“They are a fine people, those Washingtons,” Henry Morris had declared. “Mr. Lawrence Washington is a thorough gentleman, and his brother George is as nice a boy as any in these parts. And, oh, what a plantation they’ve got! Nearly a thousand slaves, and so many horses I couldn’t count them. I can tell you a place like that is something worth while.”
“The Washingtons have always been rich,” had been Joseph Morris’ answer. “And Lawrence Washington lost nothing by marrying William Fairfax’s daughter. Those families own more land than they know what to do with.”
“Old Lord Fairfax was there,” Henry had continued. “He takes a great interest in George Washington. George is learning surveying at school, and Lord Fairfax said he might give him the work of surveying his estate some day.” And so the talk had run on, for in those days Lord Fairfax was a personage of great importance in that neighborhood, and the Washingtons were also well known.
One day there came a sudden and unexpected windfall to the Morrises. A distant relative who lived in New Jersey died and left to each brother the sum of twelve hundred pounds—about six thousand dollars—and also a quantity of household goods, cattle and horses. At once James Morris journeyed to New Jersey after the fortune, going both for himself and as his brother’s legally appointed agent. This trip in those days was a long one, and had to be made on horseback for the greater part of the distance. The mission took four months, and when Dave’s father returned he brought with him a train of sixteen pack-saddle horses, some carrying furniture which had originally come from England and which could not be duplicated in the colonies.
As soon as the furniture and other effects had been left at the cabin near Will’s Creek, James Morris had announced his intention of using his part of the inheritance in establishing a trading business with the Indians on the Kinotah. “I know there is money to be made in it,” was the way he reasoned to his brother. “A good deal more money than is to be made here at farming.”
The idea pleased Joseph Morris, but he was loath to go further into the wilderness with his wife and his little daughter, and with a son who was a cripple, and after a long conference it was decided that James Morris should start out alone, using a thousand pounds belonging to both, and also the pack horses, and leaving Dave with his uncle.
It grieved Dave to be left behind, yet, as his father thought it best, he did not complain, only begging that he might be permitted to join his parent at the trading-post at some time not too far in the future. To this the father had promised that the lad might make the trip during the year following, if all went well.
The hopeful pioneer had fitted out his trading expedition at Winchester, with goods brought from Annapolis, and with his pack horses loaded with trinkets, bright colored blankets and cloths, and other things dear to the heart and eye of the red men, had set off for the great “Western Country” as some people of that time called the western portion of Pennsylvania. Here the virgin forests were almost trackless, the only trails being those of the Indians and the deer and other wild animals. Bridges there were none, and every river had to be either forded or swum, and the journey through the vast mountain gaps was perilous in the extreme. The party consisted of James Morris, two old hunters known as Tony and Putty, and half a dozen Indians under the leadership of White Buffalo. It was agreed that as soon as the Kinotah was reached and the trading-post established White Buffalo should be sent back with the news.
CHAPTER II
WHITE BUFFALO BRINGS NEWS
When Dave entered the cabin homestead he found his Aunt Lucy and his cousin Rodney, the cripple, hard at work making tallow candles, the only kind of light used about the place after sundown. Over a fire in the dooryard hung a kettle full of soft tallow and on the kitchen floor rested the metal moulds for forming the candles after the wicks had been placed in from end to end. The best of the candles were made in this manner, but Rodney was making a commoner sort by simply dipping wicks into the fat and hanging them up to harden, repeating this process until the prospective lights were of the desired thickness.