BOONE IN THE WILDERNESS
All that night the two adventurers pressed steadily away from the
Indian encampment; they made, as far as they could reckon it, in the
general direction of their camp in the gorge. The pale moon filtered
through the bare branches of the trees, the stars twinkled helpfully;
and when morning came dimly above the higher hills they found that they
had judged their direction with singular accuracy. They were not more
than a mile or two from their own camp.
“Pretty good, for going it blind,” said Boone, well pleased. “And now
I suppose we’ll give the boys a surprise. Having been missing for all
this time they’ll reckon we’re gone for good.”
But it was themselves who received the surprise; arriving in sight of
the gorge they saw no friendly morning smoke; hurrying forward they
entered the hut; no one was there; everything of any value was gone.
“Injuns!” cried Boone.
“Or they somehow heard about us being taken by the redskins, and have
gone back to the settlements,” said Stuart.
Just what happened at the camp during the seven days’ captivity of
Boone and Stuart among the Shawnees has never been written. There is no
record in the annals of the time that they returned to civilization;
the confusion of the camp as found by Boone might have meant that it
had been deserted hastily, or that the party therein had been murdered
and robbed. But which was the truth he probably never knew.
For some time the two hardy adventurers remained staring at the remains
of the shelter which had been their home for more than a half year.
“Well,” said Boone, “I reckon they’re gone.”
“Gone they are,” agreed Stuart. “And as we don’t know how or why, it’s
my opinion that this is no safe place for us.”
Rapidly, but thoroughly, they ransacked the camp for ammunition; but
none was to be found; then they made their way into the cane-brakes,
carefully covering their tracks as they went, and took up their camp in
a secluded place where an enemy could not come upon them without their
having due warning of his approach.
From that time on the pair shifted their camp with each day; they
lived much like the wild things of the wilderness about them, seldom
making a move in any direction without studying the prospects and
calculating their chances. But in spite of all this, Boone, with his
usual hardihood, continued to make his inspection of the country;
they extended their explorations in many directions; and though they
lived in constant peril of their lives, and their food was reduced to
the meat they could kill, they were not of the sort to cuddle fear to
their breasts and increase their hardships by complaint. Accustomed to
hard living they took their situation calmly enough; never once did it
occur to them that it would be best to leave their work incompleted and
return home.
“But,” said Boone, one night by their carefully-masked camp-fire, “I’d
like to have powder and ball. There are only a half dozen charges
between us; and every time I let off my rifle I feel that we’re
slipping that much nearer the finish of the whole matter.”
Some weeks went by in this way; and one morning as they followed a
buffalo path they heard a steady, long “clump-clump-clump” advancing
toward them from the direction in which they had come.
“Buffalo?” asked Stuart, puzzled.
Boone listened, then shook his head.
“Horses,” said he. “And horses that are being ridden.”
With one accord they left the track; they took up posts behind the
trees, their rifles held ready for anything which might occur.
In a very little while the hoof-beats became quite close at hand;
then from out of the undergrowth which lined the path rode a couple
of bronzed white men, well armed, and leading a pair of packhorses.
Amazed, Daniel Boone called out:
“Hello, stranger! Who are you?”
The riders checked their steeds and turned their heads in the direction
of the hail.
“Hello!” cried one. “Is that you, Dan’l?”
“White men and friends,” answered they in the customary manner of the
wilderness.
“As I live,” cried Boone, starting forward, “I think it’s my brother,
Squire.”
At this one of the men slid from his horse’s back.
“Dan’l!” he exclaimed.
The two clasped hands, their eyes full of pleasure.
“We came upon your tracks yesterday,” said Squire Boone, who was
Daniel’s junior by some years. “But we had more trouble in following it
than if you’d been a couple of black foxes anxious to save your pelts.”
Daniel and John Stuart looked at each other.
“We took a lot of trouble to cover those tracks up from time to time,”
said Stuart, grimly. “And we did it to save our scalps.”
“Ah!” said Squire. “Injuns?”
“Shawnees!” answered his brother.
The companion of Squire Boone now came forward with the packhorses
and was greeted by the two explorers. This man’s name is not known to
history, but he had ventured much in attempting that long journey over
mountains, across rushing rivers and through the vast forests, and so
he will go down as one of the great unknown pioneers of the great
west--a goodly army and a stout-hearted one.
