He was a tall, lean man, quiet in his bearing, and with every indication of self-control, as well as of strength, stamped upon his face and form
"Plenty o' signs, but we have not seen one o'the varmints. I know from the way Daniel Boone is watchin' that he is a bit fearful. I think I shall tell him to-morrow when we start for our game that we will let the rest o' the party go ahead of us and we will bring up the rear. It may save time to do that, because it will be easy to follow the trail they will leave. Most of this country is new to me and the only one that is sure of his way is the scout himself."
"I think that would be better," assented young Boone, "and, besides, if we hunt in the rear of the party we shall be able to do double duty by serving as a rear guard at the same time."
"That is right," laughed Sam. "Though that's for the King to say. The great trouble with him is that he does not say very much."
"You have never been troubled that way, have you, Sam?" laughed Peleg.
"I can't say that I have. I think o' so many things; and if I think o' them I want some one else to know what they are, too. You make your arrangements with the King and we will be ready to do our share on the morrow."
Accordingly, on the following day, when the advance was resumed, Sam Oliver and his two young comrades waited for the cavalcade to pass and then began their task of providing supplies and game for the company.
The emigrants now were nearing Cumberland Mountain. The three mountains were not far apart and looked almost as if they had been carefully planted at equal distances in the midst of the wilderness by some giant hand. Some of the cliffs were so wild and rugged that when the creaking wagons drew near the edge the children screamed in their terror. In the main, however, the trail was less difficult than had been expected. The huge masses of rock had been torn asunder in places by some volcanic action in preceding ages and had left narrow passageways through which the moving cavalcade was able to proceed without much difficulty.
October had come and the foliage which had been slightly tinted in the preceding days had turned to a deeper shade. The trees were now ablaze with colour. Sam Oliver in his enthusiasm declared that within a half hour he and his companions would be able to rejoin the company with ample supplies for the following day.
When the boys began their search for game his words seemed about to be verified: near the mountain brook they spied three deer, two of which fell at their first shot. Sam, who had preferred to hunt alone, also must have found game plentiful, the boys concluded, because twice within five minutes the report of his gun had been heard.
"We must get some turkeys before we go back," suggested Peleg.
"I am afraid you will have to wait until later in the day if you want to get them," responded young Boone.
"I don't know about that," began Peleg. He stopped abruptly when, as if in confirmation of his own opinion, a gobble was heard not far to their right. This was quickly followed by an answering gobble from their left.
"You take one and I will look for the other," eagerly suggested young Boone.
The plan was instantly adopted, and each of the boys, crouching low and stealthily making his way among the trees and through the brush, tried to steal upon the bird, which still was noisily announcing its presence.
James Boone moved forward thirty yards from the place where he had left his comrade and cautiously peered about him for a sight of the calling turkey. His feet, clad in moccasins, made little noise as he advanced over the moist ground. Deftly he parted the bushes in making his way, and they closed behind him with no more noise than as if they had been swayed by a gentle breeze.
Suddenly young Boone came to a place from which he was able to see plainly a short distance before him. The gobble now was so distinctthat, he held his gun in readiness for instant use. Cautiously advancing, he peeped from behind a tree, hopeful that he might obtain a sight of the bird he was seeking. To his terror he saw an Indian directly before him leaning against the trunk of a huge tree. The mouth of the warrior was partly closed by his hands. His face was daubed with paint, and his discoloured cheeks seemed to be doubly disgusting as he emitted sounds which even the keenest of the wild turkeys would scarcely have detected as different from its own.
At the moment when the young pioneer discovered the Indian, the warrior also became aware of the presence of his enemy. Whether it was because James was amazed at the redskin's skill in mimicking the call of the wild turkey, or because his enemy was somewhat quicker in his movements than he, is not known. At any rate, before young Boone could raise his gun to his shoulder the Indian turned and with all his strength hurled his tomahawk.
True to its aim, the weapon struck the face of the young hunter, almost cleaving his head in twain.
As the body of the stricken boy fell forward, the Indian halted a moment and then in his shrillest tones imitated the call of the crow four times. He waited until there was a response similar to his own, and then, running to the prostrate young hunter, deftly removed his scalp. He then dashed into the woods and ran in the direction from which the answering call had been heard.
