IN KENTUCKY WITH Daniel Boone

By JOHN T. McINTYRE

Illustrations by Ralph L. Boyer and A. Edwin Kromer

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA 1913

COPYRIGHT 1913 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY

Illustrations

[6]

In Kentucky With Daniel Boone

CHAPTER I THE GRAY LIZARD SPEAKS

Along the trail which wound along the banks of the Yadkin, in North Carolina, rode a tall, sinewy man; he had a bronzed, resolute face, wore the hunting shirt, leggins and moccasins of the backwoods, and had hanging from one shoulder a long flint-locked rifle. A small buck, which this unerring weapon of the hunter had lately brought down, lay across his saddle bow.

Away along the trail, at a place where the river bent sharply, a cloud of dust arose[8] in the trail; and as the hunter rode forward he kept his keen eyes upon this.

“Horsemen,” he told himself. “Two of them, I reckon, judging from the dust.”

Nearer and nearer rolled the cloud; at length the riders within it could be seen. One was a middle-aged man who rode a powerful black horse; the other was a boy of perhaps thirteen whose mount was a long-legged young horse, with a wild eye and ears that were never still.

Catching sight of the hunter, the man on the big black drew rein.

“What, Daniel!” cried he. “Well met!”

“How are you, Colonel Henderson?” replied the backwoodsman. “I didn’t calculate on seeing you to-day.”

“I rode over for the express purpose of having a talk with you,” said Colonel Henderson. “I was at your house, but they told me you’d gone away early this morning to try for some game.”

The hunter glanced down at the buck[9] across his saddle. There was a discontented frown upon his brow.

“Yes, gone since early morning,” he said. “And this is all I got. The hunting ain’t so good in the Yadkin country as it was once. As a boy I’ve stood in the door of my father’s cabin and brought down deer big enough to be this one’s granddaddy.”

The boy on the long-legged horse bounced up and down in his saddle at this; the nag felt his excitement and began to rear and plunge.

“Steady, boy, steady,” said Colonel Henderson. “Hold him in.”

“It’s all right, uncle,” replied the lad. “He don’t mean anything by it.” Then to the hunter, as his mount became quiet: “That was good shooting, Mr. Boone, wasn’t it? And,” pointing to the carcass of the buck, “so was that. Right behind the left shoulder; and it left hardly a mark on him.”

Daniel Boone smiled.

[10]“I always treat my old rifle well,” said he, humorously. “And she never goes back on me.”

“Some time ago I had a talk with John Finley,” said Colonel Henderson. “He told me wonderful tales of the hunting country beyond the Laurel Ridge.”[1]

Daniel Boone’s eyes went toward the northwest where the great mountain chain reared its peaks toward the sky until they were enveloped in a blue mist.

“Beyond the Laurel Ridge,” said he, “there is a country such as no man has ever seen before. Such hills and valleys, such forests and streams and plains can only be in one place in the world. And there are deer and bear and fur animals; and buffalo cover the plains. Also,” and a grim look came into his face, “there are redskins!”

There was a short silence; Colonel Henderson looked at the backwoodsman very thoughtfully.

[11]“For some time,” said he, “it has seemed to me that these settlements are not what they should be. The laws enforced by the British governor Tryon, have sown discontent among the people. New emigrants go to other places where there are better laws and less taxes.”

Daniel Boone nodded.

“Tax gatherers, magistrates, lawyers and such like live like aristocrats,” said he, “and the farmers and other settlers are asked to support them. We are here in the settlements, it seems, for no other purpose than to give these fellows a soft living. And they take our money and treat us like servants. A peddler who hucksters among the Indians is thought a better man than the one who has cut a form out of the wilderness with his axe.”

There was a bitterness in the man’s tone which seemed to please the other.

“There are a great many who feel just as you do about it,” said he. “And it was[12] this very thing that I rode over to speak about.”

Daniel Boone shook his head.

“Signing writings and sending them to Tryon will do no good,” said he. “He’s a tyrant and understands nothing but oppression.” Then in a longing tone, his eyes on the distant hills, “I wish I were away from the Yadkin for good and all. No man can be free here as long as we have public officers who think of nothing but plunder.”

“As I said before,” said Colonel Henderson, in a satisfied tone, “there are a great many others who are of the same way of thinking as you. But they have nowhere to go; if a new country was opened for them, they would sell their farms, pack their goods upon their horses’ backs and be gone.”

