Daniel Boone, Backwoodsman

by C. H. Forbes-Lindsay

Hardy sat with his back to a large linden, leisurely eating and thinking of nothing in particular, when presently he began to feel that eyes were upon him. We have all had a similar experience more than once in our lives. The knowledge—or belief, if you will—that he was being watched, coming upon him gradually in this manner, instead of suddenly with the apparition of the watcher, did not upset his self-control or cause him to betray any uneasiness. On the contrary, whilst continuing to pick the bones of the squirrel with apparent disregard for everything else, he furtively scanned the neighboring landscape. It was not long before he discerned an Indian peering at him from behind a tree. Averting his face, but not sufficiently to prevent a watch of the spot out of the corner of his eye, Hardy fell to considering the situation.

No question as to the intentions of the skulking savage entered into his mind for, although Hardy had not yet encountered any Indians, he had fully imbibed the border doctrine, begotten of bitter experience, that every redskin was a natural enemy. In his present position, the Indian behind the tree was considerably beyond range, and Hardy’s watchful concern was chiefly directed to seeing that he did not approach nearer unobserved. The boy concluded that he was alone, because had there been others with him they would surely have attacked ere this.

It would not do to retreat. In the first place, such a movement would give the other a decided advantage, and in the second place—well, Hardy didn’t think of it. Clearly there was to be a duel between them. The point was, how should Hardy set about playing his part in it. Suddenly he struck upon a plan based on the recollection that Boone had once said that an Indian will seldom fire at beyond fifty yards’ range, because he is not confident of his marksmanship and also because he uses a light charge.

These reflections only occupied a few minutes and, when he had decided upon his plan of action, Hardy rose with a well-feigned air of indifference as to the direction he should take. He was gratified to find that, although his heart beat somewhat faster than usual, he had no feeling of fear, and in fact rather enjoyed the situation. After looking around carelessly, he set out walking slowly and taking a line that would carry him past the Indian’s tree but at a distance of about one hundred yards. Hardy was confident of his own aim at that range, and unhesitatingly relied upon Boone’s statement that the Indian would not fire at that distance.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hardy kept a watch on the savage’s hiding place as he strolled leisurely along. When he had passed the point he wheeled suddenly about, and at the same time brought his rifle to his shoulder. As he had anticipated, the Indian, believing himself undiscovered, had come from cover and was preparing to steal upon Hardy from behind. The latter’s sudden turn surprised the redskin and he stood stock-still in his tracks. The next instant Hardy’s rifle cracked and the Indian’s head-feathers flew.

Hardy had missed his mark by a scalp’s breadth. Almost his sole chance of safety lay in taking to his heels. He thought of it and started to run but something restrained him and, instead, he stepped behind a tree and waited. Later in life Hardy learned that even such dare-devils as Simon Kenton and Lewis Wetzel recognized discretion as the better part of valor under similar circumstances, and were not ashamed to resort to flight in the face of great odds.

The advantage was now enormously in favor of the Indian, and he fully realized it. He ran forward instantly and circling round Hardy’s tree kept him so busily dancing about in order to remain under cover that it was impossible to reload his gun. This manœuvre had brought the savage within fifty feet of his adversary, and he would in all probability have presently fired. Instead of awaiting such action and trusting to the possible miss which would have placed them on even terms again, Hardy—who, it must be confessed, had become somewhat excited—made a foolish move. He took his tomahawk from his belt and, seizing a favorable moment, threw it with all the force he could command at the Indian. It was well aimed but the nimble redskin dodged and the missile whizzed over his left shoulder.

Hardy noted his failure with a sinking of the heart. His first impulse was to run but he checked at thought of that bullet in his back. He would rather meet death face to face than have it overtake him in flight. Then there was a slim chance of fight left, he remembered, as he drew his hunting-knife from its sheath. The Indian now approached boldly with his gun presented, intending to make a sure shot at the closest range. Regardless of the fact that the weapon was directed full at him, Hardy stood, with head exposed, staring spell-bound at the hideous features of the exultant redskin.

He never could tell afterwards what thoughts passed through his mind in those few seconds, that seemed an eternity. He remembered only that he seemed to have fallen into a trance from which he was awakened by the whip-like report of a rifle behind him, and at the moment it broke upon his ear the Indian fell in a convulsive heap at his feet.

“[My scalp, I reckon, young fellow.] Sorry you didn’t get him. Better luck next time.”