“But perhaps it is only the work of that rascal, Jean Bevoir.”
“I am half of a mind to take the notice to Winchester, but I hate to leave the post at such a critical time as this.”
“I will take the notice to Winchester if you wish it.”
“You might do so, but I would not let you go alone, and I don’t know of anybody I can spare just now. I want Barringford to remain here, too. In case of a sudden attack he will be worth half a dozen ordinary men—you’ve found that out already.”
The matter was talked over for two days, but nothing came of it. On the third day White Buffalo put in an appearance, along with two followers, and James Morris at once asked the Indian chief to escort Dave as far as Will’s Creek, offering him fair pay for the work. The Indian chief consented, and the party started out early on the following morning.
“Perhaps the war is already on,” said Dave, half jokingly. “If it is, father, I’ll join the soldiery.”
“All right, join,” answered Mr. Morris, just as lightly. “But don’t forget that I want to hear from that notice;” and so they parted, never dreaming of the terrible events in store for both of them.
White Buffalo was the best of guides and through his leadership the advance of the little party was rapid. He knew the best fording spots in all the rivers and what trail was good and what bad. He thought a great deal of Dave and the youth felt perfectly safe with him.
On the second day out from the trading-post White Buffalo, who was slightly in advance, came to a sudden halt.
“White men are ahead,” he announced. “Men with guns, shovels and axes.”