Just how Squire Boone came to appear so opportunely in the wilderness
at the time he did will perhaps always remain a mystery. Some have
it that he had brooded long over the absence of his brother, finally
concluded that he must be hard put to it across the Laurel Ridge, and
so went to his aid. Others hold the theory that it was all arranged for
at the beginning. If Daniel was not back in the settlements at a given
time, Squire was to set out upon a sort of relief expedition.
But, however that may be, there he was, and with two packs of necessary
things, the more important of which were powder and ball, and flints
for their gun-locks.
A new time set in for the hardy adventurers; in their increased
numbers there was less danger of attack; in their possession of plenty
of ammunition they were better able to make a defense in case the
Shawnees should reappear. However, their vigilance did not relax; they
were but four, after all, and they must be as saving of good black
powder as they could, so they made their camps in the thick of the
cane-brakes and masked their fires and covered their tracks.
But in spite of their continued caution, danger crept upon them
stealthily. While Boone and Stuart were one day in pursuit of game they
came upon an Indian ambuscade. The savages leaped upon them with yells,
firing as they came. Stuart fell, shot through and through; but Boone,
covering his flight by the deadly cracking of his rifle, sped through
the woods and escaped.
That night he rejoined Squire and the other hunter at the place
appointed; and when he told his story a gloom fell upon the little camp
as dark as the fate of poor Stuart.
But the deadly work of the savages was not yet done. Only a few days
after this the man who had accompanied the younger Boone upon the
relief expedition disappeared. For days the brothers searched for him.
They found the moccasin-made tracks of the Shawnee hunters all about,
but no trace of the white man was to be found.
And so Daniel Boone and his brother were left alone in the heart of
that savage country, hundreds of miles from all aid and with the fate
of their companions weighing heavily upon them. But did this break down
their resolution? Did the danger which hemmed them in weaken their
stout spirits? Because the wilderness was hostile, because the red
warriors were relentless, because death hovered over them, did their
hearts misgive them? No! Rather did it add to their purpose. Their
stubborn spirits were not of the sort to accept defeat until it was
beyond humanity to refuse it. And they felt that it was far from that
stage as yet.
So they increased their caution, always held their weapons ready,
lived like the wild things of the woods, never trusting to an
appearance, never taking a sound for granted. Through the whole of the
winter they lived this life of peril. And when spring came, their work
not being done and their provisions and ammunition being low, it was
determined that Squire go back to the settlements for a fresh supply.
“But, Dan,” said the unselfish younger brother, “I don’t care to leave
you here in the midst of danger.”
Daniel placed his hands upon his shoulders, and said, gravely:
“You are doing your share, when all’s said and done. True, there is
peril here; but is there more, lad, than you will face as you press
back across the mountains alone?”
And so Squire mounted a horse, waved a good-bye and set out. Daniel
watched him until the fresh green of the spring growth hid him from
view, and then he turned to face the wilderness alone. But, undaunted,
he pushed his explorations from day to day throughout the months which
followed; more and more complete did his knowledge of the country grow;
firmer and firmer became his conviction that in this region there would
one day grow a great state, with broad farms and populous cities.
The danger from savages was continuous; apparently the Indians saw
in the presence of Boone the first step in the invasion of the white
man, and so were eager to check the movement before it could be fairly
started. At night the lone hunter would steal through the cane-brake
toward his camp; cautiously he would observe it from a distance, and
noting that it had been visited during the day, he would steal away as
silently as a shadow.
Boone was a natural woodsman. In him the craft of the forest and trail
reached perfection; no other man in the annals of the West possessed
the cunning with which he threw the enemy off the trail and baffled
his pursuit.
Toward the end of July Squire Boone returned with horses, meal and
ammunition. Then after a time they pressed on toward the Cumberland
River, or what is now so called, and explored the country in that
direction. More and more beautiful the region grew to Daniel; more and
more he determined that it would be his future home.
“It’s a paradise on earth,” he told Squire. “There never was such a
hunting-ground, such forests or such a chance for farming. If any
man is to find peace anywhere, it is in this country which we have
discovered.”
And filled with this thought they completed their explorations in the
following spring, and then made their way back to the settlements with
the news.