"I believe the cities are bound to come," said Dave. "As more folks come over from England, and Germany, and France, they'll be bound to spread out. The Indians won't stop 'em." "They will if they rise an' dig up the war hatchet," put in Jadwin, the other frontiersman. "If they dig up the hatchet too often they will be wiped out," said James Morris. "They may fight all they please--in the end both the English and the French will conquer them." "How large do you think our country will get in time, father?" questioned Dave. "That is a hard question to answer, Dave. I think you may live to see strong settlements on the Ohio, and your children may see towns on the Mississippi. About the great Western countries I know nothing, nor does any other white man. I suppose they are overrun by Indians and all sorts of wild beasts, or perhaps there is nothing there but beasts and trackless forests." "It's too bad the Indians won't live as the white people live," went on Dave thoughtfully. "We might get along famously together." "It is not the Indian's nature to till the soil, my son. He loves to roam about and to hunt and fish and then take it easy. More than this, when the spirit stirs him, he must fight; and if he cannot fight the white man he will fight his fellow Indians. You have often heard White Buffalo tell how one tribe will fight another tribe for several seasons, and how the tribes sometimes split up and fight among themselves." "Of course; didn't the Delawares to whom he belongs split up, one side going to the French and the others fighting under White Buffalo for our cause? But when a war is over they might settle down." As the time passed the others concluded that Henry and Barringford had found the buffalo hunt longer than they had anticipated. "Perhaps the animal has led them such a chase they won't come back until morning," suggested James Morris. "It is no fine thing to travel in the wet and darkness." "Right you are," said Sanderson. "Sam may hunt in the wet if he wants to, but none of it for me." An early supper was had, and something was kept hot for those who were missing, for it was felt they would come in chilled to the bone and with tremendous appetites. Dave was beginning to grow sleepy when he heard a movement outside, and a moment later Sam Barringford came into view, with downcast face and with the water dripping from his coonskin cap and hunting shirt. "Sam!" cried James Morris, leaping up. "So you've got back at last. Did you get the buffalo? Where is Henry?" "No, we didn't get the buffalo," answered the old frontiersman. His voice grew husky. "Henry--he is--missing--he dropped over a cliff--" He could not go on. "Over a cliff!" gasped Dave. "You don't mean he is--is--" He too failed to finish what was in his mind. "I can't tell you what happened after he slipped from my sight," went on Barringford. "Oh, Sam, do you mean to say he is killed?" "I hope not, lad. But it looks juberous, no two ways on't."