No reply was given to the request of the hunter, nor was any expected.

There was no protest by the scout, however, when Sam Oliver and Peleg followed him as he bore his burden to the place where the bodies of the men who had fallen in the sudden attack by the Indians were lying, covered by blankets. There, still quiet, and as tender in his manner as a woman, Daniel Boone lifted the body of his boy from his shoulders and laid it beside those who were his fellow victims.

Peleg, whose eyes were watching every movement of the man for whom his feeling was little less than adoration, in spite of his grief, marvelled at the wonderful strength the scout displayed. There was no evidence of struggle on his part, and as soon as he had deposited the body, Daniel Boone turned away, and the two hunters required no word from him to inform them that he had gone to tell his wife of the great sorrow which had come into their lives. Peleg's eager look followed him even when he saw him beckon her to one side of the company, and then both withdrew from the sight of the entire band. The bearing of the scout was still unchanged. So great was his self-control that no one in the party, who did not know of the calamity, suspected that anything had befallen the leader beyond the common feeling of sorrow for the loss of the five men.

What was said by Daniel Boone to his wife in that heartbreaking interview no one ever knew. When the scout rejoined the band, which now had a.s.sembled behind the protecting barricade, he said simply: "We must prepare for a hasty burial. These bodies must not be left for the wolves to maltreat." The leader spoke as quietly as if he were referring to one of the ordinary experiences of life, instead of one that would have wrung the heart of the strongest man.

On the hillside, near the place where the camp had been pitched, the bodies of the fallen men were hastily buried. There were cries and sobs from many of those who had been bereaved, and the unutterable fear and horror which more or less possessed all the emigrant band were apparent in the glances of terror which were frequently cast toward the forest.

Even some of the men gave way to their sorrow and anxiety. Not a trace of either emotion, however, was to be seen in the face of Daniel Boone when at last the leader turned away from the place of burial.

Later in the day Peleg chanced upon the scout when the latter believed himself to be alone. Seated upon a log looking steadily upon the ground, still without a cry, the man's frame was shaken in his agony of grief.

Abashed by the discovery, Peleg, whose sorrow at the loss of his friend also had been keen, stealthily withdrew from the place and did not refer to his discovery when later he joined his companions. Before the scout returned, the boy had decided that at his first opportunity he would explain to him how strong had been the friendship between himself and James. Peleg was too modest to believe that the great man had ever been aware of the friendship between the two boys. Such matters were of too minor importance for him even to recognize, much less to remember, thought the lad.

Great then was the young hunter's surprise, and greater still his pleasure, when the scout stopped by his side the next day and, looking into his face, said calmly, "Peleg, you and James were great friends."

"Yes, sir."

"Hereafter I shall have a special love for you, Peleg, because you loved my boy."

Tears, which the young hunter was unable to control, sprang into his eyes at the words which were evidence not only of the keen observation of Daniel Boone but also of his regard for one who had been the friend of his son. Still the scout's voice was quiet and calm. Peleg was convinced that he was not unaware of his inability to reply. "It is one of the things, Peleg, which cannot be changed," continued Daniel Boone.

"James was a good son and I looked forward to a useful life for him, but he is not to be here. It does no one any good to rebel uselessly, and only children and savages complain when everything they desire is not arranged as they wish."

"Yes, sir," a.s.sented Peleg. At first he suspected that the words of the leader were intended as a rebuke to him for the display of his feelings.

Perhaps it was a weakness, he thought, and yet, somehow, the young soldier was convinced that the father of his friend perhaps did not think any the less of him because he had been deeply moved by the tragic death of James Boone.

"It is not the first time," continued the scout, "that I have been compelled to face sorrow. Somehow I feel that one is like a leaf carried on the stream. It may whirl about and turn and twist, but it is always carried forward." As he spoke, the leader stooped, and taking a tiny branch which had fallen to the ground tossed it into the noisy little stream which went tumbling down the side of c.u.mberland Mountain on its way to the great river and the sea beyond. "It is somewhat like that, my lad," continued Daniel Boone, running his fingers through his hair as he spoke. "Man is borne onward by a Power which he does not understand, and yet which he must recognize as greater than his own. It is so that one is carried by the years. One is helpless to stop them in their course, as helpless as that little branch which I threw into the water. It does no one any good to rebel or complain. Every man must accept the facts of his life, believing that there is a Power that guides and controls far better than he knows how to do."

The scout spoke musingly, almost as if he thought himself to be alone. A brief silence followed his words, and then Daniel Boone turned once more to Peleg. "My lad," he said, "all I say is that one cannot turn back.

