That journey, however, proved one he never forgot. On the second day it snowed heavily and he was driven to seek shelter under a small cliff. Here a pack of wolves beset him and he had a lively time getting rid of the beasts. When he started out the next day his horse went lame and he had to lead the animal, for the beast could carry no weight but the baggage. Twice he lost the trail, and once he sighted a band of Indians but did not dare to go near them for fear they might prove to be enemies.
At last, however, he struck a trail he knew well, and then hurried on faster than ever. Another snowstorm was coming on and the first heavy flakes came down just as he caught sight of the stockade through the semi-darkness. He set up a loud shout and in a few minutes Dave came out to meet and greet him.
“Where in the world have you been!” cried the son. “We have been looking for you for several weeks.”
“It’s a long story,” answered the father. “Let me get inside first and warm up.”
They were soon inside the trading-post and while one of the men went to care for the lame horse, Mr. Morris sat down and told his story. Later on he listened in much surprise to what Dave, Barringford, and the others had to say.
“Have you seen or heard anything of the Indians since?” he questioned anxiously.
“Not of our enemies,” answered Dave. “White Buffalo was back and reported that Fox Head had gone northward, to join in a big pow-wow with the French.”
“Everything points to war,” was the trader’s comment. “It is simply a question of when it will come.”
“And if it does come, father, what of us and this trading-post?”
“I cannot answer that question, Dave. We must trust in God and take what comes.”