Meanwhile Peleg Barnes, who had been striving to locate the "turkey" which had been gobbling steadily in response to the calls of the one first heard, was more fortunate than his friend. Stealthily creeping through the bushes and darting from tree to tree, he discovered the warrior that was imitating the "gobbles" before the latter was aware of his presence.
The boy almost intuitively was aware of the purpose of the warrior, and without hesitation raised his gun and fired.
As the Indian fell to the ground Peleg did not wait to discover the effect of his shot, but ran back at his utmost speed toward the camp. Frequently, as he ran, the terrified young hunter shouted his warning of the presence of his enemies.
Before he had regained the camp he was joined by Sam Oliver, who was angry as well as startled by the wild shouts of his young companion.
"What's the trouble, Peleg?" he demanded.
"I shot a redskin! There must be a good many more!" replied the boy, almost breathless in his excitement. "The varmint was daubed with paint and gobbling like a turkey, trying to draw some one into his trap."
"Did young Boone go with you?"
"No, he heard another 'turkey.'"
"Where is he now?" demanded Sam sharply.
"I do not know. We must get word to the scout."
Nothing more was said until the returning hunters, both of whom were running at their utmost speed, came within sight of the place where the camp had been made. In a brief time they gained the open place in front, for the camp this time had been pitched on a small plateau, sheltered by a frowning cliff on one side and protected by a steep, rocky gulch on another, while in front of it was sufficient space to enable the watching guard to detect the approach of an enemy from that direction.
As soon as they were within hearing, both hunters shouted their warnings; but even as they raised their voices the sound of rifles was heard and a moment later there was a sudden cry and rush made by at least three score of the Indians. The suddenness of the attack as well as the lack of preparation, due to the faith of the emigrants in the security of the position which they had selected for their halt, and their confidence in the guards which had been stationed, prevented an immediate response.
The Indian warriors, hideously painted, crouching low and running swiftly, and at the same time emitting their terrifying whoops, fired at every paleface that they could see.
To the startled pioneers the region seemed to be filled with their foes. The screams of frightened children, the calls of the women, and the shouts of the men as they summoned their companions increased the confusion. For a time the din was almost deafening. Above the shouts and cries were heard the frequent reports of the rifles of the attacking party.
Peleg and Sam, who by this time had gained the shelter of the camp, instantly joined the few men that had rallied as soon as the warning was given. All now were doing their utmost to check the onslaught. Every man, without waiting for orders, fired at the shouting, leaping savages. As soon as their guns had been discharged, however, it was plain that the attacking party had many other weapons. Those who had emptied their rifles brandished their tomahawks and tried to make amends by the fierceness of their cries for their lack of more formidable ways of attacking. In a brief time the defenders were thrown into confusion, outnumbered as they were at the moment, and driven back toward the place where the camp was located.
It was speedily known that several had fallen before the fire of the warriors, but just who or how many there was no time to ascertain. It was now every man for himself as they sought protectionbehind the great trees or darted for the friendly shelter of rocks, which were numerous in the region.
It was at this time, however, that the great leader himself appeared upon the scene. Familiar with the ways of the Indians, Daniel Boone ordered every man to conceal himself behind some tree and make no attempt to flee from the place until the entire party had been driven away. The presence of Boone seemed to revive the courage of the retreating guards. As soon as sheltering places had been secured, every man reloaded his rifle and, following the example of the great scout, fired at the enemy, who now almost had crossed the open space before the camp.
The fierceness of the onslaught of the Indian warriors was well known, but it was also understood by every white man that the red men seldom persisted in a long attack. A stealthy and sudden dash was their favourite method of fighting, but if the resistance was determined or prolonged they would usually withdraw to the shelter of the forest.
In their present attack the Indians followed their customary plan. As soon as Boone and his companions ceased to flee and began to return the fire with vigour, the Indians faltered, and then, after they had given several unusually wild whoops and a final discharge of their weapons, they all fledback to the protecting forest from which they had so suddenly emerged.
