When the news reached the fort that the expected expedition had been attacked by the Indians under Long Knife and Red Feather there was great excitement, and a score of men, including Peter Parsons, rode out to meet those who were coming in.
“So you are safe,” said Mr. Parsons to his wife. “I am glad of that.”
“Yes, yes; but poor Clara!” groaned Mrs. Parsons, and then burst into tears on her husband’s shoulder.
The stories the various survivors of the expedition had to tell were listened to with interest by all at the fort, and under Colonel Boone’s command a party of twenty-two men, young and old, prepared to follow up the trail of the red men and give them battle if necessary. All were aroused to the necessity of swift action, and each man was prepared to fight to the last in defense of his own family and those of his companions.
With the men went Mr. Winship and Joe. Mr. Parsons wanted to go, but it was thought best to leave him and Harry behind to look after the women folks, for it was barely possible that, during the absence of so many of the garrison, the Indians might attack the fort itself.
“You must be on guard, day and night,” said Colonel Boone to the officer who was left in charge. “Keep pickets out constantly and do not allow any Indians to visit the fort proper. If they want to parley let them do it outside and not more than two at a time.”
The entire party went out on horseback, Joe riding a steed provided by Mr. Parsons. The young pioneer had been introduced to all of the others in the expedition and felt thoroughly at home among them. The men, young and old, were a whole-souled body and willing to do almost anything for each other.
It was now that Joe learned for the first time in his life what real hard riding meant. Daniel Boone allowed no dragging behind, and the hunters went forward as fast as their steeds could carry them, up trail and down, over stretches of deep grass and then along and over the rocks. Often a stream would have to be swum or forded, and the riders would have all they could do to get over and keep their ammunition dry.
The first night was spent in the open, without a camp-fire, and long before the sun arose the party was again the saddle, riding as hard as ever.
“I hope you are not tired out, Joe,” said his father, on the way.