RIGDON.
What signs, sir?
BOONE.
No signs at all, unless for the first time in their lives the Indians are shrewder than the Long Knives. There's not so much as a broken branch, or a newly fallen leaf. Now, lads, off to the spring with you. I'll tend this last kettle, and when 'tis boiled, I'll start on the trail again. There must be bison and deer for the followers of Daniel Boone. Lads, stay! If because we are unmolested you should sometimes think that tending the kettle is work for girls—remember that we and our guns are all that stand between the Indians and the fort at Boonesborough, where all the women and children are. Will you remember?
ALL
(speaking vehemently).
Aye, sir.
BOONE.
And as I take the trail I will remember the lads who've lived on dry bread and the paring of bacon rinds, and who've tasted naught but parched buffalo meat in three weeks.
RIGDON.
You've gone hungry yourself, sir.