As soon as the enemy had departed, Daniel Boone, who thoroughly understood Indian nature and ways, doubled the guards, assigned some of his followers to the task of bringing in the bodies of the fallen, and then ordered the others to withdraw within the camp itself, and hold themselves in readiness for a sudden call. Meanwhile they were told to do their utmost to quiet the frightened women and children, the latter still vocally expressing their terror.
It was soon learned that five of the whites had fallen. Their bodies were hastily borne within the protecting circle of the camp and two men who had been wounded were at once cared for.
Peleg, whose excitement during the short, sharp fight had been intense, now recalled that he had not seen young Boone since his comrades had returned. Without voicing his fears he made a hasty tour of the camp, searching in every conceivable place for his friend.
When at last the young hunter was convinced that James was nowhere to be found among the emigrants, he ran to Daniel Boone himself and said, "Have you seen James anywhere?"
"No," replied the scout, glancing keenly at the young hunter. "Was he not with you?"
"We were together until we heard the 'turkeys' gobbling. Then he followed the sound of one and I went after the other. When I came near the place I saw it was a warrior trying to decoy us."
"And James was not with you?"
"No, sir."
"Did you call to him?"
"No, sir. I shot the redskin and then started for the camp as fast as I could go. Sam Oliver came with me, and if it had not been for our alarm I am afraid the redskins would have done more damage than they did."
The leader was silent as he gazed into the surrounding forest. He was well aware that the woods might conceal many more hostile Indians than had appeared in the sudden attack upon the camp. That he was deeply troubled by the message Peleg had brought him was manifest. Had his enemies already killed his son or had they made him a prisoner? What had become of James?
"Do you think they have taken him?" inquired Peleg in a low voice.
"That is what I hope," replied Daniel Boone; and then in response to the unspoken question of the young hunter he added: "If they have made him prisoner we may be able to get him again, but if they have not——"
What the pioneer scout left unsaid was fullyunderstood by Peleg, whose face became pale as he saw the anxiety of the leader for his boy.
"A man must do his best, and it is useless to rebel," said Daniel Boone, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "If James has fallen, all that we may try to do will be useless. If he has escaped, he will not need all our help. If the Shawnees have made him their prisoner, then we shall do more to help him by quick action than in any other way."
Turning from the women, who were weeping over the bodies of the dead men that had been brought back to the camp, in a few words Daniel Boone related to his companions what Peleg had told him. A band of twenty or more was speedily formed, every one eager to join in the search for the missing boy.
"Peleg," inquired the scout just before the men departed from the camp, "do you think you can lead the way to the place where you and James heard the 'turkey'?"
"Yes, sir," replied Peleg.
"Then let us start at once."
No man in the band was without fear when they entered the forest lest he might be the target of some concealed Indian. And yet the little force was relying upon the very boldness of their venture for its success.
There was no trace of fright, however, when the men ran across the open space and followed Daniel Boone as he led the way in the direction indicated by Peleg, who was close behind him.
In a brief time the party came to the place where Peleg had shot the Indian that had been imitating the gobble of a turkey. There was no delay, however, and as soon as Boone was convinced that the red man was dead he turned with his companions in the direction in which the other "turkey" had been heard.
As yet not a sign of the presence of their enemy had been discovered, although every one was aware that dark eyes were doubtless watching their every movement. Why they had not been fired upon was as yet not understood.
In a few minutes, however, these things were forgotten when Peleg led the way to the place toward which his young companion had gone to seek the "turkey" which had so noisily announced its presence.
A low exclamation escaped the young hunter's lips when he and the leader halted a few minutes later and saw upon the ground before them the prostrate body of the missing boy.
Not a word escaped Daniel Boone's lips at the gruesome discovery of the body of his oldest son. He ran quickly forward, turned the body so that the face could be seen, and in this manner instantly realized the terrible fate which had overtaken James.
Peleg Barnes, who was close behind him, never was able to forget the sound of the one long, dry sob to which Daniel Boone gave utterance. Then, almost as if he still was unaware of the presence of any one except the dead boy, he lifted the body tenderly, and with exceeding care placed it across his shoulders. Then, turning about, the great scout started back toward the camp.
For a moment the other members of the party stood silent as they watched their suffering leader. There was not one of the men who would not have been glad to express his sympathy in words, but they were all aware of Daniel Boone's prejudices against giving full expression to one's feelings; and they had not yet recovered from the staggeringsurprise which the discovery of the body of James had created.
