und." With these sad stories floating about continually, it
is not wonderful that the Boones found difficulty in beating up
companions, and that more than two years passed away before they were
ready for a start. At the end of that time they found that, while many
were opposed to them, and others wavering as to what they would do, there
were some, prompted by a spirit of bold adventure, ready to join them.
Five families were willing to go with them to Kentucky.

Daniel Boone now sold his farm, and all things being made ready, on the
25th of September, 1773, the little company bade farewell to their
friends and started for the west, driving before them their flocks and
their herds. In their route, not a great way from the Yadkin, was the
settlement of Powel's valley. The story of their plan had spread through
the neighborhood, and when they reached this spot they were delighted to
find that the people were not so timid as those on the Yadkin: forty men
here joined the party. Now they travelled on in high spirits; the whole
body, old and young, numbering between seventy and eighty souls.

In a little time they came to the mountains, and found the pathway blazed
by the Boones. In less than a fortnight they passed the first ridge of
the Alleganies, known as "Powel's range," and were now quietly descending
the second, known as "Walden's range," when sorrow overtook them. They
were in a dark and narrow gap, when the wild yell of Indians broke upon
their ears. The savages rushed into the gap behind them, and let fly
their arrows. Six of the party fell dead, a seventh was wounded. The men
rallied around the women and children; the first discharge of their
rifles scattered the savages. But the mischief was done; the sudden
attack of the Indians was like a flash of lightning; they were seen only
for an instant; yet, like the lightning, they had done their work: there
were the dead, and alas! among them was the oldest son of Daniel Boone.

The party, a little time before so happy, was now in deep sorrow. What
was to be done? The Indians had not only killed their companions, but
their flocks and herds had all fled in fright, and could not be again
gathered together. In dismay, the greater part were for retreating
instantly to the nearest white settlement; this was upon the Clinch
river, forty miles behind them. The Boones begged them to keep on their
way--not to think of turning back; but it was all to no purpose; most of
them ins