WHO WAS THE WINNER?
It must be acknowledged that the pace was now beginning to tell upon
all in the race. On even ground it would not have been so trying, but
it took wind, and plenty of it, to clear some of the rocks, gullies,
and fallen logs that marked the novel racecourse.
One racer was out of it entirely, having sprained his foot by an
unlucky slip on a rock, and another dropped so far behind that he soon
after gave up entirely.
This left five, and of these Harry was the last as the halfway rock was
rounded and the racers sped for the finishing line.
But Wilson, the man who had leaped to fourth place, could not keep the
pace set for him, and soon he, too, dropped behind and out, thus making
Harry fourth, with Ferris first, Darry Ford second, and Jackson third.
This position was maintained until the runners were not over a quarter
of a mile from the goal. Then it was seen that Jackson could no longer
keep up with the others. He leaped a log, slipped, and sat squarely on
the ground.
“Go on, all of you!” he panted. “I’ve got all I want of racing!”
Harry was now in third place, and running as he had never run before.
His “second wind” had come to him, and he was within four yards of
Darry Ford, with Jack Ferris three yards further in advance.
Ferris was running well, and those at a distance felt that he would
surely come in the winner. But now Darry Ford gradually closed the
distance between them, and Harry began to crawl up also, until the
three were almost in a bunch.
“Here they come!”
“Jack Ferris still leads!” yelled Luke Stout. “Told you he’d win out!”
“Darry Ford is a close second. See, he is pulling up to Ferris by
inches!”
“Harry is coming up, too,” came from Joe. His face was flushed with
excitement. “Run, Harry, run!” he yelled. “You can make it yet!”
Harry heard the cry, and it nerved him to do his utmost. He leaped on
with steps almost equaling those of long-legged Darry Ford, and soon he
was on the very heels of the leaders, who were now rushing on side by
side.
“It will be a tie!” cried the crowd.
“Go it, Ferris; don’t let the boy beat you!”
“Show him what your long legs can do, Darry!”
“Huzza! Darry is in the lead! He has left Ferris behind!”
“See, see! Harry Parsons is crawling up! He is neck and neck with Jack
Ferris.”
It was true. While still fifty yards from the finish Harry had
gradually cut away the distance between himself and the older runner.
Now the two were running side by side, with Darry Ford but a few feet
in advance.
Suddenly Ferris put on a burst of speed which took him once more beside
Darry Ford. Then Harry spurted, and in a twinkling all three runners
were abreast.
“Here they come!”
“It’s going to be a triple tie!”
“Look! look! Darry Ford is going ahead!”
“Harry Parsons is coming up with him!”
A dozen cries rang out, Joe shouting with the rest. Harry heard nothing
but a strange roaring in his ears. He had passed Ferris, and now he was
beside Darry Ford. Then he put on his last ounce of muscle and leaped
to the front, passing the line a winner by two yards, with Ford second,
and Ferris four yards further to the rear.
“Whoop! Harry Parsons has won!”
“It was a plucky run for young Darry Ford!”
“What’s the matter, Ferris; did your wind give out?”
In the midst of the excitement Joe ran up and caught Harry in his arms.
“I knew you could do it!” he exclaimed, his face shining with joy. “I
knew it.”
“It--it was a--a hard race,” panted Harry. “Darry and Ferris shoved me
to the limit of my endurance.”
“Wonder what Luke Stout will say now,” went on Joe. He tried to catch
Stout’s eye, but the fellow who had wagered his pocket knife on Jack
Ferris slunk out of sight behind his beaten champion.
The crowd surrounded Harry, and insisted on carrying him around the
fort on their shoulders. Then Andrew Leary gave him his choice of the
prizes, and Harry took the powder horn, for his old one was cracked.
“I’m glad you took that,” said Darry Ford. “I’ve been wanting a
bullet-mold.”
“You ran well, Darry,” said Harry heartily. “When you are as old as I
am you’ll outrun me without half trying.”
“I reckon it was something to best Ferris and the rest,” answered Darry
simply.
“Ferris stubbed his toe on some rocks,” put in Luke Stout. “If it
hadn’t been for that he wouldn’t have dropped behind at the last
minute.”
“I reckon I won your knife fairly enough, Luke,” came from Joe. “But as
I still have my own knife you can keep yours if you want it.”
“Oh, I don’t have to keep it,” responded Luke Stout; nevertheless later
on he gladly enough took the knife back, saying he would square up
another time. But he never did.
