"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."

CHAPTER XII

DARK YEAR OF THE WAR

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.