THE cold, dismal, drizzling rain lasted without cessation till night closed in. The horses were allowed to graze sufficiently to satisfy their hunger, but they shrank shivering under the lee of the rocks, where they were only partly protected. Every member of the party proved his sympathy by covering an animal with his blanket, an extra one being provided for Zigzag, so that after a time all became comfortable. The fire that was kept blazing on the stony floor under a projecting ledge warmed the four so well that they were able to get on quite well without additional covering.

Mul-tal-la asked the privilege of going off on a hunt in the afternoon. His bow was at disadvantage in the wet, and he borrowed Deerfoot’s rifle, with which he had practiced enough to acquire a fair degree of skill.

“What will my brother bring back?” asked the Shawanoe.

“Whatever his brothers want,” replied the Blackfoot in good English. He looked first at Deerfoot for his request.

“Let my brother bring a buffalo,” he replied, knowing very well that none was in the neighborhood.

“Mul-tal-la would have to journey too far,” said the warrior, who had acquired from his friend the habit of speaking of himself in the third person; “but if Deerfoot wants it he will hunt till he finds a buffalo.”

“Then let my brother bring anything,” added the Shawanoe significantly, as if he doubted the ability of his friend to shoot any kind of game. That was the impression, too, he meant to make.

The Blackfoot turned to the boys.

“I’m not particular,” remarked George, who was inclined to sympathize with the homely but good-natured fellow.

“What would my brother like more than anything else?” persisted Mul-tal-la.

“I think a meal of venison would taste good. What do you say, Victor?”

“Nothing can suit me better,”

“My brothers shall eat deer’s meat when Mul-tal-la comes back”, was the confident comment of the hunter.

Deerfoot looked alarmed.

“Let not my brother wait till he shoots a deer,” he said.

“Why shall he not wait?”

“Because my brother may never come back if he waits for that,” was the slurring explanation of the young Shawanoe. The Blackfoot grinned almost to his ears, displaying a set of teeth that rivaled those of the Shawanoe. No one could accept a joke better than this dusky wanderer from the Rocky Mountains.

Mul-tal-la had not been gone more than a quarter of an hour when the report of his gun was heard. Deerfoot smiled and wondered what the result had been. But it was Mul-tal-la’s moment of triumph when, soon after, he came in sight bending under the weight of the forequarters of a goodly sized deer. He had come upon three of the animals as they were plucking the tender shoots of the young trees and undergrowth. The meeting was as much of a surprise to him as to the deer themselves. A hunter could not have asked a fairer shot, and as the three terrified creatures whirled about to make off, he sent a bullet into one just back of the fore leg and brought him down.

No one ever saw the proud Blackfoot do more amazing grinning than when he emerged from the woods and flung the carcass at the feet of the Shawanoe.

“Now, if my brother wishes Mul-tal-la to bring him a buffalo, he will do so.”

Deerfoot reached out his hand and shook that of the Blackfoot.

“Mul-tal-la is a great hunter. He brings back that which he goes out to seek. Deerfoot is sorry that he said doubting words.”

“Oh, he needn’t worry, for Mul-tal-la cares not for his idle talk.”

The prospect of a clear day on the morrow and the bountiful meal of venison, even though it was perhaps fresher than was desirable, put all in the best of spirits. The evening passed much as the previous one. The boys made themselves a bed of boughs that had been dried by the heat of the fire, and slept undisturbed till morning, the Indians acting the part of sentinels and not being disturbed through the night.

The morning came bright, mild and sunshiny. The breakfast was eaten early, and the sun had hardly risen when the little cavalcade was in motion. Deerfoot now made an abrupt turn to the left, and by nightfall had penetrated a goodly distance into the present State of Indiana. The pace was a walk and was maintained until night began closing in. Then followed days so similar to one another that it would be monotonous to give the history of each. The adventurers were compelled to cross a number of streams, several of considerable size, but, by searching, fords or shallow places were found where the horses waded without submerging their riders and without making it necessary to unload Zigzag and transport his burden on a raft. This good fortune, however, could not be expected to last. The rivers that interposed were sure to prove the most serious obstacles in their path.

Most of the time Deerfoot was able to discover well-marked trails, which he turned to account if they led in the right direction. A curious sight was the “salt licks” which now and then they came upon. Sometimes these covered more than an acre and marked where the brackish water, oozing upward, left a fine incrustation of salt, of which all kinds of animals are very fond. Some portions had been licked over hundreds and perhaps thousands of times by the buffalo, deer, bears, wolves and other beasts, until they were worn as smooth as a parlor floor. The horses of our friends were allowed to do considerable lapping for themselves, for they appreciated the privilege.

