Colonel Henderson looked at him in surprise.
“Why,” said he, “how is that? Athletic games always seemed to me to be good for the youngsters.”
“So they are,” agreed Boone. “Mighty good. But these of ours are a mistake, because the lads don’t put enough heart in ’em. They don’t take ’em serious enough.”
The colonel smiled.
“It’s all in the spirit of fun,” said he.
But Boone shook his head.
“That’s where you’re wrong, colonel,” said he, “and that’s where the boys are also wrong. There ain’t many of us whites on this border; but over beyond the Laurel Ridge the Indians lie in clouds. And that they haven’t blotted us out long since is because away down in their hearts they’ve thought we’re better’n they are, for we’ve always showed we could give them odds and beat them at anything they cared to do.”
“And now, you think——”
“Our young men are letting them pull out ahead too often; and that’s not a good thing to have happen. Once let the red man get the notion that he’s better than the white, and this border’ll be turned into a wilderness—there won’t be a settlement but won’t feel the tomahawk and the torch. The white man will be turned back from the west for twenty years to come.”
“I see.” Colonel Henderson looked thoughtful. “I never thought of that, Daniel; and now that you put it before me I can see that you are right.”