“Horses,” said he. “And horses that are being ridden.”
With one accord they left the track; they took up posts behind the trees, their rifles held ready for anything which might occur.
In a very little while the hoof-beats became quite close at hand; then from out of the undergrowth which lined the path rode a couple of bronzed white men, well armed, and leading a pair of packhorses. Amazed, Daniel Boone called out:
“Hello, stranger! Who are you?”
The riders checked their steeds and turned their heads in the direction of the hail.
“Hello!” cried one. “Is that you, Dan’l?”
“White men and friends,” answered they in the customary manner of the wilderness.
“As I live,” cried Boone, starting forward, “I think it’s my brother, Squire.”
At this one of the men slid from his horse’s back.
“Dan’l!” he exclaimed.