About the middle of February news came to the camp that a French soldier and two French traders had been captured at a post on Lake Ontario some twenty miles to the northeast of Fort Oswego. There had been a sharp fight between a detachment of Colonial militia and the French, who had been in the act of removing some stores which they had left hidden in the woods months before, and one of the enemy had been killed and two militiamen badly wounded.

“I wonder if one of the traders can be Jean Bevoir,” said Dave, when he heard of the affair.

“It is not impossible, Dave,” answered Barringford. “He was around these ere diggin’s a long time, when he was holding little Nell a captive, and he must have brung some things with him when he scooted away from your father’s post on the Kinotah.”

“I’m going to try to find out who they are,” went on the young soldier, and lost no time in seeking the officer who had received the report.

From this person Dave learned that the French soldier’s name was Hildegard. The traders were sullen and refused to talk.

“Will they be brought to this fort?” asked Dave.

“Why are you so interested?”

Upon this Dave told a part of his story.

“Ah, yes, I remember now, Morris. No, I am sorry to say we have sent out orders that they be taken down to Fort Stanwix. Some soldiers were bound for that post, and we decided that the prisoners should accompany them. You see, if we keep them here, and they escape, it is too easy a matter for them to get to Canada.”

“I would like to make sure that one is not Jean Bevoir,” went on Dave.

“Well, you can take a run up there if you want to and see. They will not start for Fort Stanwix until day after to-morrow.”

“Then I will go by all means. Can I take Sam Barringford with me? He is a member of our company, and an old friend of mine.”

“Very well, you can take him. I will give you four days’ leave of absence. Do you know the road?”

“I know something of it. But Barringford is an old hunter and trapper, so we won’t have much trouble keeping to the trail,” answered Dave.

Barringford was glad enough to get away from the camp for a few days, and the preparations for the journey were completed in short order.

“Like as not we’ll scare up some game on the way,” he said. “So be prepared.” And each took with him as much powder as could be spared and also a new flint for his musket.

It was a clear, cold day, and the sun made the ice and snow glitter like diamonds. There was no wind, and in the forest all was as silent as a tomb. They picked their way with care, Barringford taking the lead.

“It’s as good as a holiday,” said Dave. “Now, if we only had skates we could skate along the edge of the lake for quite a distance.”

“Never mind, Dave; if we stick to land there won’t be no danger of ye going into another hole in the ice.”

Dave gave a shiver.

“You’re right, Sam; once is enough.”

For several miles the trail was a smooth one and easily followed. But after that they had two gullies to cross, and some rough rocks, a task by no means easy. In one of the gullies the snow lay to a depth of twenty or thirty feet.

“If we fell in there it would be no easy task getting out,” remarked Dave.

At noon they rested for an hour, building a camp-fire in a sheltered spot. They carried some provisions, and on the way Barringford had brought down a fat rabbit, which was speedily done to a turn, and as quickly eaten up.

“We have covered more than half the distance,” said the old frontiersman. “But I don’t know if we’ll be able to cover the balance o’ the way afore nightfall.”

“Well, we can try,” answered Dave, and once more they set off, at a brisk pace, for the nooning had rested them greatly.

But now the trail was very rough, and more than once they had to consider how to get around a certain spot. It took Dave’s wind to climb up some of the slippery rocks; and once, when the pull was extra hard, he called on Barringford to halt.

“Got—got to—to get m-m—my wind!” he gasped.

“We had better call it a day,” announced the old hunter.

It was four o’clock, and already growing dark. A nook was found where some bushes grew between the rocks. The bushes were cut down and piled on top of the opening, and soon they had a fairly comfortable “corner,” as Dave called it, with a roaring fire to cheer them as they rested. More rabbits had been brought low, and Barringford fixed up supper in his own particular style. If the cooking was not of the best, neither of the travelers grumbled, for fresh air and hunger, real hunger, are the best sauces in the world.

In such a lonely spot it was not considered necessary to remain on guard, and after fixing the fire so it would burn for a long while, they turned in, and slept “like rocks” until daybreak.

A loud whistle from Barringford made Dave leap from his couch of pine boughs. The old frontiersman had breakfast ready, and this was quickly eaten, and soon they were on the way once more. Dave was a bit stiff, but did not complain.

“We’ll make it by noon,” said Barringford, and it lacked a good hour of that time when they came in sight of the post, flying its colors of the King as bravely as did Fort Oswego. A guard stopped them, but matters were quickly explained, and they were conducted to the captain in charge.

“I don’t know the prisoners,” said Captain Wilbur, “although I have heard about Hildegard. You can look them over.” And he called an aid.

