Boone cast his eye upon the tree.
Such was the inscription blazoned upon the trunk of the oak.
“You see, kurnel, the buck evidently thought that it was a ball from my rifle that ended him, ’cos he laid down to die right under my name,” said the hunter, with a laugh.
“Abe Lark!” Boone read the inscription upon the tree aloud.
“Yes, that’s me, kurnel; your’n to command,” replied the hunter.
“Stranger in these parts?” questioned Boone.
“Yes,” replied the other; “I’ve jest come down from the north. I camped hyar last night, an’ this morning I jest put my mark onto the tree, so that folks might know that I was round.”
“I’m right glad to meet you,” and Boone shook hands warmly with the stranger hunter. “And while you’re in these parts, just take up your quarters with me. I’m stopping down yonder, at Point Pleasant, on a visit to some friends of mine.”
“Well, I don’t mind, kurnel; I’ll take your invitation in the same good spirit that you offer it,” said Lark.