When Daniel Boone disappeared in the brush, Sam Oliver ran to the spot where this discovery had been made and, picking up the gun of James, turned to his companions and said: "We must follow him. We must keep close to him. The redskins might almost scalp him and he would not understand what they are doing, the way he feels now."
Acting upon this suggestion, the men all turned to follow the direction in which their leader had disappeared. Peleg had run in advance of the other members of the band, eager to help the scout in his task. Quietly the leader shook his head, but did not speak in response to the young hunter's offer to aid. Apparently he was hardly aware that his friends were so near him.
Without delay the party soon gained the open space in front of the camp. There Daniel Boone stopped, and, turning to his friends, whose presence apparently neither surprised nor startled him, said: "I shall take my boy to the place where the other bodies are lying. I desire you to say nothing of what has befallen him until first I shall break the news to my wife."
No reply was given to the request of the hunter, nor was any expected. There was no protest bythe scout, however, when Sam Oliver and Peleg followed him as he bore his burden to the place where the bodies of the men who had fallen in the sudden attack by the Indians were lying, covered by blankets. There, still quiet, and as tender in his manner as a woman, Daniel Boone lifted the body of his boy from his shoulders and laid it beside those who were his fellow victims.
Peleg, whose eyes were watching every movement of the man for whom his feeling was little less than adoration, in spite of his grief, marvelled at the wonderful strength the scout displayed. There was no evidence of struggle on his part, and as soon as he had deposited the body, Daniel Boone turned away, and the two hunters required no word from him to inform them that he had gone to tell his wife of the great sorrow which had come into their lives. Peleg's eager look followed him even when he saw him beckon her to one side of the company, and then both withdrew from the sight of the entire band. The bearing of the scout was still unchanged. So great was his self-control that no one in the party, who did not know of the calamity, suspected that anything had befallen the leader beyond the common feeling of sorrow for the loss of the five men.
What was said by Daniel Boone to his wife in that heartbreaking interview no one ever knew.When the scout rejoined the band, which now had assembled behind the protecting barricade, he said simply: "We must prepare for a hasty burial. These bodies must not be left for the wolves to maltreat." The leader spoke as quietly as if he were referring to one of the ordinary experiences of life, instead of one that would have wrung the heart of the strongest man.
On the hillside, near the place where the camp had been pitched, the bodies of the fallen men were hastily buried. There were cries and sobs from many of those who had been bereaved, and the unutterable fear and horror which more or less possessed all the emigrant band were apparent in the glances of terror which were frequently cast toward the forest. Even some of the men gave way to their sorrow and anxiety. Not a trace of either emotion, however, was to be seen in the face of Daniel Boone when at last the leader turned away from the place of burial.
Later in the day Peleg chanced upon the scout when the latter believed himself to be alone. Seated upon a log looking steadily upon the ground, still without a cry, the man's frame was shaken in his agony of grief. Abashed by the discovery, Peleg, whose sorrow at the loss of his friend also had been keen, stealthily withdrew from the place and did not refer to his discovery when later hejoined his companions. Before the scout returned, the boy had decided that at his first opportunity he would explain to him how strong had been the friendship between himself and James. Peleg was too modest to believe that the great man had ever been aware of the friendship between the two boys. Such matters were of too minor importance for him even to recognize, much less to remember, thought the lad.
Great then was the young hunter's surprise, and greater still his pleasure, when the scout stopped by his side the next day and, looking into his face, said calmly, "Peleg, you and James were great friends."
"Yes, sir."
"Hereafter I shall have a special love for you, Peleg, because you loved my boy."
Tears, which the young hunter was unable to control, sprang into his eyes at the words which were evidence not only of the keen observation of Daniel Boone but also of his regard for one who had been the friend of his son. Still the scout's voice was quiet and calm. Peleg was convinced that he was not unaware of his inability to reply. "It is one of the things, Peleg, which cannot be changed," continued Daniel Boone. "James was a good son and I looked forward to a useful life for him, but he is not to be here. It does no one anygood to rebel uselessly, and only children and savages complain when everything they desire is not arranged as they wish."