There was something in the speaker’s tone that took the attention of the backwoodsman. His keen eyes studied[13] Colonel Henderson’s face; but he said nothing.

“Ever since I heard Finley talk of the country beyond the ridge,” said the colonel, resuming after a moment, “I’ve felt that such a rare region should be opened up for settlement.”

“Right!” cried Daniel Boone and his eyes began to glow.

“But,” said the colonel, “I’ve also felt that it should not be done until the country was explored further—until it had been penetrated to its interior, until its streams were worked out on a chart, a trail made for the passage of emigrants and the most promising places fixed upon for settlements.”

“Right again,” said Daniel Boone. “I’ve been in the country and so have Finley and some others; but none of us has studied it. To do that would take a year or more; and to live a year so far from the settlements a man would have to make up his mind to troubles from the Indians.”

[14]“The Shawnees claim it,” said the colonel. “If it is what I want, I will buy it from them.”

“It’s a hunting-ground for Cherokees, Shawnees and Chickasaws,” said Boone, and he shook his head as he spoke. “So far as I could see, it belonged to all of them. And it’s a fighting place; when two hunting parties meet, the hatchet, knife and arrow begin their work.”

Once more the colonel regarded the backwoodsman attentively.

“I never knew the prospect of danger or hard work to hold you back in anything you wanted to do,” he said.

Boone laughed.

“I’ve always tried not to let them, I reckon,” said he.

“This fall,” and the colonel spoke slowly, “I am going to send an exploring party into the northwest country; and later, if it’s what I think it is, I’ll want a party of trail makers and a man to treat with the[15] Shawnees. How would you like to take charge of this matter for me?”

For a moment Boone sat his horse, staring at the speaker.

“You mean it?” he said, at last.

“I do.”

The backwoodsman held out a strong brown hand; Colonel Henderson gripped it.

“I’m with you,” said Boone, in a tone of deep satisfaction. “It’s a thing I’ve been sort of dreaming of for years. That great region, now given over to the Indian hunters and wild beasts, is calling the white man. I heard its voice as I stood among the lonely hills, in the forests, and upon the banks of its rivers. Once there with their families, their plows and their horses, their cabins built, the settler will meet——”

“Death!” said a strange voice; and, startled, both Boone and Colonel Henderson turned their eyes in the direction from which it came.

An Indian stood there—an ancient savage,[16] clad in skins upon which were painted queer symbols. Strings of amulets, bears’ claws and the teeth of foxes and wolves hung about him; his face was lined with the deep wrinkles of great age, his eyes were small, black, and glittered coldly like those of a snake.

“What, Gray Lizard!” said Boone, in surprise. “Are you here?”

The old Indian advanced a step or two, supporting himself by a long staff. Keenly the serpent eyes gazed at the three whites.

“Death will meet the paleface,” said he. “He will never build his lodge in the country beyond the mountains. Let him once pass the great gap, and he is no more.”

Boone laughed.

“I’ve been through the gap, Gray Lizard,” he said, good-naturedly; “and so have other white men. And we still live.”

The cold eyes fixed themselves upon the resolute face; one skinny finger was lifted until it pointed at Boone’s breast.

[17]“You have,” said Gray Lizard. “You have, and you are marked. Let your rifle once more break the silence of the hills or ring over the waters of the red man’s rivers, and your death song is sung.”

Then he turned to Colonel Henderson, and continued:

“And you, white chief, take care! The Gray Lizard has known these many moons of what you mean to do, and now he warns you. If you love your friends, do not send them beyond the Laurel Ridge. For in the wilderness their fate awaits them at the hands of the Shawnees.”

He turned and was about to go; then he paused, and added:

“The Gray Lizard is old. He has seen many things. He knew the Yadkin when the white man was a stranger on its banks. Take warning by his words: do not venture beyond the blue hills.”

Then, his long staff ringing on the stones, he went limping down the trail.

CHAPTER II A COMING STRUGGLE

As the strange figure of the old Cherokee went halting along the river trail, the eyes of Boone and his companions followed curiously.

“A queer sort of customer,” commented Colonel Henderson. “I don’t recall ever having seen him before.”

