and the red men viewed the strengthening of the strongholds with increased
suspicion. Some threats were made to destroy the fort at Detroit, but the
time was not ripe for a well-planned attack, and nothing came of it.

At last James Morris could bear the waiting no longer, and leaving Dave and
the frontiersman, Sanderson, in charge of the trading-post, he set out with
Jadwin on horseback, to see if he could learn anything about the pack-train
that was expected.

"Be very careful while I am gone," he said to his son, and Dave promised to
do his best.

The route of Mr. Morris and his companion lay through the burn-over, and
along the trail previously followed. Good time was made, for their steeds
were fresh, and by nightfall they had covered at least twenty-five miles.
They went into camp at a convenient spot on the bank of a purling brook,
where nothing came to disturb them while they slept. Hardly had they gone
two miles in the morning, however, when they came upon a sight that filled
them with alarm. Propped up against a tree was Henry, capless, and with the
blood streaming over his face from an ugly cut in the forehead.

"Henry! What does this mean?" demanded James Morris.

"Uncle James!" faltered the youth. "Help--help me!"

"To be sure I'll help you, Henry. But what does it mean? Where are Sam and
the others, and the horses?"

"We were attacked--some Indians and some white men came upon us at
nightfall yesterday. Lampton and Cass, who were with us, were shot down,