To this advice Colonel Henderson gave willing ear.
“As all affairs with the Indian nations are settled,” said he, “I think what you say is the right thing to do. But to tempt emigrants we must have a way for them to get into the new country without so much hardship. Enlist a company of men and cut a way through the wilderness to the place where you think a colony can be planted.”
This was a tremendous task, but Daniel Boone was the man to undertake it. The hardy spirits of the border had confidence in his ability, and when he went among them for volunteers upon this new enterprise, they responded readily enough. Oliver Barclay was to go with the party in the interest of his uncle, and Eph and Sandy, full of the desire for the wilderness, were among the first to offer themselves.
Mounted upon Hawk, for the good horse had escaped the Indians upon the night of his master’s capture and wandered back to the Curleys’ cabin, Oliver rode along with Boone over the same trail they had traveled upon the previous attempt to get beyond the mountains.
“This time,” said Oliver, “we’ll reach the new country. For I suppose the Indians are fairly well satisfied by the terms they made.”
Boone shook his head; there was a tightening about his mouth, and his eyes held a look of unbelief.
“The Injuns are queer varmints,” spoke he. “And they don’t regard their word very highly. Now Cornstalk, Logan and their kind mean what they say; but the rank and file never give it a second thought if a good chance comes to them to use their hatchets and scalping knives.”
“Then,” said Eph Taylor, “there may be trouble even now.”
“In this country and for years to come you can surely expect trouble,” said Boone. “White and red will never live at peace for very long at a time. There will always be something to stir up a war.”
The band gathered by Boone were good riders, accustomed all their lives to living in the open; sturdy axemen, men full of the vim and that perseverance which was so marked in their leader.