“Dave! My son Dave!” cried James Morris, and there was a ring of relief and joy in his tones.
“Father!” was all the son answered. He still kept his eyes on the French trader, who shrank back in consternation.
“Come on, all of you!” cried Joseph Morris, who now saw that further secrecy would be useless. “Surrender, you villains, or we’ll shoot you down like dogs!”
“Thet’s the talk!” came from Barringford, and as he saw one of the Indians raise a gun he shot the warrior through the heart.
The next instant the entire camp was in alarm. Thinking a large body of English had arrived, the few Indians present took to their heels and disappeared into the forest as if by magic. The Frenchmen tried to follow, fighting as they did so. Jean Bevoir aimed a pistol at Dave and fired, the bullet striking the youth in the side. As he staggered and fell Henry fired at the French trader, and so did two others, and Bevoir threw up his arms and pitched headlong into the smoldering campfire, scattering the embers in all directions.
Inside of five minutes the battle was at an end and the English were in complete possession of the camp and had also gained possession of their horses and a large portion of their stores. What was left of the French and Indians disappeared, and that was the last seen of them.
Bevoir pitched headlong into the smoldering campfire.—Page [298].
Dave’s wound was but slight, and his first thoughts were of his father. The two embraced over and over again, the tears of joy standing in the eyes of each. Joseph Morris, Henry, and Barringford were likewise more than happy to learn that the trader was really alive.
“I am the only one living to tell the tale,” said James Morris. “The others were killed or mortally wounded.”