The sturdy ranger uttered a fierce war-whoop, and struggled through the
deep water toward the island.
At the place where he was, the stream was only some twenty feet broad,
_but_, it was swimming deep and quite rapid.
On the other side it was five times as broad, but much more shallow, so
that his opponent would have that advantage over him. Still, being on
the arc of a circle, the distance to be traversed was much greater, and
reduced the chances to evenness.
Simon Kenton leaped into the current, rifle in hand, and sunk over his
head in a moment, striking out for the opposite shore with desperate
energy. Twice the strong current carried him down, and twice he touched
a rock and shoved against it so vigorously that he nearly reached the
opposite shore. Each time, the weight of his long rifle ducked his
head and nearly strangled him, while the struggle became fiercer than
ever.
At last, just as he was passing the end of the island, he caught a
friendly bough and dragged himself up to shore with dripping weapons,
just as he caught sight of the dark figure of his enemy about the
middle of the stream in the shallows, but up to his waist in water.
Simon Kenton uttered the Shawnee war-whoop once more and tore through
the brushwood to intercept his foe.
“Now, ye ornary kuss, I’ve got ye, by the holy poker!” he growled
savagely, as he stood on the bank above, and leveled his rifle at the
other.
_Click! fizz! sput!_
The soaked powder missed fire, and Kenton uttered a savage growl as he
flung the heavy rifle with all his force at his opponent, who was just
raising his own weapon to fire back.
The ranger’s rifle hit the other as it went off, with such violence,
that the man in the water staggered, slipped in the current, and fell
back splashing and going under.
“Now we’re even, durn your painted hide!” yelled the irate Kenton, as
he made one tremendous bound off the high bank into the water, drawing
his knife as he leaped.
In another moment two strong men were grappling in water nearly up to
their armpits, each having a knife in his right hand, and grasping his
antagonist’s wrist with his left.
They tripped and stumbled, wrestled and struggled in grim silence,
both being equally matched in strength and agility, and fighting with
the deadliest ferocity. Twice they went under water, and stumbled up
without relaxing their gripe, and still neither had gained the least
advantage.
At last, almost at the same moment, Kenton and his foe wrenched away
from each other to regain breath, and stood panting and glaring at each
other for several seconds at about six feet apart.
The Kentuckian was the first to speak.
“You’re a tough cuss, stranger, I don’t deny it; but you and me’s got
to settle this hyar business afore we go home, and by the holy poker,
you kurn’t sculp _that_ gal, ef you’re Blackfish hisself. So now.”
The stranger had been entirely silent so far in the struggle. As Kenton
finished, he put out one hand and said:
“_Simon, is that you? Well, this_ IS _a good story_.”
The voice of the stranger was deep and powerful; he spoke better
English than Kenton, and the latter seemed to recognize the tones in a
moment.
The ranger sprung back in the water, with a cry of wonder, and shouted
out:
“Gee-Christopher-cricket-and-blue-blazes! Wal, ef we arn’t be’n a
couple of durndest jack-mules this side of ole Virginny. By the holy
poker, _it’s Cunnel Boone_!”
Daniel Boone himself indulged in a short laugh, instantly checked, as
he quietly said:
“And I took you for a Shawnee scout, Kenton, and thought you wanted to
scalp the girl on the island. Well, well.”
Not another word passed between the two famous hunters, so strangely
met, for some time. They returned their knives in silence, groped about
in the water with their moccasined feet, and discovered their rifles,
with which they slowly landed on the island, both buried in curious
cogitations.
They ascended the bank together and entered the thick cover of bushes
before either of them spoke, and then Kenton, in a sort of sheepish
tone, said:
“’Twon’t do to tell this story too permiskus, cunnel, I reckon. I’m
clean ashamed o’ myself fur not pluggin’ ye, when ye give me such a
chance. I war a-sayin’ to myself, what would cunnel say ef he knowed
I’d made sich a show o’ myself to a Injun varmint, leave alone a white
man, and _sich_ a white man as you, cunnel.”
Boone again uttered one of his low laughs.
“To tell you the truth, Simon, I was thinking that _I_ was the man to
feel ashamed. You never saw _me_, and you put two holes into my old
cap, for all that. I _saw_ you, and missed you. Simon, I thank God for
my erring hand.”
There was a short silence, both hunters being busily employed in
drawing the charges from their wet rifles, and wiping the same. Then
Kenton spoke, with a curious mingling of pride and regret in his voice,
hesitating in a manner not usual with the reckless borderer.
“Then ye don’t think I did so bad arter all, cunnel. I swow I feel
amazin’ glad I didn’t hit yer, but still--ye don’t think I acted like a
greeny--eh, cunnel?”
“You did what no other woodman in Kentucky could do, Simon. You fooled
Daniel Boone,” said the elder hunter, in a grave tone. “I didn’t
believe it lay in ye, and I don’t want to meet ye again in such a
fashion. But one thing we forget. There’s a white woman on this island,
and we have to find her; and, besides that, we haven’t a dry thread
till we light a fire. Take one side the island, and I’ll take the
other, and hunt till we find her.”
The young ranger raised his hand to his cap in a military salute, as he
turned away.
“All right, cunnel. We’ll git her.”
The two hunters moved off on either side of the island in a circuit,
which speedily brought them face to face at the upper end, for there
was not more than an acre of ground embraced in its limits.
Neither of them had come across any traces of a human being.
Again they turned and searched in the opposite direction, moving
cautiously and stopping frequently to listen for the rustle of bushes.
At last it became plain that the former occupant of the island, whoever
it might be, had decamped in some manner, probably during the noise and
confusion of their struggle in the river. At all events, she was not to
be found, and the two hunters gave up the search in their second round.
It was altogether too dark to trail, and both concluded to wait till
morning for the purpose. Meantime a fire was kindled in the midst of
a dense thicket in the middle of the island, screened on all sides by
brushwood, and made of dry punk gathered from a rotten fallen tree.
Then, by the side of the glowing embers, the wearied hunters dried
clothes and arms, cleaned their guns, and consulted on their future
movements, after detailing to each other the results of their separate
scouts through the Shawnee hunting-grounds, up to the time when they
had so unexpectedly met on the banks of the Kentucky.
It took but a little time to exchange news, and then both composed
themselves to slumber, with their feet to the fire, and slept till the
first streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern sky.