sent to bear the wampum belt of the great leader, Pontiac, to chiefs who were even then hesitating over what to do.
The men came back on the next day, and, while none of them would say a word about the result of their mission, it was not believed that success had followed them, for they exhibited no symptoms of satisfaction.
Simon Kenton was a great favorite in this Ohio River settlement. As the boon companion of the leading pioneer he would have been warmly welcome; but, besides that, he had such a genial nature that he made friends wherever he went. Contact with Daniel Boone was also doing wonders for this fine young borderer. By slow degrees he was conquering his numerous faults in the line of hasty temper, and quick action, that in the past had brought him so much trouble.
His place among the men of the early days along the great river has long been recognized in history. While he lacked some of the wonderful qualities that made Boone beloved among the whites, and both feared and respected by the Indians, still Kenton has always held a strong place in the affection of those who know the wonderful exploits with which his life was crowned.
Although Kenton was possessed of a particularly amiable disposition among his friends, it is likely that his equal for recklessness was never known. History tells us that, during the course of his adventurous life along the border with Boone, and alone, he many times fell into the hands of the Indians, though they seemed unable to hold so slippery a customer.
Eight times he was condemned to run the gauntlet, always one of the most cruel of the Indian inventions of horror; three times was he tied to the stake, sentenced to be burned alive; and once he was nearly slain by an ax.
And yet, in spite of all these things, Simon Kenton lived to a green old age, dying in 1836 within sight of the very spot where the Indians, fifty-eight years before, had made preparations to torture him to death. (Note 3.)
While at the settlement of our friends Kenton and his two comrades made their headquarters in an empty cabin, deserted by a settler who had gone back to the fair fields of Virginia because his wife grieved for her family, and was too timid to stay where at any hour they could expect to hear the wild whoops of hostile Indians.
Of course, as soon as it could be done in secret, the head men of the settlement sought to find out from Kenton whether the news brought by Pat O'Mara was founded on facts, or the result of a lively imagination.
"I have been in the eastern country," replied the forest ranger, seriously; "and can only say this, that thar are all the signs of a big outbreak. Down in Kentucky Boone has had to be on the defensive all the time, because the Shawanees did not feel themselves bound by the Fort Stanwix treaty. My friends, I regret to say to you that the outlook is dark. Be on your guard. If this winter passes without a general war on the part of half a dozen tribes, some of us will believe that we are poor prophets."
And, later on, he told in detail what he and his friends had seen and heard. The news was distressing to these people, so many hundreds of miles away from help, and dependent on themselves alone to combat the gathering clouds.
But there were brave hearts among those early pioneers. Even the women refused to believe that they were to be overwhelmed, and made to perish from the face of the earth. From such stock have our forefathers sprung, and, looking back, we have need of every adjective at our command to express admiration for the valor of these Ohio pioneers.
David Armstrong felt that he had much to be thankful for in those days. His wife and little family were in perfect health; but there was one thing that seemed to be giving the pioneer anxiety.
Never did any one come from over the distant mountains but that Mr. Armstrong was eagerly inquiring whether the newcomer carried a letter for him. Thus far disappointment had always been his portion; yet, after each period of deep despondency, he would once more pick up fresh hope, and it was usually the brave soul of his gentle wife that put new ambitions in his breast.
Years ago in Richmond, Mr. Armstrong had been tricked by a cousin, in whom he placed implicit confidence. The result had been that this rascal had virtually stolen all of Mr. Armstrong's heritage, which he had brought from the old country.
David had gone to law about it, but, even in this early day, the delays were most vexatious; and for years had the case been pending. Mr. Armstrong never lost hope that, in the end, it would be decided in his favor, and that he would be summoned to Richmond to take back that which had been fraudulently wrested from his hands.
He indulged in many rosy-tinted dreams of what wonderful things he would bring back with him, to add to the happiness of his little brood, should such a wonderful piece of good luck come his way.
Mary and he had decided that they liked this beautiful country too well to ever return again to Virginia. Come what would, they belonged here on the river that flowed between forest-clad banks into the golden west.
Pat O'Mara still hung about the settlement, though at any time he was apt to disappear. While present, he made his home with the Armstrongs, and there never was a more welcome guest at a pioneer's cabin than the Irish trapper with these good friends.
Bob and Sandy took him over the line of their traps, and learned many clever little tricks that would count when the real time came for taking fur-bearing animals. Up to now their efforts in that line had been more in the way of experiments, so as to get used to handling traps, and keeping the sly little animals from scenting the presence of human beings around their haunts.
Kenton and his friends had gone on their way. They were really scouting, in the hope and expectation of learning something about the anticipated Indian uprising, so that the weaker settlements could withdraw in time to more secure quarters; for the winter, at least, combining with stronger posts.
"I wanted father to let me go with Simon Kenton," said Sandy, despondently, the day after the departure of the frontiersman.
"But of course he refused," said Bob, quickly; "and rightly, too. You are too young to be wandering around the country as he does, Sandy; and think, what would mother do without you? It's all well enough for Kenton, who is a man full grown, and has no home. You belong here, Sandy, with us. How could I attend to all the traps, and hunt in the bargain, without you? I am glad father said no; glad for my own sake, glad for mother, and glad for you, too."
The reference to his mother touched the heart of impulsive Sandy.
"Well," he said, slowly, "I guess it is best I stay for another year or so, anyway; but, some day, I'm going to follow in the footsteps of Simon Kenton."
Bob said no more, knowing the nature of his brother only too well, and by another day Sandy had apparently quite gotten over his grieving.
September was now moving along very fast, and, almost before they would be aware of it, the great forest trees must be taking on the red and gold of autumn hues, as the first frost came down from the north.
Each time the boys went out they set another trap, until the entire number they owned were in use. The prospect ahead looked rosy, indeed, if only that story in connection with the threatened Indian war could be forgotten.
Sometimes it came to Bob in the dead of night, to cause him more or less grave thought, for his was a nature unlike Sandy's lighthearted one; and, before Pat O'Mara departed, he had once more impressed upon the older lad the necessity for unusual care in making their rounds of the traps, or venturing into the surrounding forest in search of game.
And, on this night in question, it seemed to Bob that he awoke from a very vivid dream, in which the settlement was being attacked by countless painted Indians. So startling an effect did the dream have upon him that he even sat up on his cot and listened, as though he half expected to hear the distant yells of dancing red men as they surrounded the stockade.
All seemed still, however, and Bob was about to drop back again when, glancing in the direction of the little window, he was surprised to find that a flickering glow came and went, as though a fire might be burning without.
Hastily the boy crept from under his covers, and went over to open the door, in order to thrust his head outside; but, hardly had he done this, than he received a shock that dazed him, for he discovered that the entire side of the cabin was in flames!