More settlers were now coming into the territory, and these included
several old friends of the Parsons family, so those at the log cabin
did not feel quite so lonely as before. Some of the settlers put up
at the fort, but others staked out holdings up or down the river, and
began to build homes of their own without delay.
This was the greatest year in all American history--the year 1776--when
the colonies threw off the English yoke and declared themselves free
and independent. News had already reached the frontier of the skirmish
at Lexington, the battles of Concord and of Bunker Hill, and of how
Washington was holding the British troops fast in Boston. Now came the
news that the redcoats were to evacuate Boston, and the settlers at the
fort went wild with excitement.
“It is a great victory for our colonies,” said Daniel Boone.
“It certainly means much,” said an officer under him. “We now know
something of our own strength.”
Nevertheless, Daniel Boone was much disturbed by the tidings that war
with England was a stern reality. It had been difficult in the past to
subdue the Indians, now it would be doubly hard, for the red men would
feel that the English soldiers would no longer help the colonists, and
the colonists, having to fight the foe from over the ocean, would be
in no position to send troops to the West to aid the settlers on the
frontier.
“They will dig up the war hatchet,” said Boone. “For they will think
they have us at their mercy.” And his words proved true.
On the Fourth of July the Declaration of Independence was signed at
Philadelphia, amid the ringing of bells, the blazing of bonfires,
and the loud shouting of the people. But this news did not reach
Boonesborough till sometime later, and when something was happening
which stirred the settlers at and near the fort greatly.
At the fort lived a Colonel Callaway, who was an intimate friend of
Daniel Boone. Callaway had two daughters, Betsey and Frances, both of
whom were warm friends of Colonel Boone’s daughter Jemima. All of the
girls loved to play in and near the water, and one day they got into a
canoe that was handy and began to paddle up and down the river.
Nobody missed the merry party until a loud shrieking from the other
side of the stream caught the ears of those who happened to be near the
river front. Looking across, they saw that the girls had fallen into
the clutches of a number of red men.
“The Indians! The Indians!” was the cry. And from all directions the
settlers came pouring toward the fort.
The matter was quickly explained, but nobody dared to attempt crossing
the river, believing that a large party of the enemy must be concealed
behind the bushes. Colonels Boone and Callaway were both away, and a
messenger was sent post-haste after them to acquaint them with the
situation.
“So they have stolen my daughter, eh?” demanded Daniel Boone, on
hearing the news. He said little more, but his eyes blazed with a
determination that meant much.
It was too late to follow the Indians that night, but early in the
morning Boone set off, taking with him eight men, young and old. With
this party went Joe, having asked permission of the great hunter to go
along.
“I will fight my best,” said Joe. “Please do not refuse me. As you
know, my mother is still missing among the Indians, so you know how I
feel in a matter of this kind.”
The river was crossed at a point some distance away from the fort, and
it was not long before the trail of the fleeing Indians, five or six in
number, was found among the cane-brake. It was rather hard to follow
this trail, and Daniel Boone cautioned all to be careful how they moved
forward.
“If the Indians find that they are being pursued, they may murder the
girls, and then run for it,” he said. “We must save the girls unharmed
if we possibly can.”
It was hard walking through the brake, but Joe was toughened to it, and
did not murmur. Boone went in advance, his eyes and ears as keenly on
guard as those of any Indian. Thus nearly thirty miles were covered,
with only a halt for dinner. No fire was built, Boone being afraid that
the enemy might see the smoke.
Nightfall found the hunters in the midst of a timber belt. They had
gone on until even Boone was tired out, and so rested, satisfied that
they would come up with the Indians sometime on the morrow.
Joe was glad enough to rest, and hardly had his head touched the ground
than he sank into slumber, from which he did not awaken until dawn.
A hasty breakfast was prepared and eaten, and the little band of whites
pushed forward once more, Daniel Boone again in the lead, his rifle in
both hands, and his eyes on the trail.
“It is growing fresher,” he said presently. And a moment later: “Here
is where they encamped for the night, and the girls with them.”
He was right, and, satisfied that they were now but two hours behind
the Indians on the trail, they went on faster than ever. The route lay
along a buffalo path, and in many spots was rough and uncertain.
It was almost noon when Boone, who was still in advance, held up his
hand for those behind him to stop. All dropped low in the grass beside
the trail, and then the great hunter wormed his way forward on his
breast and stomach until he reached the edge of a small opening beside
a brook that flowed into the river.
The sight that met his gaze thrilled him to the heart. The Indians
were there, having built a tiny fire over which they were cooking
their midday meal. Close beside the fire, and sitting on a log weeping
bitterly, were the three girls that had been made captives two days
before.