On the Border with Andrew Jackson

“SO THE INDIANS ARE STILL GATHERING?”
By JOHN T. McINTYRE
Illustrations by F. A. Anderson
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY PHILADELPHIA 1915
COPYRIGHT 1915 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
On the Border With Andrew Jackson
“Much good place for camp! Heap fine water!”
It was a young Cherokee brave who spoke; from the back of his wiry little sorrel horse he pointed ahead to a small stream which could be seen winding its way among the trees.
“Yes; it looks as if it had been made for a camp, Running Elk,” replied a bronzed athletic white boy. “What do you say, Frank, shall we pitch the tent there to-night?”
Frank Lawrence glanced toward the sun, which was already lowering toward the horizon.
“We might as well, Jack,” replied he. “We couldn’t go much farther, anyway.”
Jack Davis shook the rein of his black horse; and so the three rode toward the stream, which was perhaps a quarter of a mile away. It was late autumn and the year was 1812. The Muscogee country, as the state of Alabama was then called, was green with mighty forests, and in places almost untrodden by the foot of the white man; game was to be met on every hand; and the red huntsmen ranged the hills and valleys, seeking not only food, but their foes as well.