"It's White Buffalo!" he said.
"Hullo, White Buffalo!" called out Barringford. "If it's you, come out!"
A moment later the Indian chief emerged from the thicket into which he had plunged so unceremoniously. As he came closer they saw that he was almost exhausted and that one of his moccasins was missing.
"White Buffalo, what brings you?" questioned Dave, anxiously.
"My good friend Dave!" gasped the aged warrior. "White Buffalo is glad to see that he still lives." He staggered and clutched the youth's arm. "Hearken unto the words of White Buffalo. I have run many miles—I can run no further. Go back to your home and tell all there that they must flee, or they will be massacred. The red men are rising everywhere, from the Great Lakes to the Fathers of Waters (meaning the Mississippi). Many settlements have already been given over to the flames, and many more will follow. Pontiac has sent forth the word, and none of my fellow warriors will listen to those who are friendly to the English. Already some of my own followers have deserted me, even as they deserted me during the war with the French. It is a black night for the English, and blacker nights are to follow. Flee to the eastward—to some fort—ere it is too late. I—I—White Buffalo is a-wearied—he—must—must—sleep."
And thus speaking the aged Indian chief staggered and would have fallen to the ground had not Dave's youthful arms supported him.
CHAPTER XV
AT FORT CUMBERLAND
"Did you hear what he said?" asked Dave of Sam Barringford.
"I did, lad, and ye can reckon as how he tells the truth," returned the old frontiersman. "The best thing we can do is to follow his advice an' git back to the cabin without delay."