"Yes, sir," assented Peleg. At first he suspected that the words of the leader were intended as a rebuke to him for the display of his feelings. Perhaps it was a weakness, he thought, and yet, somehow, the young soldier was convinced that the father of his friend perhaps did not think any the less of him because he had been deeply moved by the tragic death of James Boone.
"It is not the first time," continued the scout, "that I have been compelled to face sorrow. Somehow I feel that one is like a leaf carried on the stream. It may whirl about and turn and twist, but it is always carried forward." As he spoke, the leader stooped, and taking a tiny branch which had fallen to the ground tossed it into the noisy little stream which went tumbling down the side of Cumberland Mountain on its way to the great river and the sea beyond. "It is somewhat like that, my lad," continued Daniel Boone, running his fingers through his hair as he spoke. "Man is borne onward by a Power which he does not understand, and yet which he must recognize as greater than his own. It is so that one is carried by the years. One is helpless to stop them in their course, as helpless as that little branch which Ithrew into the water. It does no one any good to rebel or complain. Every man must accept the facts of his life, believing that there is a Power that guides and controls far better than he knows how to do."
The scout spoke musingly, almost as if he thought himself to be alone. A brief silence followed his words, and then Daniel Boone turned once more to Peleg. "My lad," he said, "all I say is that one cannot turn back. However much I may sorrow over the loss of my boy, I cannot go back to him. The only direction in which I can move is forward. If one can only find the right way, that is not so bad."
"Yes, sir," said Peleg, hardly aware of the full meaning of Boone's words.
"You were a friend of my boy."
"Yes, sir," again responded Peleg, his voice breaking once more in spite of his efforts at self-control.
"You shall bemyfriend from this time forward. You cannot take the place of James, but because you were his friend you shall have a share, if you so desire, such as he might have had, in my life and my plans. Your father is not living?"
"He has been dead three years."
"And your mother?"
"She died when I was a baby."
"Then there is no one to whom you can turn?"
"I have lived with my uncle, but I have no desire to go back to him."
Boone looked keenly into the face of the boy by his side and was silent a moment. "Peleg," he resumed, "I meant what I said just now. If you so desire, you shall be my friend."
"I do desire it," said Peleg impulsively. "There Is nothing I want so much as I do to be with you. It is good of you to think of me——"
"Say no more," interrupted Boone. "I shall not forget, though I may not speak to you soon of this matter again. When the time comes, I shall not fail to let you know."
When night fell the guards of the camp were doubled, for with the coming of darkness the terror of some of the emigrants increased. There were frequent cries heard from the little children, cries which the mothers were unable to quiet and in which some of them even joined. A feeling of terror had settled over the whole camp.
To Peleg was assigned a post of danger, as his position as guard was to be near the gulch. Steep as this was, it would have been possible for a warrior to climb its rocky sides if he were familiar with the spot.
Before Peleg departed for his station he was joined by Israel Boone, a younger brother of James, who insisted upon sharing the vigil. In the light of the campfire Peleg saw the face of thescout change colour when the suggestion was made by his son, but he did not offer any objection, and in spite of Sam Oliver's declaration that "One boy was a boy and two boys was half a boy," the leader quietly gave his consent.
When the silence of the outer night became more marked in the deepening darkness, the occasional cries of the children did not cease. They were cries not of suffering, but of terror. There were times when even the two young guards shared in the prevailing fear. The darkness that surrounded them might conceal painted warriors who were watchful of their every act. At any moment a bullet from some unseen enemy might find its way to the heart of a watching sentinel. Such a condition was not long to be endured. As the hours passed, both boys grew more eager for the coming of the morning, when, whatever plan might be formed, at least relief from the depressing silence would come.
To Peleg no thought of any change in the plans of the emigrants had occurred, and he was therefore the more astonished the following morning when, after he had been relieved from duty and had obtained a few hours of sleep, he was informed before breakfast that the men were assembling for a council. Even his feeling of hunger was ignored in the exciting announcement which soon was made by Boone.
Before breakfast had been prepared Peleg was aware of a certain partly suppressed excitement among the members of the band. The women, with tears in their eyes and with their children clinging to their skirts, frequently had been in conference with Daniel Boone or with other men of the party.
