Sandy was of course anxious to know about the young hunter whom he admired so much, often the companion of Boone; and, when he had a chance, he made inquiries. The frontiersman had by no means forgotten Bob and Sandy, and, indeed, one of his first questions when he met Mr. Armstrong had been of them, and what new adventures they had been having of late.
“I have not seen the young man for some time,” Boone had answered, when Sandy made his inquiry. “The last I heard of him, he had gone to the Ohio, and was at Fort Washington, I believe. So that there is always a slight chance that you may run across him during your voyage.”
Of course Boone was able to give them a great deal of information, as well as warn them against the tricks of the sly Indians, who would be likely to resort to all manner of devices in order to overpower the travellers.
“Above all things,” he urged upon the men of the party before taking his departure that same afternoon, to rejoin his companions, camped not many miles away, “beware of the white man who appeals to you from the shore, and tells a pitiful story of having been captured by the Indians, from whom he has but recently escaped. The chances are as ten to one that he is but one of those villainous renegades like Girty, McKee or Butler, who act as decoys for their swarthy brothers; and that he only means to lure you close to the shore, so that they can pour a deadly volley into your midst, and board the boat in the confusion.”
“But what if his story should be true?” objected Mr. Harkness. “We should feel like murderers if we abandoned a poor wretch of our own color. And surely success could not come to an expedition founded on cruelty.”
“Your first duty is toward your own families,” spoke up Boone, sternly. “If, then, his story is true, demand that he enter the river, and swim out to you, while you hold the boat stationary by the anchor, but at a safe distance away. If he refuse to do this, and suddenly disappear, see to it that you lay low, for there will immediately rain a tempest of bullets and deadly arrows from the bushes, behind which his red allies lie hidden.”
In this strain, then, did the great pioneer warn those who were about to trust themselves and their precious families to the waters of the lower Ohio. Hearing all he said, both Sandy and Bob were greatly impressed, and secretly resolved to profit by the advice.
Boone admitted that it was a great misfortune to have lost that magic wampum belt of Pontiac’s, which he had seen on a former visit.
“I know Pontiac, and how far his influence goes with nearly every tribe between here and the Mississippi,” he said; “and there will be many times, I fear, when you will deeply regret that you did not hold tighter to his gift, as it would save you from troubles that ever beset the pioneer’s life.”
When Boone shook hands with every soul in the settlement, kissed the babies, and hurried away, to head for his own little settlement, there was not one among them but felt that the mere presence of such a man was a tower of strength to any struggling community on the border of civilization.