At last the winter broke up and by April the work around the cabin homer was resumed. There had been some cutting of timber and hauling away of the same late in the fall and now this was resumed and the new ground was cleaned up and plowed for an early planting. The cattle shed had also to be repaired, and Dave was given this task, for he was more handy with tools than was his cousin Henry. Rodney was feeling decidedly stronger, and took great pleasure in taking care of the poultry, of which he boasted a good stock, and in looking after a respectable flock of ducks. Chickens and ducks knew him well and when he sat in the warm sunshine they would not hesitate to crowd around him, to fly to his lap and search his pockets for corn.
As the spring advanced into summer Dave became anxious to hear from his father, especially when a trapper brought in the rumor that the Indians were preparing for trouble.
“They have held several war dances,” said the trapper. “And that means mischief before long.”
“Do you know White Buffalo?” asked Dave.
“I do.”
“Is he anywhere around here?”
“No, he and his braves have gone into the wilderness, where I do not know,” answered the trapper.
Soon summer was at hand and now there was so much work to do that Dave had scarcely time to think of anything else. Almost before he knew it August came and it was time for harvest. Then one day Sam Barringford dropped in upon those at the cabin.
“Glad to see me, are ye?” he said, as he gave Dave his usual iron-like grip that made the youth wince. “Wall, I’m jest as glad to set eyes on ye, too, mark thet! I’ve thought on ye a heap of times sense we had thet little flip-up with Turtle Foot. Seed anything of the rascal sense thet time?”
“I have not,—and I don’t wish to.”