It was therefore not without some previous intimation that Peleg heard the scout summon the men to a new conference.
As soon as they were assembled Boone said, "It will not be possible for us to proceed at this time."
"Why not?" demanded Sam Oliver.
"The women are terror-stricken. I myself had not thought that we should so soon be attacked by the savages. I have reason to remember our stay on Cumberland Mountain——" For a moment the scout was silent, and an expression of sympathy ran through the entire assembly. Once more in control of his feelings, Boone continued: "It is not for myself, as you know, that I am askingthis return. It is useless, however, now to go on with such fear among our womenfolk, and the redskins opposing us more strongly the farther we go into Kantuckee."
"Where can we go?" inquired one of the assembly.
"I have decided that our best plan is to return to the settlement on the Clinch River."
"How far is that from here?" asked the inquirer.
"About forty miles."
"I am not one to favour return just because we have been unfortunate——"
"There is no question," said Daniel Boone, his eyes flashing in spite of the quiet manner of his speech, "about what we shall do. We shall make our plans to return at once."
Whatever feeling of rebellion may have been aroused in the minds of some of his followers, the decision of the leader was not to be disputed. The confidence of every one in his courage, integrity, and judgment was so strong that no one at the time would have dared oppose the great scout.
Accordingly, hasty preparations were made for the return of the entire band, and within an hour the emigrants were on their way.
The same order was maintained which previously had been used. An advance party of five and three rear guards were formed, but now the scouthad in addition a small body moving on each flank, parallel with the main body.
With the departure, renewed confidence came to all. As the band withdrew further from Cumberland Mountain their spirits in a measure revived, and when on the third day they arrived at the little settlement which they were seeking on the Clinch River, even the tragedy which had befallen them was seldom mentioned. Even the packhorses pricked up their ears and required no incentive to induce them to move rapidly down the mountainside.
When the emigrants at last arrived at their destination it was found necessary to erect several new houses. The nights already were cool, and a snowfall might be expected at any time. Even Sam Oliver, who seldom assisted in the labours of the settlements, was induced to aid his companions in felling the trees and cutting the logs for the little houses which must be the sole protection of the people throughout the coming winter.
Not many weeks after the return of Daniel Boone and his party, Schoolmaster Hargrave found his way into the settlement. He was a peculiar man in his appearance, exceedingly awkward and angular, a fact which was made more marked by the odd clothing he wore. Disdaining garments made from the skins of wild beasts, his clothes wereof woollen material, and made, too, after a fashion that in itself was fearful and wonderful to behold. Even his cocked hat did not become him, but in some way seemed to make more prominent his long nose, which was covered with splotches of red, as were also his cheeks. That he was earnest and deeply interested in his tasks no one denied. The prime qualification for the work of the schoolmaster in that day, however, consisted in the fact that he was very muscular and able to compel the obedience of even the oldest boys in his school, who frequently were tempted to pit their strength against his.
At the suggestion of the scout, a schoolhouse of logs was erected soon after the coming of Master Hargrave. In this little schoolhouse there was a fireplace, or chimney, which extended nearly across one entire end of the building. When a huge log fire was burning there it sent out not only its genial heat, but at frequent intervals with the changing winds it drew clouds of smoke down the chimney and into the eyes of the children that were seated on the rude benches. The little building was equipped with more windows than the cabins which had been built for dwellings. The windowpanes were of paper and made transparent by oiling or greasing them.
Young Daniel Morgan Boone, the third son ofDaniel, became a constant companion of Peleg in the days that followed the return of the emigrants. Daniel had begun to attend school as soon as the rude little building was erected, and many of his experiences with the awkward schoolmaster were gleefully related to Peleg, who now was no longer counted a pupil of the master.
"Master Hargrave," said Daniel one day, "makes us learn many verses of Scripture."
"Does he?" inquired Peleg.
"Indeed he does. To-day he gave us three: 'The rod and rule give wisdom,' 'A rod fits a fool's back,' and 'He that spoils the rod is not wise.'"
Peleg laughed and said: "I remember those verses myself. He taught them to me. Does he rap your knuckles with his ferrule?"
