"Yes," continued Boone thoughtfully, "the Governor has given me the command of three garrisons in the campaign which is to be made against the Shawnees."
"When do you go?" queried Peleg.
"Immediately—that is, if I can persuade you to look after my family while I am absent. Israel is beginning to feel that he is almost old enough to take the place of his brother James, but I shall feel very much more at ease if I can go with the assurance that you will be looking out for the welfare of my wife and children."
Striving to repress the disappointment which he felt at the words of his friend, Peleg said quietly, "You know, sir, that I shall be willing to do all in my power for you at any time. I do not know, but——"
The rare smile known only to his closest friends appeared for a moment on the strong face of the hunter as he shook his head and said: "Nay, Peleg, not this time. I fancy there will be other and perhaps greater work soon to be done, and in that you shall have your share. The time is coming when I hope to take my family again to that marvellous region I have found in Kantuckee. No land I have ever seen can compare with it. There I would live and there I would die. Meanwhile I must do my part in trying to make the lives of these hardly beset settlers a little safer."
"You may depend upon me to do my best," said Peleg cordially.
"That is all I need to know, lad, and I shall be at ease while I am gone."
The great scout immediately departed from the little shop which Peleg had built and in which he was accustomed to make or repair the various utensils used by the household of Daniel Boone. Here he had fashioned Singing Susan, and in this place he had rebuilt his gun after his return from the long journey he had made with the scout and in which, as we know, the rifle had suffered from the blow of the tomahawk which the huge Indian had hurled at him.
A moment Peleg stood in the doorway watching the scout as he departed. The expression of the lad's face plainly showed his love and admiration for the man. The calm courage of Boone, softened as it was by his gentleness and guided by his prudence, was crowned by a marvellous modesty. His robust, somewhat uncouth body showed the great strength of the hunter, while it concealed his quickness. His manner was dignified, almost cold, so silent and quiet was he under ordinary circumstances. His face, however, homely though it was, was at times lighted by an expression that was exceedingly kind and tender. He seldom spoke, and almost never of himself, except in reply to direct questions.