Arbuckle wheeled round haughtily.
“Prove me wrong, sir, and I’ll give you any satisfaction you wish. Good-morning, sir.”
A moment after, captain and colonel parted, like two peppery Southerners, as they were, ready to cut each other’s throats on a point of etiquette.[1]
CHAPTER X.
A FRONTIER CAMP.
The site of the present city of Louisville was but a desolate wilderness a hundred years ago; when forest and prairie divided the banks of the river, and the game roamed, unfrightened by white or red. Here, late in the month of June, 1778, a considerable camp was pitched, the rows of fires and tethered horses announcing the presence of several hundred men, while the woodland costume of the occupants proclaimed them to be unmitigated backwoods settlers and hunters.
A large, powerful man, black-haired and bearded, with tremendous shoulders, stood by the banks of the Ohio, in company with Boone and Kenton, all three watching the stream above them, where the outlines of Clark’s bateaux were readily discernible, coming down the river. Below them could be heard the roaring noise of those steep and dangerous rapids, now known as Louisville Falls; and at this point had Clark ordered a concentration of all the forces raised to defend Kentucky.
The big man was the renowned Captain Harrod, of Harrodsburg, whose company was one of those designed for the secret expedition, whose purpose was as yet unknown to all but the leader.
“I’m thinkin’ we’ll know all about the colonel’s plans middlin’ quick, when he comes in,” remarked Kenton, as he leaned on his rifle. “The boys are in fur a scrimmage, but they won’t go unless they know whar they’re goin’ to.”