s. Be this
as it may, he with his party wandered through Powell's Valley, and passed
the mountains at what is called the Cumberland Gap. They then crossed the
Cumberland river, and roaming on through the forests, at length, after
much fatigue and suffering, reached the Big Sandy. The country was
beautiful, yet they were too much worn out to go further, and from this
point began to return homeward. They had suffered more than M'Bride, and
therefore their story was not so bright as his; yet they gave a very
pleasant account of the new country.

No one yet, however, seemed ready to make his home in Kentucky; and
accident at last seems to have thrown one man into that country, whose
story, upon his return, made some anxious to go there. This was John
Finley, a backwoodsman of North Carolina. He was in the habit of roving
about and trading with the Indians. In the year 1767, he, with certain
companions as fearless as himself, led on from place to place by the
course of trade, wandered far into Kentucky. Here he remained for some
time. It was a very beautiful, yet, as he learned also, a very dangerous
country. No Indian tribe lived there, but all the tribes roamed over it
as a hunting-ground. Upon these hunts, the fierce and warlike people
would often meet and wage their bloody battles. These fights were so
frequent and so awful, that the region was known by the name of the "Dark
and Bloody Ground." In spite of danger, Finley lived there, until at last
the traders and the Indians began to quarrel, and, for safety's sake, he
was forced to run off. He returned to North Carolina, filled with
wonderful stories. Sights like those on the "Dark and Bloody Ground,"
were nowhere to be seen. The land was rich, and covered with trees and
flowers; there were lofty mountains, beautiful valleys, and clear
streams, throughout it. Then he spoke of the strange caves in the
mountains; of curious salt springs; of the footprints of men to be seen
distinctly upon the solid rocks; of the strange figures of huge animals
on the sides of the high cliffs. Game of all sorts was abundant, from the
buffalo down to the partridge. There was no country (he declared) like
_Kain-tuck-kee_.[1] His tale was so wonderful, that people could not
well help listening to it.

[1] This was the Indian name for the country.

Whether John Finley was led there by a knowledge of the man's character,
or whether it was an accident, it so happened, that about a year afte