“He’s a wonder worker and medicine man,” said Boone. “And he spends a good bit of his time on the fringe of the settlements. Sometimes,” and here a frown came upon his brow, “I’ve thought him more of a spy than anything else.”

“At any rate he knows how to creep up on one secretly,” said the colonel, with a laugh. And then, more soberly: “And he seemed rather earnest in his sayings.”

[19]Daniel Boone nodded his head.

“All these old redskins are crafty,” said he. “They spend their days and nights finding out ways of imposing on their fellow savages. And managing to do this without trouble they think they can impose in the same way upon the white man.”

“I see,” said Colonel Henderson.

“If they can put fear in the hearts of the whites,” continued Boone, “the whites will not venture into the wilderness. A settler killed now and then is the common way; but there are others, and I’ve heard a warning spoken by a prophet hung with totems before to-day.”

The boy who had been staring after the figure of Gray Lizard now spoke.

“I’ve been wondering where I saw him before, and now I’ve remembered, Uncle Dick,” said he. “Yesterday I rode up the river to visit the camp of the young braves who are to take part in the games. It was there I saw him; among the lodges.”

[20]“Ah!” said Boone; “and so the braves have come in for the games, eh?”

“More than a score of them,” replied the lad. “And a fine looking lot they are, sir,” with admiration.

The backwoodsman nodded.

“They are sure to be,” said he, grimly. “The redskins seldom send any but the pick of their villages.”

“It’s been three days since they pitched their camp,” said the lad. “And they’ve been hard at work ever since, practicing with their bows and rifles, and throwing their hatchets at marks. There’s a good runner or two among them,” added the boy; “and they have some fine horses.”

“I’ve always been against these games,” said Daniel Boone, as he shook his head.

Colonel Henderson looked at him in surprise.

“Why,” said he, “how is that? Athletic games always seemed to me to be good for the youngsters.”

[21]“So they are,” agreed Boone. “Mighty good. But these of ours are a mistake, because the lads don’t put enough heart in ’em. They don’t take ’em serious enough.”

The colonel smiled.

“It’s all in the spirit of fun,” said he.

But Boone shook his head.

“That’s where you’re wrong, colonel,” said he, “and that’s where the boys are also wrong. There ain’t many of us whites on this border; but over beyond the Laurel Ridge the Indians lie in clouds. And that they haven’t blotted us out long since is because away down in their hearts they’ve thought we’re better’n they are, for we’ve always showed we could give them odds and beat them at anything they cared to do.”

“And now, you think——”

“Our young men are letting them pull out ahead too often; and that’s not a good thing to have happen. Once let the red man get the notion that he’s better than the white, and this border’ll be turned into a[22] wilderness—there won’t be a settlement but won’t feel the tomahawk and the torch. The white man will be turned back from the west for twenty years to come.”

“I see.” Colonel Henderson looked thoughtful. “I never thought of that, Daniel; and now that you put it before me I can see that you are right.”

The boy had listened to what the backwoodsman had to say with much attention. Now he spoke.

“Eph Taylor was along when I rode up to the Shawnee camp yesterday,” said he. “And as we went he told me how the young braves crowed over them last fall, and how they promised to beat them even worse this year. And when we got to the camp all the young warriors grinned at us and talked a lot among themselves. Eph knows some of their language and said it was all about us, and about the games and how they were going to run away from us in everything we tried.”

[23]Boone looked at Henderson and nodded, grimly.

“Do you see?” said he. “That’s how it will begin. Five years from now these same young redskins will have a voice in the councils of their tribe. Let them carry this feeling of being better than us into those councils, and nothing will hold them back from a bloody war.”

“Well, Noll,” said Colonel Henderson to his nephew, “you see what you’ve got before you.”

The tone was half laughing; but when Oliver Barclay made reply it was with all the seriousness in the world.

“Eph and I talked about it as we rode back home,” said he. “And we made up our minds to give them a hard fight for each match as it came along. Eph and I are to arrange everything to-day; that’s why I am riding over to see him.”

“Well,” said Colonel Henderson, “I suppose you may as well go on if that’s[24] what you are about. I have some business to talk over with Mr. Boone, and will ride back to his farm with him. Will you be home to-night?”

Noll shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he replied. Then with a laugh: “When I get down to plotting with Eph Taylor there’s no telling when I’ll get through.”

