It proved a ride that Dave Morris never forgot. All that day and through
the night the three pressed on, through the mighty forests and across the
creeks and small rivers. More than once a horse would stumble and almost
throw his rider, and the branches of the trees often cut them stinging
blows across the faces and necks and hands. Once Dave received a long
scratch on the left cheek from which the blood flowed freely, but he did
not stop to bind up the wound, nor did he complain.

"To save father, and Henry, and the post!" Such was the burden of his
thought. He remembered how that other post, on the Kinotah, had been
attacked. Should the new post fall, he well knew that it would go hard with
all who had stood to defend it.

When at last the post was gained Dave was more dead than alive. Chafed by
his hard ride, and almost exhausted, he tumbled rather than leaped from the
saddle. It was the middle of the night and the coming of the three had
provoked a small alarm, so that all at the trading-post came to learn what
was in the air.

Jadwin's story was soon told, and Dave and Sanderson corroborated it.
Without delay James Morris called the whites and Indians around him.

"There is news that the French and Indians intend to attack this post," he
said loudly. "Will you help me to save what is my own, or must I
surrender?"

At once there was a hubbub. White Buffalo was the first to step to the
trader's side.

"White Buffalo will fight for his brother James," said the Indian chief