The two traders were confined in a hut just outside of the camp. They were chained to a stake, so escape was next to impossible. They scowled darkly at Dave and Barringford.

“A fool’s errand,” said Dave, after a glance at the men. Neither of the prisoners was Jean Bevoir.

“That’s true,” returned Barringford. “But it may be they can tell you something about Bevoir, Dave.”

“If they can speak English,” returned the young soldier.

It was speedily learned that neither of the traders could speak English. Then an interpreter was called in; but the Frenchmen refused to say whether they knew Bevoir or not.

“Never saw such stubborn men,” said the interpreter. “They won’t tell a thing. We’ve tried to starve ’em into speaking; but it’s no use.”

The commander of the post was glad to listen to what little news Dave and Barringford had to tell, and treated them to the best dinner the post afforded.

It was ten o’clock of the following morning when Dave and the old hunter started to return to Fort Oswego. The day was a gloomy one, with a promise of more snow.

“We don’t want to lose any time,” said Barringford. “If we do, we may git snow-bound.”

Some hunters from the post went with them a distance of a mile, but after that the pair were allowed to shift for themselves. They took the trail by which they had come, although they were told they could save a mile or two by going a different way.

“We know this one,” said Barringford. “And it aint no use to take risks, ‘specially ef it’s goin’ to snow.”

It was not yet noon when the first flakes of the coming storm floated lazily down upon them. The flakes were large, and soon they increased so thickly that it was impossible to see a dozen yards in any direction.

“I am afraid that is going to be serious, Dave.”

“Big flakes can’t last very long, can they?”

“No, big flakes can’t, but we’ll have more snow, even so.”

Barringford was right, the large flakes presently gave way to smaller ones, and then the snow became like salt, which the rising wind blew directly into their faces.

“It’s goin’ to be a hummer!” exclaimed Barringford, as the wind suddenly rose with a shriek. “Reckon as how we wuz fools to leave the post.”

“What shall we do, Sam? We can’t very well go back.”

“True, lad, but——By gum!”

A wild animal of some kind had leaped up almost in front of them. Around came Barringford’s musket, and he blazed away, and then Dave did the same. There were a roar and a snarl, and over in the snow tumbled a small bear, clawing viciously at everything around it.

“B’ar meat!” yelled Barringford, and ran forward, drawing his hunting knife. Watching his chance he drove the knife into the wounded beast’s throat, and soon the game breathed its last.

The wind was now blowing a regular gale, causing the tree boughs to snap and crack in all directions. Try their best they could scarcely locate themselves, for every part of the trail had been obliterated.

“We are lost in the snow!” exclaimed Dave blankly. “And the storm is growing worse every minute!”

“We must make some sort o’ shelter, Dave,” returned the frontiersman. And then he added: “It’s a rare good thing we shot the b’ar. It may save our lives.”

“You mean for food?”

“Exactly. Come with me, and ketch holt.”

Dragging the game between them, they pushed forward until they reached the shelter of some rocks. Here were several clumps of bushes and some tall timber, and they lost no time in starting up a fire, for the temperature had fallen greatly, so that both were in danger of freezing to death. With a hatchet they cut a quantity of firewood, and made a lean-to against the tallest of the rocks. They worked hard, and this helped to keep up the circulation of their blood.

Hour after hour went by, and the storm showed no signs of abating. Barringford skinned the bear, and the pelt was hung upon the boughs of the lean-to to keep off a portion of the wind. In the hollow the snow was damp and could be packed, and this they used to build a sort of house, of snow, boughs, and bearskin combined. It was by no means a comfortable dwelling but it was far better than nothing. The fire was close by, and gave them not only warmth, but also a good deal of smoke, when the wind chanced to veer around, as it often did.

Slowly the balance of the day went by, and the night to follow was one Dave remembered for many a year after. It was bitterly cold, and they could do but little more than pile the wood on the fire, and crouch by it, so closely that more than once their clothing was singed. They cooked a huge chunk of the bear’s meat, and ate of it several times; and added some of the fat to the fire, in the hope of gaining additional heat. Once, a lean and hungry wolf came close, snarling viciously, and looking wistfully at the meat, and Dave brought it down with a bullet from his musket.

But morning came at last, and with it the end of the storm. As the sun arose it became slightly warmer, and by ten o’clock they were again on the way, each carrying a load of bear meat, and Barringford the pelt also. The walk was a tiresome one, and it was two days ere they came in sight of Fort Oswego.

“I am glad the trip is over,” muttered Dave. And Barringford echoed the sentiment. Soon they were among their friends, where they related their experiences, and then took a long and much-needed rest.