two rifle-“cracks” broke the stillness of the wilderness, that stretched in one almost unbroken line from the alleghany and blue ridge peaks to the ohio river. the reports re-echoed over the broad expanse of the kanawha and ohio rivers, for the shots were fired near the junction of the two streams—fired so nearly at the same time that the two seemed almost like one report.

then, before the smoke of the rifles had curled lazily upward in spiral rings on the air, came a crash in the tangled underbrush, and forth into a little open glade—the work of nature’s master hand—dashed a noble buck. the red stream bursting from a wound just behind the shoulder and staining crimson the glossy brown coat of the forest lord, told plainly that he was stricken unto death.

the buck gained the center of the glade, then his stride weakened; the dash through the thicket was the last despairing effort of the poor brute to escape from the invisible foes whose death-dealing balls had pierced his side.

with a moan of pain, almost human in its expression, the buck fell upon his knees, then rolled over on his side, dead.

the brute had fallen near the trunk of a large oak tree—a tree distinguished from its neighbors by a blazon upon its side, whereon, in rude characters, some solitary hunter had cut his name.

scarcely had the death-bleat of the buck pierced the silence of the glen, when two men came dashing through the woods, each eager to be the first to secure the game.

one of the two was some twenty yards in advance of the other, and reached the body of the dead buck just as his rival emerged from the thicket.

placing his foot upon the buck, and rifle in hand, he prepared to dispute the quarry with the second hunter, for both men—strangers to each other—had fired at the same deer.

the hunter who stood with his foot upon the buck, in an attitude of proud defiance, had reloaded his rifle as he ran and was prepared to defend his right to the game to the bitter end.

in person, the hunter was a muscular, well-built man, standing some six feet in hight. not a clumsy, overgrown giant, hardly able to bear his own weight, but a man as supple and as active as a panther. he was clad in buck-skin hunting-shirt and leggins, made in the indian fashion, but unlike that fashion in one respect, and that was that no gaudy ornaments decorated the garments. upon the feet of the hunter were a pair of moccasins. a cap rudely fashioned from a piece of deer-skin, and with the little flat tail of the animal as an ornament, completed the dress of the hunter.

the face of the man was singular to look upon. the features were large and clearly cut. the cold gray eye, broad forehead, and massive, squarely-chiseled chin, told of dauntless courage and of an iron will. a terrible scar extended from the temple to the chin on the left side of the face.

the hunter was quite young—not over twenty-five, though deep lines of care were upon the face.

the second hunter, who came from the tangled thicket, but paused on the edge of the little glen on beholding the threatening attitude of the hunter who stood with his foot on the deer, was a man who had probably seen forty years. he, too, like the other, was of powerful build, and his muscular frame gave promise of great strength.

he was dressed, like the first, in the forest garb of deer-skin, but his dress was gayly fringed and ornamented.

in his hand he bore one of the long rifles so common to the frontier settler of that time, for our story is of the year 1780.

the clear blue eye of the second hunter took in the situation at a glance. he readily saw that the man who stood so defiantly by the deer was not disposed to yield his claim to the animal without a struggle. so the second hunter determined upon a parley.

“hello, stranger! i reckon we’re both after the same critter,” said the hunter who stood on the edge of the little glade.

“yes; it ’pears so,” replied the other, who stood by the deer.

there was something apparently in the voice of the last comer that impressed the first favorably, for he dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground, though he still kept his foot upon the deer’s carcass.

“well, stranger, we can’t both have the game. i think i hit him, an’ of course, as it is but nat’ral, you think so, too. so i reckon we’d better find out which one of us he belongs to; ’cause i don’t want him if my ball didn’t finish him, an’ of course, you don’t want him if he’s mine by right,” said the second hunter, approaching the other fearlessly.

“you’re right, by hookey!” cried the other, yielding to the influence of the good-humored tone of the other.

“let me introduce myself, stranger, ’cos you seem to be a new-comer round hyer,” said the old hunter. “my name’s daniel boone; mayhap you’ve heard of me.”

“well, i reckon i have!” exclaimed the other, in astonishment. “thar’s few men on the border but what have heard on you. i’m right glad to see you, kurnel.”

