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"I do not doubt it, for White Buffalo accused him several times of cheating the hunters of his tribe out of a reasonable exchange for their furs. Bevoir got the Indians drunk and then literally robbed them." "He dealt principally in rum, didn't he?" "Yes; he never gave the Indians anything else if he could help it.
You did your best and it's not your fault that the money is gone, nor the goods either. But I'd give a few pounds to get hold of Bevoir and his crowd." As the days went by it was decided by James Morris not to send to the East for more goods until late in the fall, the goods to be brought to the trading-post early in the spring. Louis Glotte was allowed his liberty and immediately disappeared.
White Buffalo had once run across a small band of Shawanoes, who had said they would later on come to the post to trade, but that was all. "Perhaps, after all, Bevoir thought best to move away from this district," said Dave to his parent. "No, the rascal is not to be gotten rid of so readily," was the answer.
He said he had followed Jean Bevoir and the others to the river near which the Indian village was located. A stray Indian dog had exposed his hiding place, and after a desperate fight in which one Indian had been killed and he himself had been cut in the shoulder with a tomahawk, they had succeeded in making him a prisoner.
The Wyandots and Ottawas were coming up swiftly, and once more the Wanderers and Jean Bevoir attempted to outdistance them. Jacques Valette also attempted to remount his horse, but ere he could do so a Wyandot reached him and struck him down again. The blow crushed the Frenchman's skull, and he died before sunrise. "We must get out of this," said Dave, when he could speak.
He knew the French trader to be a two-faced rascal, and probably he despised him accordingly, for, judged solely by Indian standards, Pontiac was an upright and honest man. His duplicity was only that of the red man when on the war-path. In his personal dealing he would not have cheated a fellow Indian or a white man out of a farthing. Jean Bevoir was not long in coming to the point.
"More 'n likely blackbirds generally flock together. But I don't reckon that Valette is the schemer Bevoir is he don't keep sober enough." "I've often wondered if it wasn't Bevoir who robbed Valette that time." ventured Dave. "I think he'd be equal to it." "Like as not or else Valette dropped his money on the trail an' never knew it."
"I was making my way to your father's trading-post when I saw the deer and shot it." "And I shot the fawn. What were you going to do at the trading-post?" "I wish to talk to your father on matters of business." "Did Jean Bevoir send you?" At the mention of Bevoir, Hector Bergerac's face grew dark and took on a look full of bitterness. "No, he did not send me, I came of my own accord.
In this volume we shall meet all of our old friends again, and learn what more was done toward establishing the trading-post on the Ohio, and of how Jean Bevoir again crossed the path of the Morrises and made himself more odious than ever. The home-coming of Dave was made a joyous time at the Morris cabin. His Aunt Lucy came out to greet him warmly, followed by Rodney and little Nell.
He said he had heard that Dave Morris had been made a prisoner by the Indians. If Pontiac wanted to get rid of the young fellow he, Bevoir, would take him off his hands and be glad to do it. "But what will my French friend do with this Morris?" asked Pontiac. "Leave that to me," answered Bevoir. "I'll take good care that he does not bother you again."
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