On the first occasion, they read that two white men were hanging around near the settlement, and meant to do the Armstrong family harm. The careful mother’s first thought was of Kate, her only daughter, a pretty girl, who had already been once carried away by a young chief of the Delawares, and rescued only after much trouble by her brothers, assisted by Simon Kenton and several of the young woodranger’s comrades.
That very night there had come the alarm of fire, with the greedy flames doing their best to devour the cabin where David Armstrong and his little brood lived. Only through the most valiant labor was the fire conquered before it could do much harm. And, now, Bob had found a second strange warning under the door of the cabin, on that very morning, he being the first to arise.
He traced each symbol with his finger as he sat there and mused. There were the same two men again, whom he believed must stand for the ugly French trappers, because they wore hats, which no Indian ever was known to do; and their feet “toed-out,” which was another sure sign. In addition, he could make out the cabins of the settlers, and the two bent figures appeared to be creeping toward them.
Of course, word of the message had been carried to all the other men in the community, and doubtless there would be a strict watch kept that coming night. If Jacques Larue and his companion, Henri Lacroix, were discovered approaching the settlement, other than erect on their feet, the chances were that they would be given a very warm reception.
But Bob was not puzzling his head just now about what the symbols meant. He had had little difficulty in understanding that some one intended to warn them against the attacks of their old-time enemies. The question that gave both Bob and Sandy cause for speculation was the identity of the friend from whom these two birch-bark warnings came.
It was not Blue Jacket, Bob knew. He had seen the young Shawanee brave draw similar figures, and they were slightly different from those now in front of him; even as one person’s handwriting looks unlike that of another. And yet Bob felt positive that the work must have been done by an Indian.
The mystery piqued his curiosity greatly. He and Sandy had tried to reason it out, and discover the identity of this unknown and unseen friend among the red men; but up to now they had not met with any success.
After looking at the little strip of bark for a minute, Bob shook his head, as though once more compelled to abandon the solution of the puzzle; and, allowing it to roll up again of its own accord, he replaced the message in his pocket.
“I’d give a lot to know who sent those two messages,” he muttered, as he started to take the skin off the mink, not wishing to carry any more burden than seemed necessary, if they were to continue along the line of traps. “But, anyway, it’s nice to feel that we’ve got a good friend among the Indians, who takes delight in upsetting the plans of those two precious rascals. Some day he may see fit to make himself known to us. But, I wonder what keeps Sandy. He surely ought to be here by now, for he had plenty of time to get to that trap, and fix it fresh, if it was sprung. I hope nothing has happened to him.”
He looked eagerly along the back trail, but failed to see any sign of the approaching figure of his younger brother. The afternoon was more than three-quarters past, and in another hour they could expect darkness to swoop down upon the land.