The light of the rising sun had appeared when the crouching Indians together fired upon the silent little camp.

By some strange chance almost all the bullets took effect in the body of the suffering schoolmaster. There was not even a cry from the stricken man, and as the Indians sent forth a wild whoop every one in the camp leaped to his feet and fled from the spot.

There had been no time for plans to be made, and consequently every man fled by himself. They were followed by the shots and the cries of the pursuing Indians, but no one knew what had befallen his comrade.

Peleg, who was fully dressed and better equipped than his friends for flight, with Singing Susan in his hand, suddenly fell as he ran along the border of a swamp which he had not noticed before.

The warriors swept past him, all believing that the young scout had been shot, and that his scalp might be secured when they returned.

Waiting only until the howling band had passed him, Peleg made his escape. He sped swiftly back in the direction of the camp, hoping to secure one of the stolen horses. When he arrived, however, his disappointment was keen when he found that not one of the horses was still there.

Exerting himself to the utmost, and still gripping Singing Susan, Peleg ran swiftly into the forest in the direction of the meeting-place which Colonel Clark had selected.

Several hours elapsed before the young scout arrived at the rendezvous. Before night fell three of his recent companions also appeared, but Sam Oliver was not of their number, and in fact he was never heard of again.

Daniel Boone was now present, and when he and Peleg were together as darkness fell over the camp Boone said: "I am more hopeful now that we shall soon have peace than I have ever been before."

"Just now," suggested Peleg with a laugh, "I am thinking more of something good to eat than I am of getting into the Indian villages."

"That suggests the one mistake which I fear has been made. In his eagerness, the colonel has assembled his men before he has secured supplies. The result is that almost every man is hungry to-night."

"I think I can endure it if the rest of the men do not complain," said Peleg sturdily. "I have not been with you through all these years without learning that I must not cry if everything I want does not come to me just when I want it."

"That is well. I do not think we will remain here long. It may be that we shall start within a few hours. All the men are eager to be gone, and there is nothing to be gained by delay. Without sufficient supplies for our horses as well as our men, the sooner we start the better it will be for us all."

"Are all here who are expected?" inquired Peleg.

"There are about one thousand here now, including the regulars."

This conversation was interrupted by the announcement that they would depart at once. There was a sufficient number of horses in the camp to provide one for Peleg and for others who had come on foot.

Just previous to the start the great scout explained to Peleg, "We are not far from one of the largest villages of the Indians. It may be that we shall come to it before morning. That will depend upon the pace at which our men advance."

The morning dawned, and still no sign of the first of the Indian villages had been seen. Not a trace of a warrior had been discovered throughout the night, nor had any been seen when several hours of the new day had passed. Whether or not the Indians had been informed of the approach of their enemies was not known.

Steadily the hungry men pressed forward, their conviction that the time had arrived for them to obtain lasting relief from the attacks of the treacherous Shawnees being even stronger than their feeling of hunger.

Peleg and the great scout were in the front lines, if indeed the advancing body could be said to be moving with any appearance of order. It is true the men kept closely together, but the nature of the ground over which they were moving and the forests through which they passed made any approach to military order well-nigh impossible.

The men near Peleg abruptly halted when not far before them on the opposite shore of a large pond they spied a solitary Indian. The warrior was standing as motionless as the nearby trees as he gazed steadily at his approaching enemies.

Suddenly he turned and fled into the forest, disregarding the calls of the men and even unmindful of the few scattered shots which followed him.

"Who was that?" whispered Peleg to Daniel Boone.

"It was Henry."

"I believe it was," declared Peleg excitedly. "What will he do now?"

"He will give the alarm to the village. We are not more than a mile from it now, and he will be there long before our horses can carry us over such ground as we have had for the past few miles."

Just at that moment there was a sharp call for an advance. The entire body at once responded, although the hungry horses were in no condition for swift action.

The words of the great scout were fulfilled when the force drew near the Indian village. Not one of its people was to be seen. Fires were still smouldering and even the meat which was being roasted and the corn that was boiling in the kettles had been abandoned in the precipitate flight of the Indians.

The discovery of the food was perhaps more welcome to the hungry men than would have been the sight of their foes. At all events, a halt was made, and such food as could be obtained was speedily allotted.

At the right of the village a large field of corn was seen, and the discovery that the corn was in the ear and ripe for food was good news indeed. It was not long before the hunger of every man was appeased, in a measure at least, and the entire force was ready for the further commands of Colonel Clark.

The village was set on fire in several places, and flames were also kindled in the field. In less than an hour the men departed, leaving behind them only the smoking embers of what a short time before had been a prosperous village of the red men.

Colonel Clark now urged his men forward with increasing speed. At times the force divided and the task of burning certain villages was assigned to the different bands. At other times the entire force proceeded as one body. But their enemies still had not been seen. Occasionally a solitary Indian would crawl within gunshot when the camp was pitched, discharge his gun, and then instantly flee; and once a small party of warriors, mounted upon superb horses, advanced boldly within gunshot. The red men coolly surveyed the little army, but when a force was sent to attack them they rode away so swiftly that pursuit was useless.

Village after village was burned to the ground, and rich fields of corn were left in ruins. The pioneers were determined to rid themselves once and for all of further possibilities of attacks by the ferocious Shawnees.

The alarm over the advance of Colonel Clark had spread throughout the entire region, and with one accord the red men had abandoned their homes and fled into the wilderness beyond.

