Besides this, Kenton, Brady, M'Clelland, the McAfee Brothers, and other rangers, were constantly moving over the long stretches of forest, making tours of observation to the Indian villages and gathering points, so that no excuse existed for the whites being surprised.
In the month of April, 1777, the sentinels at Boonesborough discovered suspicious signs in the woods immediately surrounding them. The signals and moving figures showed that a large body of Indians were gathering in front of the stockades, and there could be no doubt that an attack was intended upon the station.
The settlers were ready, and when the red men opened fire, they received such a fierce fusillade in return, that no doubt could exist as to the injury inflicted. The Indian fights from the bushes and hidden places, and is at disadvantage when he is forced to attack a foe who is equally protected.
From behind the trees the warriors aimed their rifles, and the flashes of flame here, there, and everywhere among the green vegetation, showed where they stood, with their black eyes sighting along the barrels, waiting to fire at whatever point showed any probability of exposing a white enemy to their accurate aim.
But beyond the stockades and in the blockhouses were the Kentucky riflemen, whose unerring aim, whose steady nerve and cool courage have never been surpassed, and whose skill in the use of their favorite weapon has made them renowned throughout the world.
Their guns were thrust out of the loopholes, and the pioneers seized the first chance offered, no matter how slight.
Perhaps the jet of fire behind some tree or among some dense bushes disclosed nothing of the warrior who caused it, but an instant later, maybe, the bronzed face of the Indian was cautiously exposed for a single instant, as he peered out to see the result of his carefully-aimed shot.
That second was enough, for the half dozen Kentuckians watched for just such an opportunity, and like lightning the sharp, whiplike crack of as many rifles broke the stillness, and the red skin rolled over backward, his skull riddled by bullets, while the smoke of his own gun was curling upward from its muzzle, and the death-yell trembled half uttered on his coppery lips.
The Indians killed one settler and wounded four others, while it was never known how many of their own number were shot. They fought bravely, but soon saw they had attempted an impossibility and withdrew.
Boone knew better than to believe this was the end. On the contrary, he and his comrades were convinced it presaged more serious danger to the settlement.