Then the two, stealing forward with stealthy steps, knelt by the side of the senseless form. It was a man attired in the forest garb of deer-skin. He was lying with his face downward.
The scouts turned him over, and then a cry of surprise broke from their lips.
The man was Abe Lark.
“Lark, by hookey!” exclaimed Boone, in wonder.
“And hurt, too!” cried Kenton.
“It ’pears so.”
Then carefully they searched for the wound.
The search was fruitless. Lark was unhurt.
The two scouts looked at each other in wonder.
“Nary wound,” said Boone, tersely.