However much I may sorrow over the loss of my boy, I cannot go back to him. The only direction in which I can move is forward. If one can only find the right way, that is not so bad."

"Yes, sir," said Peleg, hardly aware of the full meaning of Boone's words.

"You were a friend of my boy."

"Yes, sir," again responded Peleg, his voice breaking once more in spite of his efforts at self-control.

"You shall be _my_ friend from this time forward. You cannot take the place of James, but because you were his friend you shall have a share, if you so desire, such as he might have had, in my life and my plans.

Your father is not living?"

"He has been dead three years."

"And your mother?"

"She died when I was a baby."

"Then there is no one to whom you can turn?"

"I have lived with my uncle, but I have no desire to go back to him."

Boone looked keenly into the face of the boy by his side and was silent a moment. "Peleg," he resumed, "I meant what I said just now. If you so desire, you shall be my friend."

"I do desire it," said Peleg impulsively. "There Is nothing I want so much as I do to be with you. It is good of you to think of me----"

"Say no more," interrupted Boone. "I shall not forget, though I may not speak to you soon of this matter again. When the time comes, I shall not fail to let you know."

When night fell the guards of the camp were doubled, for with the coming of darkness the terror of some of the emigrants increased. There were frequent cries heard from the little children, cries which the mothers were unable to quiet and in which some of them even joined. A feeling of terror had settled over the whole camp.

To Peleg was a.s.signed a post of danger, as his position as guard was to be near the gulch. Steep as this was, it would have been possible for a warrior to climb its rocky sides if he were familiar with the spot.

Before Peleg departed for his station he was joined by Israel Boone, a younger brother of James, who insisted upon sharing the vigil. In the light of the campfire Peleg saw the face of the scout change colour when the suggestion was made by his son, but he did not offer any objection, and in spite of Sam Oliver's declaration that "One boy was a boy and two boys was half a boy," the leader quietly gave his consent.

When the silence of the outer night became more marked in the deepening darkness, the occasional cries of the children did not cease. They were cries not of suffering, but of terror. There were times when even the two young guards shared in the prevailing fear. The darkness that surrounded them might conceal painted warriors who were watchful of their every act. At any moment a bullet from some unseen enemy might find its way to the heart of a watching sentinel. Such a condition was not long to be endured. As the hours pa.s.sed, both boys grew more eager for the coming of the morning, when, whatever plan might be formed, at least relief from the depressing silence would come.

To Peleg no thought of any change in the plans of the emigrants had occurred, and he was therefore the more astonished the following morning when, after he had been relieved from duty and had obtained a few hours of sleep, he was informed before breakfast that the men were a.s.sembling for a council. Even his feeling of hunger was ignored in the exciting announcement which soon was made by Boone.

CHAPTER VI

SCHOOLMASTER HARGRAVE

Before breakfast had been prepared Peleg was aware of a certain partly suppressed excitement among the members of the band. The women, with tears in their eyes and with their children clinging to their skirts, frequently had been in conference with Daniel Boone or with other men of the party.

It was therefore not without some previous intimation that Peleg heard the scout summon the men to a new conference.

As soon as they were a.s.sembled Boone said, "It will not be possible for us to proceed at this time."

"Why not?" demanded Sam Oliver.

"The women are terror-stricken. I myself had not thought that we should so soon be attacked by the savages. I have reason to remember our stay on c.u.mberland Mountain----" For a moment the scout was silent, and an expression of sympathy ran through the entire a.s.sembly. Once more in control of his feelings, Boone continued: "It is not for myself, as you know, that I am asking this return. It is useless, however, now to go on with such fear among our womenfolk, and the redskins opposing us more strongly the farther we go into Kantuckee."

"Where can we go?" inquired one of the a.s.sembly.

"I have decided that our best plan is to return to the settlement on the Clinch River."

"How far is that from here?" asked the inquirer.

"About forty miles."

"I am not one to favour return just because we have been unfortunate----"

"There is no question," said Daniel Boone, his eyes flashing in spite of the quiet manner of his speech, "about what we shall do. We shall make our plans to return at once."

Whatever feeling of rebellion may have been aroused in the minds of some of his followers, the decision of the leader was not to be disputed. The confidence of every one in his courage, integrity, and judgment was so strong that no one at the time would have dared oppose the great scout.

Accordingly, hasty preparations were made for the return of the entire band, and within an hour the emigrants were on their way.

The same order was maintained which previously had been used. An advance party of five and three rear guards were formed, but now the scout had in addition a small body moving on each flank, parallel with the main body.