"Sometimes he uses a ferrule, but more often he stands there by one of the windows making a pen, and out of the corners of his eyes watches every one of the eighteen scholars. He always has a stout hickory in his hand or under his arm. The other day there was a disturbance on one of the benches, and without waiting to find who was guilty he laid his hickory across the backs of every one of us."
"So you have your share, too, do you?"
"Indeed I do. But the strangest part was day before yesterday, when Schoolmaster Hargravechased Return Sharp. Return would rather go fishing or swimming or hunting any day than go to school. He says he does not care for learning."
"He is a stout, burly fellow. I suppose a beating does not trouble him much?"
"That's the strange part of it," laughed Daniel gleefully. "He doesn't seem to mind one at all. The other afternoon when the boys had been called in from recess, Return ducked around the corner of the house and began to run. Master Hargrave spied him, and, spitting on both his hands, he grasped his hickory and sallied forth to catch him. Return saw him coming and took to his heels. Every one in the school was out there in front of the schoolhouse watching the sport. We were ready to dodge back into our seats, but we wanted to see the race."
"What did he do? Did the master get him?"
"Return took a circuit and started for the meadow, and in a little while he was of course coming back toward the schoolhouse. Master Hargrave was gaining upon him at every jump, and just as Return cleared the fence Master Hargrave let him have it with the hickory. For once in his life Return made haste, I can tell you. He was not very long in reaching the ground from the top of that fence! The schoolmaster was on the other side, and as he saw that all the scholars werewatching him he jumped over the fence and started after Return faster than ever. I would not have believed that he could run so fast. Return looked back to see how near the schoolmaster was, and just then he stumbled and fell, and Master Hargrave was so close behind that he, too, stumbled over Return and then tumbled to the ground. Return jumped up and took a back track, but the Master was after him in a minute, and before he got halfway to the schoolhouse he had caught up with him, and at every jump the master also let him have it with the hickory. Return got the last love pat just as he tumbled over the fence and crawled into the schoolhouse. We all thought when the master came in that he would use his hickory on Return plentifully, and also on all the rest of us; but for some strange reason he seemed to have given Return all that he had to spare that day. Strange how he seems to take delight in beating poor Return."
"He always took his whaling like an ox," laughed Peleg, "and grows fat on it every day. I have marks yet on my knuckles that the schoolmaster gave me."
"What are you doing?" demanded Daniel, apparently for the first time becoming aware of Peleg's occupation.
"I am making a new stock for this rifle-barrel."
"The gun looks like it might kick," commented Daniel sagely, looking critically at the rifle-barrel which was lying upon the rude little bench at which Peleg was working.
"It would if a boy like you should try to use it."
Daniel laughed derisively and said: "Pray, Mr. Venerable Barnes, how long since you were a boy yourself?"
"If you think you can fire this gun, I shall let you be the first one to try it. I have it almost ready now, and all I have to do is to fit the barrel into the stock——"
"Hello!" called Daniel, looking up sharply as he became aware of the approach of a man on horseback. "This is some stranger. I wonder what he can be wanting."
A visitor from any of the faraway settlements was a matter of moment, and Peleg advanced to the door to see who the newcomer might be.
The man was a stranger to both boys. As soon as he spied the lads he said, "Is Daniel Boone in this settlement?"
"He is, sir," answered Peleg promptly.
"Where can I find him? I would have word with him."
"Daniel, do you tell your father there is a gentleman here who desires to speak to him."
"I am a messenger," spoke up the stranger, "acourier from Governor Dunmore. 'Tis a matter of importance, and Mr. Daniel Boone will do well to report promptly."
Peleg looked at the messenger, who was not much older than he. His air of importance was not lost upon the young settler, who laughed slightly when, after Daniel's departure in search of his father, he turned again to the visitor.
"It is a great honour I have for Daniel Boone," suggested the courier.
"That depends somewhat, I fancy, upon who you are and what you have to bring him."
"I have told you already that I am a messenger from Governor Dunmore. It is meet in you, young man, to respect men who are high in authority."
"I do respect the Governor," said Peleg dryly.
"Then you should have respect for the Governor's messenger."
"I have respect for all who are respectable."
