"Do you mean that Pontiac will lay siege to Detroit?"
"It's a siege now, Dave. We can't go outside the stockade onless we run the risk o' being peppered."
"I'm getting worried about matters at home, and about father and my Cousin Henry," went on Dave. "For all we know, the post may be wiped out."
Two days later several French traders came into Detroit, bringing news from the forts to the west and south. As soon as they had had their talk with the commandant, Dave approached them. Neither could speak English, so the lad had to converse through the aid of an interpreter.
"The trading-posts on the Ohio are all in the hands of the Indians," was the dismaying news. "The English have been driven away. A few rascals of Frenchmen are aiding the red men. Some of the English traders have gone to Fort Pitt and the other are either in the wilderness in hiding, or else dead."
"And do you know anything definite of my father's post?"
"Like the rest, it is in the hands of the Indians. A French trader named Jean Bevoir is also there."
"Bevoir!" ejaculated Dave. "Oh, Sam, did you hear that? That rascal has turned up again!"
"Do you know if Mr. Morris is alive?" asked the old frontiersman, for he saw that Dave could not bring himself to put the question.
"He got away from the fort, along with a number of others," was the answer. "I think he struck out for Fort Pitt, but of that I am not sure."