He shook the rein, and the long-legged young horse brandished its heels in most exuberant fashion. The boy waved his hand to the two men.

“Good-bye,” said he. Then to Boone, “Going to be at the games to-morrow, Mr. Boone?”

“Maybe,” said the backwoodsman.

“Come along,” suggested Noll. “Maybe something’ll happen that’ll please you.”

Boone looked at the strong young figure sitting the fiery horse so easily, the clear eyes, the confident smile. And his bronzed face wrinkled in a laugh of pleasure.

[25]“Well, Noll,” said he, “I’ll go. But mind you this: I’ll expect something more than I saw a year ago.”

“I can promise you that, anyhow,” said the boy. “And maybe there’ll be more. Good-bye.”

And with that he rode forward along the river trail, while Daniel Boone and Colonel Henderson turned their horses’ heads in the opposite direction. A mile further on Noll overtook Gray Lizard plodding on with the help of his long staff. The magician gave the boy a sidelong glance as he passed; but Noll did not check the lope of his horse, pushing on until he reached a place where a second trail branched away from the river, winding among the huge forest trees and losing itself in the billowing ocean of foliage.

He struck into this, and after an hour’s riding came in sight of a well-built log house, surrounded by broad fields, from which the crops had lately been harvested.

[26]Before the cabin door sat a tall, lank boy in a hunting shirt, busily engaged in cleaning a long flint-locked rifle. At the sound of the rapid hoof-beats he looked up. Recognizing Oliver, who was still some distance off, he waved his hand in greeting; then he turned his head and spoke to some one within the cabin.

Drawing rein before the door, young Barclay threw himself from the saddle.

“Well, Eph,” said he, as he tied his mount to a post, “I suppose you all but gave up hope of me.”

Eph Taylor had a long, droll looking face, and as he shook his head he twisted his countenance into an expression of comic denial.

“No,” said he. “I reckoned you’d be along some time soon. This thing of ours was too important to let go by.”

He rammed a greased cloth down the barrel of the rifle, and twisting it about, withdrew it once more.

[27]“I saw Sandy,” added he.

At this Noll Barclay was all eagerness.

“Did you!” exclaimed he. “And what did he say?”

“Suppose I let him speak for himself,” said Eph, with the same comical twist to his long face. “He came over this afternoon to talk things over with us. Ho! Sandy! Can you come here for a little?”

A short, tow-haired youth appeared at the door of the cabin; he carried a halter in one hand and a brad-awl in the other. He nodded to Oliver good-humoredly.

“Glad to see you again,” said he. “How are you?”

His accent was broadly Scotch, and there was a round-bodied heartiness to him which at once inspired good will.

“I’m in right good health,” said Oliver. “And I’m glad enough to see you, Sandy.”

Sandy Campbell laughed. He placed a strap of the halter against the door frame and punctured it with the awl.

[28]“I was mighty taken with your notion,” stated he. “And when I got done with my work, I rode over to hear more about it.”

Oliver Barclay sat down upon a rough settle which stood beneath a cottonwood; he looked at the other two boys with earnest eyes.

“What we talked over yesterday, Eph,” said he, “seemed good reason enough for us to make an attempt to get the best of the Cherokees. But what I heard this afternoon puts a different face on it altogether.”

Eph Taylor looked up from his rifle in surprise.

“You don’t mean to say that you have changed your mind!” said he.

Oliver shook his head.

“Not a bit of it,” answered he. “Indeed, I’m firmer about it than ever. But to just make an attempt to best the Indians won’t do now; we must beat them!”

Both Eph and Sandy looked at him inquiringly.

[29]“You say you heard something,” said Sandy Campbell. “What was it?”

“As I rode down the trail with my uncle,” said Noll, “we met Mr. Boone.”

The face of Eph Taylor took on an expression of interest.

“Oh, it was something he said, was it? Well, then, I allow it was worth listening to, for Dan’l Boone always talks as the crow flies—in a straight line.”

And then, while his two friends listened with great attention, Oliver repeated the words of the backwoodsman. When he had finished, Sandy nodded his head.

“It sounds much like the truth of the matter,” said he.

“It is the truth!” declared Eph, emphatically. “If we give these redskins a chance to crow over us in little things, they’ll think they can do it in big things. To-morrow we must take ’em in hand and give them a good thrashing—a regular good one that they’ll not forget in a hurry.”