“how may i call your name?” asked boone, who had taken a fancy to the brawny stranger.

“thar’s my mark—my handle,” said the stranger, pointing as he spoke to the name carved on the tree-trunk by which the deer had fallen; “that’s me.”

boone cast his eye upon the tree.

abe lark his mark

such was the inscription blazoned upon the trunk of the oak.

“you see, kurnel, the buck evidently thought that it was a ball from my rifle that ended him, ’cos he laid down to die right under my name,” said the hunter, with a laugh.

“abe lark!” boone read the inscription upon the tree aloud.

“yes, that’s me, kurnel; your’n to command,” replied the hunter.

“stranger in these parts?” questioned boone.

“yes,” replied the other; “i’ve jest come down from the[3] north. i camped hyar last night, an’ this morning i jest put my mark onto the tree, so that folks might know that i was round.”

“i’m right glad to meet you,” and boone shook hands warmly with the stranger hunter. “and while you’re in these parts, just take up your quarters with me. i’m stopping down yonder, at point pleasant, on a visit to some friends of mine.”

“well, i don’t mind, kurnel; i’ll take your invitation in the same good spirit that you offer it,” said lark.

“now for the deer; let’s see who the animal belongs to,” cried boone, kneeling down by the carcass.

“why, kurnel, i resign all claim. it ain’t for me to dispute with kurnel boone!” exclaimed lark.

“resign your claim?” cried boone, in astonishment. “not by a jugful. i’ll wager my rifle ag’in’ a popgun that you’re as good a hand at the rifle as myself. it’s just as likely to be your deer as mine.”

then the two carefully examined the carcass. they found the marks of the two bullets easily; both had struck the animal just behind the shoulder, but on opposite sides. it was difficult to determine which had inflicted the death-wound.

“well, now, this would puzzle a lawyer,” muttered boone.

“s’pose we divide the animal, share and share alike,” said lark.

“that’s squar’,” replied boone. “we’ll take the buck in to the station. by the way, what’s the news from the upper settlements?”

“well, nothing particular, ’cept that the red devils are on the war-path ag’in,” replied lark.

boone was astonished at the news.

“on the war-path ag’in, eh? what tribe?”

“the shawnees and the wyandots.”

“the shawnees and the wyandots!” cried boone: “then we’ll see fire and smell gunpowder round these parts before long.”

“i shouldn’t wonder,” said the other.

“well, i’m glad that you have brought the news. we’ll be able to prepare for the imps.”

“you can depend upon it,” said lark; “a friend of mine has been right through the shawnee country. they are coming down onto the settlements in greater force than was ever known before. they’ve been stirred up by the british on the border. i did heer say that the british governor agrees to give so much apiece for white scalps to the red savages.”

“the eternal villain!” cried boone, indignantly.

“the injuns are a-goin’ to try to wipe out all the settlements on the ohio. it will be a blood-time while it lasts,” said lark, soberly.

“we’ll have to face it,” replied boone. “did your friend hear what chief was goin’ to lead the expedition ag’in’ us on the south?”

“yes; ke-ne-ha-ha.”

“the-man-that-walks,” said boone, thoughtfully. “he’s one of the best warriors in all the shawnee nation. blood will run like water along our borders, i’m afeard.”

“yes, and the renegade, simon girty, is to guide the injuns.”

“if i had him within reach of my rifle once, he’d never guide another injun expedition ag’in’ his own flesh and blood,” said boone, and his hand closed tightly around the rifle-barrel.

“i was jest on my way to the settlement at point pleasant when i started up the buck this morning,” said lark.

“well, i’m right glad that it happened as it did, ’cos i shouldn’t have had the pleasure of meetin’ you,” said boone. “now, s’pose we swing the buck on a pole an’ tote it in to the station. i reasonably expect that there’ll be some white faces over yonder when they hear that ke-ne-ha-ha an’ his shawnees, to say nothin’ of girty, are on the war-path.”

“there ought to be good men enough along the ohio to whip any force these red devils can bring,” said lark.

“well, they’re awful scattered, but i reckon that now that we know what’s goin’ on, we can get men enough to give the shawnees all the fighting that they want.”

then the two slung the buck on a pole and started to the station known as point pleasant.