Hardly a day passed on which strange Indians were not met. None showed any hostility, and responded to the signs of friendship always made by Deerfoot at first sight of them. These signs are so universal among the red men that a native of the American coast could readily make himself understood by an Indian on the banks of the Pacific. The Shawanoe kept to his rule of avoiding villages so far as he could. While he felt little fear for himself and companions, he thought the horses were likely to arouse the cupidity of the strangers, with the result that some of the animals would be stolen or unpleasant consequences would flow from the meetings.

So, with now and then an unpleasant variation in the weather, but never checked for more than an hour or two, and heading slightly to the south, the party steadily progressed until in a little less than a week they passed out of the section now known as Indiana into that of southern Illinois. Straight across this they rode, still crossing the interposing rivers, sometimes with the help of a raft, with the horses swimming alongside, but oftener by wading. They found the Indians of this section inclined to be rovers, and it was generally easy to find the fords used by them. Pushing steadily on, with the spring rapidly advancing on every hand, and with fine weather most of the time, our friends finally came to the banks of the mighty Mississippi, at a point directly opposite St. Louis.

This city, which to-day is one of the leading ones in the union, was at that time an unsightly collection of cabins and wooden houses strung along the river. Founded long before by the French as a trading post, it had not developed much beyond that when visited by Deerfoot and his companions. The Mississippi was broad, muddy from recent freshets and rapid. Looking across to the town the Shawanoe declared that it would not do to attempt to swim the river, though the task was not impossible.

It was early in the forenoon when they came to the Father of Waters, and they began making signals to those on the other side to come to their help. There were plenty of boatmen who turned an honest penny in this way, and the party was not kept waiting long. A broad flat boat, with a square sail, was seen to put out from the wharf, and the two occupants began laboring with might and main. They used long poles for most of the distance, for the wind was more favorable for the return, then swung big paddles, and so at last brought the awkward craft to the eastern bank.

The situation was complicated at first because the couple were Frenchmen who could hardly speak a word of English, but it was easy to make them understand that their services were needed to place the party in the town on the other bank. George and Victor Shelton had a moderate supply of Spanish silver—that country still claiming the territory—and Deerfoot carried some. The Blackfoot, of course, had nothing of the kind. The price asked by the Frenchmen was moderate, and men and animals went aboard.

Horses and owners proved a dangerously heavy cargo. The looks of fear showed on the faces of the voyageurs, as they were by profession, when Zigzag, the last, stepped gingerly aboard with his load. Even Deerfoot was anxious, for the flatboat sank near to its gunwales. Fortunately a moderate breeze was blowing in the right direction, and by trimming boat and using care the party made the passage without mishap.

On the western bank our friends found themselves in a motley and interesting community. The chief business of St. Louis, as it continued to be long afterward, was trading in furs. From that point boats ascended the Mississippi or, a short distance above, turned off up the Missouri, the big brother of the great stream, carrying with them hunters and trappers, some of whom remained for long months in the wild regions of the Northwest. When the voyageurs, with their rhythmic songs and vigorous swing of their oars, came down the river again, they brought with them valuable loads of peltries, which found ready sale at the post. The pay received by these hardy adventurers, and which represented in most instances toil, privations and perils extending through many weary weeks, was, as a rule, speedily wasted in riotous living. Penniless, remorseful and without credit, the hunters and trappers had no choice but to make off again, returning in due time to repeat their folly, or mayhap to fall victims to the treachery of the red men whose territory they invaded.

The visitors attracted less attention than they expected. Indians and white hunters were too common a sight in St. Louis to be remarked upon. Perhaps if the inhabitants had known that the last visitors were on their way to the other side of the continent they would have given them more heed, but, on the advice of Deerfoot, the secret was kept from all chance acquaintances.

When Mul-tal-la and his companion came down the Missouri in a canoe it was easy enough to transport themselves to the eastern bank. They obtained the boat in the country of Iowa Indians, and, leaving it on the eastern bank, never saw it again.

As a good deal of the day remained the travelers ate their noon meal at one of the taverns, where the food was less inviting than the game secured by their own rifles, and then remounting, they headed across the country for a hamlet named La Charrette, about which they had made inquiries and learned that it was the last white settlement on the Missouri. It was too far to reach that day, but they expected to make it on the morrow if no check occurred. Even though they were so near St. Louis they found no lack of game, and the question of food gave them the least concern of any. The Blackfoot, however, had told his friend more than once that they were to reach sections where the matter would be found one of considerable difficulty.

La Charrette proved to be a dilapidated hamlet of half a dozen log cabins, standing close to the river. The country was so open when they approached the wretched dwellings that our friends were riding in a bunch, with Zigzag a little to the rear. Several half-clothed children were seen playing in the mud near the water’s edge, but no one else for the moment was visible. Deerfoot had just remarked that he was so unfavorably impressed with the appearance of the little settlement that they would not stop, as had been his intention, when a man was seen to come out of the door of the nearest cabin. He carried a long rifle, was dressed in the costume of the hunters of Kentucky, and was as straight and erect as an Indian. He paused and looked down at the children, apparently unaware of the approach of the horsemen.

