But, though the keen eyes scrutinized the shore on either hand with a watchfulness which could not be mistaken, they failed to discover anything resembling the crossing, which Yager had described so often and so vividly that the others saw it distinctly in their mind's eye.
Kenton and Strader were not angered, but they rallied their companion on his error, and suggested that he was describing and they were searching for a place which never had an existence, unless it was in the imagination of the former Indian captive.
Finally, Yager admitted that he didn't understand how it was, unless they had passed the crossing in the night.
"There is such a place," he asserted with great positiveness, "for I saw it more than once, when I was a child with the Indians, and I remember it so well, that I would recognize it on the instant. It must be that we went by it in the night."
After awhile, they agreed to return and explore the country more thoroughly. They did so, visiting the land in the neighborhood of Salt Lick, Little and Big Sandy, and Guyandotte. They finally wearied of hunting for that which it seemed impossible to find, and, locating on the Great Kanawha, devoted themselves to hunting and trapping. They found the occupation so congenial, that they pursued it for two years, exchanging their furs and peltries with the traders at Fort Pitt, for such necessaries as hunters require.
The period passed by these three men on the Kanawha will be recognized by the reader as a momentous one; for not only were the fires of the Revolution kindling, but the embers of war along the border were fanning into a blaze that was to sweep over thousands of square miles of settlement and wilderness, and to bring appalling disaster to the West.
Nothing gives a more vivid idea of the insecurity of the pioneers of Kentucky and Ohio, than the bloodhound-like persistency with which the red men hunted down all invaders of their soil. Boone and his party, which might have been considered strong enough to take care of themselves against any ordinary war party, were attacked before they caught more than a glimpse of the fair land; while the settler, who builded his cabin close to the frowning block-house, was shot down on his own threshold.
Kenton and his two companions had spent months enjoying their free, open life in the woods, when the red men came down upon them like the whirlwind.
It was in the month of March, 1773, while they were stretched out in their rude tent, chatting and smoking, that the dark woods around them suddenly flamed with fire, and a volley was poured in upon them, followed by the fierce shouts of the warriors, who seemed to swarm up from the very earth.
Poor Strader was riddled with bullets, and scarcely stirred, so instant was his death. By wonderful good fortune, neither of the others was injured, and, leaping to their feet, they bounded into the woods like frightened deer, the bullets whistling all about them and their ferocious enemies at their heels.