“Little gal,” he said, gravely, “it’s our only chance. But are you able to take the tramp? ’Twill be a tough one.”
“I am a chief’s daughter,” said the girl, proudly. “Try me, and see.”
Kenton was about to speak, when Boone checked him with a wave of his hand.
“Left wheel,” he said, in military fashion, “and follow your leader.”
As he spoke he threw his rifle to his shoulder, and started off at a slow trot of some seven miles an hour into the depths of the woods, followed, without a word, by the others at long intervals. Kenton remained behind to bring up the rear, and away they went into the woods. In a few minutes they crossed the trail of which Boone had spoken, and Kenton stopped to examine it carefully. As the elder hunter had said, it led straight to Harrodsburg, and they crossed it at right-angles, plunging deep into the woods toward the south, where, at least, they were certain the country was comparatively free of enemies.
For at least half an hour they continued their course to the south, and then Boone turned again, sharp to the west, and proceeded in the direction of Harrodsburg without more ado. Kenton remained at least a quarter of a mile nearer the march of their suspected foes, and chuckled with satisfaction as he came across several bear and deer-tracks.
The tracks were recent and very regular, unanswerable evidence to the keen hunter that the animals had been undisturbed that morning.
When Boone turned, Ruby and Kenton turned likewise, so that the former Indian file became, once more, a skirmish-line of three people, stretching over a space a quarter of a mile wide.
Again they glided cautiously but swiftly along, on the way to Harrodsburg, the post of honor, nearest the foe, belonging to Kenton.