“Some time ago I had a talk with John Finley,” said Colonel Henderson. “He told me wonderful tales of the hunting country beyond the Laurel Ridge.”[1]
Daniel Boone’s eyes went toward the northwest where the great mountain chain reared its peaks toward the sky until they were enveloped in a blue mist.
“Beyond the Laurel Ridge,” said he, “there is a country such as no man has ever seen before. Such hills and valleys, such forests and streams and plains can only be in one place in the world. And there are deer and bear and fur animals; and buffalo cover the plains. Also,” and a grim look came into his face, “there are redskins!”
There was a short silence; Colonel Henderson looked at the backwoodsman very thoughtfully.
“For some time,” said he, “it has seemed to me that these settlements are not what they should be. The laws enforced by the British governor Tryon, have sown discontent among the people. New emigrants go to other places where there are better laws and less taxes.”
Daniel Boone nodded.
“Tax gatherers, magistrates, lawyers and such like live like aristocrats,” said he, “and the farmers and other settlers are asked to support them. We are here in the settlements, it seems, for no other purpose than to give these fellows a soft living. And they take our money and treat us like servants. A peddler who hucksters among the Indians is thought a better man than the one who has cut a form out of the wilderness with his axe.”
There was a bitterness in the man’s tone which seemed to please the other.
“There are a great many who feel just as you do about it,” said he. “And it was this very thing that I rode over to speak about.”
Daniel Boone shook his head.