Victor, who was riding at the elbow of Deerfoot, heard him utter an exclamation of astonishment. Turning his head, he saw the Shawanoe intently studying the man who had just come into view. The next moment Deerfoot made another exclamation, and, leaping from his horse, ran toward the other. The latter was quick to detect the sound of his footsteps, and turned to look at him. As he did so the boys gained a fair view of his face. He had a somewhat elongated countenance, was smoothly shaven, with a prominent nose, and seemed to be in middle life.

It was evident that he recognized Deerfoot before the latter reached him. The man was seen to smile, stride forward and warmly grasp the hand of the dusky youth, while the two talked fast, though their words could not be overheard.

“They seem to be old acquaintances,” said the wondering Victor. “I don’t see how that can be, for Deerfoot has never been in this part of the country.”

“But the man may have been in ours. I never saw him before; have you?”

The hunter had turned his gaze from the face of Deerfoot, apparently because of something said by him, and was looking at the Blackfoot and the brothers, who were approaching with their horses on a slow walk. Deerfoot also turned and beckoned the boys to draw near. They did so, scrutinizing the stranger, whom they certainly had never seen until then.

To their amazement the young Shawanoe introduced them to Daniel Boone, the most famous pioneer of the early West. The boys had heard of him times without number, for he was an old acquaintance of their father, and they knew how intimate he and Kenton had been. He was genial and pleasant, although always inclined to reserve, and insisted that the company should dismount and spend the rest of the day and night with him.

Daniel Boone and Deerfoot.

It was hard to refuse, but the signs of poverty, and especially the sight of several wan faces peering through the broken windows, decided Deerfoot that it would be more considerate for them to make excuse. The presence of so many, even if divided among several households, could not but be burdensome.

But the boys dismounted and walked with Deerfoot and Boone to the cabin from which the pioneer had emerged, and found seats on the broken-down porch. The Blackfoot preferred to stay where he was and look after the horses.

The talk was one that the boys remembered all their lives. The sight of Deerfoot, who was as well known to Boone as to Kenton, seemed to warm the cockles of the pioneer’s heart, and he talked with a freedom that would have astonished his friends. Deerfoot did not hesitate to tell him of the destination of himself and boys and the long venturesome journey before them. The mild blue eyes lit up.

“I wish I could go with you!” exclaimed Boone.

“Why can’t you?” asked Deerfoot. “It will make all our hearts glad.”

The great ranger shook his head.

“No; I’m too old.”

“Why, you can’t be more than fifty, if you are that much,” said the impulsive Victor.

With a smile that showed his fine, even teeth, Boone said:

“Fifty years ago I was older than Deerfoot is now, for I’m close to three score and ten. I do a little hunting, as I expect to do to the end of my life, but I couldn’t stand such a tramp as you have started on, my friends. Howsumever, it’s the best thing in the world for these youngsters, and they couldn’t have better company than Deerfoot.”

“We found that out long ago,” said George Shelton warmly. “If it hadn’t been for him, my brother and I would have never lived to be here.”

“My brother shouldn’t talk that way,” protested the Shawanoe with a blush.

“Haven’t you always told us to speak the truth?” asked Victor. “And you know what George just said is as true as it can be.”

Deerfoot would have liked to deny it, but he could not. Nevertheless, it was not pleasing to listen to praise of himself, as, I am forced to say, he was often compelled to do. He shook his head and looked at Boone.

“How long has my brother lived here?”

“Between two and three years. I expect to stay with my relatives till I die.”

The veteran again urged the company to remain over night with him. Their presence had already drawn the attention of every inhabitant of the hamlet. Boone remarked that most of the men were off hunting, but loungers were noticed in front of several of the cabins staring curiously at the visitors, while the women and children did most of their gaping from the windows. Most of these were composed of oiled paper punched through by soiled fingers, but several had been furnished with glass, and there seemed hardly a single sound pane among them all.

Fearing that the people would crowd closer, as they were beginning to do, Deerfoot took advantage of the renewed invitation to rise to his feet and say that it was time they were on the way again. Throughout the interview the Blackfoot sat on his horse gazing indifferently to the westward, as if he discovered nothing of interest in any direction.

Boone warmly shook the hands of Deerfoot and the boys, and waved them good-bye as they rode away.

You have learned something of Daniel Boone, the great pioneer of Kentucky, though, as I have told you, Simon Kenton was his superior in many respects. Boone was earlier on the ground, being considerably older than Kenton, and that fact helped his fame. He was a colonel in the United States Army, and went to Kentucky before the opening of the Revolution. In 1793 he removed to Upper Louisiana, which at that time belonged to the Spaniards, who appointed him a commandant of a district. It is worth adding, in conclusion, that both Boone and Kenton lived well beyond four-score. There is no denying that an out-door life is healthful and tends to longevity, even though, as in their cases, it was attended with privation, suffering and no little danger.