"What mean you by that?" demanded the visitor hotly; as he spoke he leaped from the seat on the back of his horse and advanced threateningly upon Peleg.
His attitude changed, however, when Peleg quietly stood his ground and even slightly smiled at the pompous words and manner of the visitor.
The return of young Daniel Boone interrupted the interview.
"My father will be pleased to see you," said the lad, glancing questioningly first at Peleg and then at the messenger.
"Of course he will see me," declared the courier. "Why did he not return with you?"
"He is awaiting your coming and bade me conduct you to our home."
"Is it far from here?"
"No, sir"
"Very good. I shall be pleased to go with you and give my message to Daniel Boone."
Peleg was an interested observer of the departing visitor, and his interest would have been still keener had he known how much the message from Governor Dunmore concerned his own future.
Peleg resumed his congenial occupation, working steadily upon the rifle which he was fashioning. The barrel had been part of a gun which belonged to one of the men who had fallen in the recent attack by the Indians, its stock having been shattered by the blow of a hatchet. After the weapon had been found, instead of throwing it aside as its finder was tempted to do, Peleg had taken it for himself. All the way from Cumberland Mountain he had carried the barrel, which was all that he had saved of the rifle. He was aware of the confidence which its recent owner had in its qualities, and he had determined to fashion from it a gun for himself upon which he might rely.
A smile of satisfaction lighted up the countenance of the young hunter when after several hours had elapsed he critically examined his new weapon, the parts of which now had all been joined.
At supper time at the home of Daniel Boone, of whose family Peleg had been made a membersince the death of James, the visitor of the afternoon was recalled by a question of Israel Boone, the second of the five sons of Daniel Boone.
"Why did not that man stay all night?" he inquired of his father when the family was seated about the rude table.
"He would not remain," replied his father quietly.
"Who was he?" continued Israel.
"A messenger from Governor Dunmore."
The lad was eager to continue his questioning, but evidently he saw something in the glance of his father which precluded further attempts, and he became silent.
It was not until the following morning that Peleg learned of the reason, and then only in part, for the coming of their recent visitor.
"Peleg," said Daniel Boone quietly, "would you prefer to remain here in the settlement, or go with me on a scout?"
"I would rather go with you," responded Peleg promptly.
"It is possible that we may be gone two months or more."
"Yes, sir."
"And may have to travel something like eight hundred miles."
"I shall do my best."
"You are well aware, lad, that we shall meet many hard experiences."
"Yes, sir."
"And you are not afraid?"
"Not if you are to find the way."
Daniel Boone smiled and reached for Peleg's new gun. He examined the weapon critically, raising it to his shoulder and sighting it several times.
"'Tis a handy rifle, lad," he remarked, when his inspection was ended. "Have you tried it?"
"Yes, sir."
"And is it true?"
"It is as far as I am able to make it so."
"If you go with me, is this the gun you will take?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why do you not prefer to remain in the settlement? There is work to be done here. The gardens are to be cared for and the game must be provided for the people. Here is where I should remain were it not that when I hear the call of Governor Dunmore I realize that there is work for me which I must not neglect."
Peleg was silent as he watched the great scout. Even while the man was speaking there came into his eyes an expression such as the boy had seen only when he and his friend had been together inthe forest. It was the look of one seeing visions, and yet there was also in it the expression of a man of resolute purpose.
"'Twill not do," continued Daniel Boone turning again to Peleg, "to take any chances. I had thought at first to take Sam Oliver with me, but now it seems good to me for you to go, if you so desire."
"I do."
"I suggest that you try out your new rifle several times before we leave. The time to prepare is before we start. After we have gone on our way a hundred miles or more 'twill be difficult then to correct any fault or change any plans. More than half the winning of any battle depends upon the preparations one makes, I care not whether it be a fight with the Indians or with one's own weaknesses. There are other rifles from which you may make a selection," Boone added.
"Yes, sir, but I think I prefer this. I have made it myself and have tested and tried it every way. I have chosen a name for it."
"What have you named it?" inquired Boone.
"Singing Susan."
"And you have sufficient bullets?"
"Yes, sir."
"And powder?"
"Yes, sir," responded Peleg. As he spoke heshowed a huge powder-horn which he had polished and upon which he had carved the following dire warning: