Often, while he and Sandy were making the rounds of their traps, Bob would relate something of interest that he had managed to pick up; and his brother, though not as deeply concerned as himself, always asked numerous questions.
Some days passed after the visit of Blue Jacket, and thus far nothing had come about that might excite new alarm. Almost daily some scout or courier belonging in the settlement would come in with news; but the reports all seemed to point to a possibility of the outbreak being postponed, for a while at least. Pontiac had not had sufficient time in which to mature his terrible scheme; because it was so difficult to get answers from distant tribes, in the confederacy of treachery.
Things were drifting on in this fairly satisfactory way when there came a sudden break in the calm, so far as the Armstrong family was concerned.
As usual, the two boys had been out on their line of traps, and were returning home late in the afternoon. They had been unusually successful, which accounted for their tardiness, for as a rule they were home long before this.
Sandy had succeeded in shooting a deer, and bore a bountiful supply of fresh meat on his broad shoulders. Bob, on the other hand, staggered under a goodly bunch of pelts, consisting of two beaver, a beautiful black fox, three mink, and some muskrat skins that were not worth anything at the time in the market, but were used by the settlers for making warm mitts for winter wear, or snug caps calculated to keep their ears from freezing when the cold winds howled, and the snow fell.
The boys had just come in sight of their cabin when Sandy saw something that caused him to call to his brother.
"Look, Bob, what do you suppose all those people are doing around our home? I can count five, six, seven women standing, talking; and there's Mr. Brewster and Mr. Lane coming out of the cabin. Oh! I wonder if that firebrand has been about again, trying to burn us out?"
And Bob, looking hastily, was also thrilled to see that his brother spoke the truth, in so far as the gathering of neighbors was concerned. He too became immediately deeply concerned, and his boyish face lost every particle of color.
"No, it couldn't be that, Sandy," he said, in a voice that trembled with new-born anxiety; "but I fear it may be father has hurt himself again. Ever since that tree fell on him, and nearly took his life, he has been hardly himself."
"But you must surely be wrong, Bob," spoke up the other, eagerly; "for see, there is father coming out of the door now, and shaking hands with Mr. Lane. If there is any one ill it must be our darling mother, because I can see sister Kate with the women right now."