“Why, colonel, I’m out on a kind o’ mixed hunt this turn with this young gentleman, whose father, Colonel Brandon, you’ve known many a day. Master Reginald, I’m sure you’ll be glad to be acquainted with Colonel Boone, howbeit you little expected to find him in this part of the airth.”
At the mention of the stranger’s name, Reginald’s hand was raised unconsciously to his cap, which he doffed respectfully as he said, “I am indeed glad to meet the celebrated Daniel Boone, whose name is as familiar to every western hunter as that of Washington or Franklin in our cities.”
“My young friend,” said the colonel, laughing good–humouredly, “I am heartily glad to see your father’s son, but you must not bring the ways of the city into the woods, by flattering a rough old bear–hunter with fine words.”
“Nay,” said Reginald, “there is no flattery, for Baptiste here has spoken of you to me a hundred times, and has told me as often, that a better hunter or a better man does not breathe. You seem to have known him some time, and must therefore be able to judge whether he is of a flattering sort or not.”
“Why, it wasn’t much his trade, I allow,” replied the colonel, “in old times, when he and I hunted bear for three weeks together in the big laurel thicket at Kentucky Forks. I believe, Baptiste, that axe at your belt is the very one with which you killed the old she, who wasn’t pleased because we shot down two of her cubs; she hadn’t manners enough to give us time to load again: and when you split her skull handsomely, she was playing a mighty unpleasant game with the stock of my rifle. Ah, that was a reasonable quiet country in those days,” continued the colonel: “we had no trouble, but a lively bit of a skrimmage, now and then, with the Indians, until the Browns, and Frasers, and Micklehams, and heaven knows how many more, came to settle in it; and what with their infernal ploughs, and fences, and mills, the huntin’ was clean spoilt. I stayed as long as I could, for I’d a kind o’ likin’ to it; but at last I couldn’t go ten mile any way without comin’ to some clearin’ or log–hut; so says I to myself, ‘colonel, the sooner you clear out o’ this, the better you’ll be pleased.’”
“Well, colonel,” said the guide, “I heard you had moved away from the Forks, and had gone further down west, but they never told me you had crossed the big river.”
“I only came here last fall,” replied the colonel; “for I found, in Kentucky, that as fast as I moved, the settlers and squatters followed; so I thought I’d dodge ‘em once for all, and make for a country where the deer and I could live comfortably together.”
“As we have thus accidentally fallen in with you,” said Reginald, “I hope you will take a hunter’s meal with us before we part; our men and baggage are not a mile from this spot, and Colonel Boone’s company will be a pleasure to us all.”