“To the gate, quick!” shouted the same voice.
“Ay, ay, cunnel, here we come!” cried Kenton.
As he spoke he snatched up Ruby like a child, and dashed away with her, followed by Boone.
A moment later the open gate of the fort was before them.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE BACKWOODS LEADER.
The morning dawned clear and bright over the fort and village of Harrodsburg; and to the eye of a novice there remained nothing to indicate that the Indian besiegers were anywhere in the vicinity. The forest was quiet, and yet full of life, the robins and blue birds came flitting round the houses, and the smaller “chippy” birds came down into the inclosure of the fort, and pecked about for scattered crumbs.
Harrodsburg was a typical village of its kind, the old frontier post fortified against Indians. Its houses were built in close rows around a square, the intervals between them protected by heavy palisades, forming a continuous line with the walls. At each angle rose a large block-house, flanking the bare curtains, and a small ditch encompassed the whole.
On the morning succeeding the daring entrance of Ruby and her two protectors to the fort, a handsome and distinguished looking man of about twenty-five, dressed in a curious but very picturesque mixture of military uniform and backwoods frock and leggins, stood in the upper story of one of the block-houses, looking out over the gate through a loophole, and talking to Ruby Roland.
This young man, whose peculiar air of intelligence and resolution marked him as a person of no common mold, was none other than the afterward celebrated George Rogers Clark, a man who had already inspired more hope and confidence in the breasts of the people of Kentucky than any other leader had yet succeeded in doing.