When the attacking forces at last disbanded and the men returned to their homes, Daniel Boone and Peleg Barnes went back with their friends into Kentucky. The warfare with the Indians was ended. The Kentucky homes were now free from the attacks of the Shawnees or Cherokees.

Peleg was no longer a boy. The years that had passed during these pioneer days had made of him a man. He now had his own home and a tract of land adjoining that of his great friend, Daniel Boone.

Not a word was heard concerning Henry. There were occasional vague reports of the presence of a white man among the Shawnees, but whether or not this referred to "the white Shawnee" was never known.

As for Daniel Boone, it seemed as if the days of his peril were ended. The region which he had opened up for the incoming people had now become well settled. The sound of the axe was heard more frequently than the rifle. Prosperity smiled upon the efforts of the sturdy settlers, and the steadily advancing civilization and the spread of education wrought wonders among the people.

In the diary of Daniel Boone there occurs the following:

"Two darling sons and a brother I have lost by savage hands which have also taken from me 40 valuable horses and abundance of cattle. Many dark and sleepless nights have I spent, separated from the cheerful society of man, scorched by the summer's sun, and pinched by the winter's cold, an instrument ordained to settle the wilderness."

Another writer has left the following:

"He (Boone) has left behind him a name strongly written in the annals of Kentucky, and a reputation for calm courage softened by humanity, conducted by prudence, and embellished by a singular modesty of deportment. His person was rough, robust, and indicating strength rather than activity; his manner was cold, grave, and taciturn; his countenance homely but kind; his conversation unadorned, unobtrusive, and touching only upon the needful. He never spoke of himself unless particularly questioned."

As the years passed he showed more and more the spirit which has been described by one of his admirers in the following words:

"There never beat in man a kindlier or more philanthropic heart. While he was a stranger to selfish and sordid impressions he was alike above mean actions; and he lived and toiled for others, amid hardships and sufferings that would have crushed thousands of hearts."

The simple-hearted scout, shrewd in his dealing with the Indians, was honest and straightforward with the men of his own race, and looked for similar treatment from them. One can therefore imagine his surprise and indignation when he was informed that he had no legal right to an acre of the land which he had discovered, and into which he had led many families that already were sharing in the steadily increasing prosperity. The clearing he had made, the acres he had cultivated, he was informed, were not his property now, but belonged to a man who had signed certain papers!

Boone intensely loved Kentucky. Its rocks and trees, its rivers, its forests, its very soil, were dear to his heart. In Kentucky he had experienced his deepest sorrows and many of his highest joys. Perplexed as well as disheartened, the great scout departed from the settlement which in a large measure was his own work. He was homeless in a land in which he had helped so many to secure homes for themselves.

Deep as was Boone's sorrow, he was, as we know, a man whose feeling did not find expression in useless words. Quietly he returned to the banks of the Delaware where he had been born, and then went on to Virginia. On the borders of the great Kanawha he dwelt for five years in the woods with his dogs and gun.

Meanwhile his son and a brother had gone out into the remote and almost unknown land beyond the Mississippi River. Their reports and appeals were so strong, that at last, when the great scout was sixty years of age, once more accompanied by his faithful wife, he journeyed away from civilization and went to join his sons in the faraway wilderness.

The name of the great scout was so well-known and his character was so much admired that the Spanish Governor at once made him a present of eighty-five hundred acres of land in what is now the State of Missouri.

Here the great scout in a measure renewed the experiences of his early life. By working steadily and saving the money which he received from his crops and his furs he acquired a considerable sum. He then returned to Kentucky and looked up every man to whom he owed any money through the loss that had come to him by his inability to retain his land in the region he had loved. It was not long, however, before "he went back to Missouri, his heart lighter and also his pocketbook."

When the scout was seventy-five years of age, he still was a great hunter. Friendly with the Indians in the region, he paddled in his light canoe over the creeks and the little streams in the new territory, and it is said that even along the banks of the great Missouri River he set many of his traps for the beaver.

As long as the Spanish and French were in control of the Missouri country, Boone continued to hold his land safely; but when Napoleon sold the vast territory to the United States Boone once more suffered a heavy loss, for his own government refused to recognize his claim to any part of the region. It seemed almost as if the closing days of the great scout were to end in darkness.

Through his friends, Daniel Boone now appealed to the legislature of Kentucky to see that justice was done him. Eager to recognize the services of the man who had done so much for their state, the legislature urged Congress to do justice to the white-haired old scout. After some delay the petition was granted, and a gift of eight hundred and fifty acres of land was voted Daniel Boone.

It was in December, 1813, when Daniel Boone received word of this gift, but his relief and pleasure were lessened by the death of his wife. Selecting a choice spot that overlooked the river for her grave, the old scout said that when he, too, should die he wished to be buried by her side.

Seven years later, when he was eighty-five years old, this last request of Daniel Boone was granted.

Missouri, however, was not to be the final resting-place of the famous old scout and his wife. A quarter of a century later the legislature of Kentucky requested the children of Boone to permit the people of the state for which he had done so much to bring the bodies of the great scout and his wife to Frankfort, Kentucky.

To-day, on a beautiful site overlooking the banks of the Kentucky River, looking down upon the city of Frankfort, a fitting monument marks the place where all that is mortal of Daniel Boone lies resting.

THE END

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS
GARDEN CITY, N. Y.