the location they sought. It was one that would
attract even the most practical and stolid of frontiersmen: a plain of
several hundred acres surrounded by the forest, a detached part of
those great plains farther west, which stretched hundreds of miles
with scarcely a tree to dot the expanse.

Along each of two sides of the plain a small stream ran, the two
uniting in quite a respectable little river that joined the Great
Kanawha River a few miles distant. Through the tall grass of this
little prairie were great "traces" or paths beaten by the feet of
passing buffalo, elk and deer. Fish swam in the streams and the wild
turkey's call was heard in the forest.

"The Garden of Eden with a redskin for sarpint," was the remark of
weather-beaten Dick Saunders, when first he looked upon it.

"We'll do him no ill an' consider weel before taking his advice aboot
forbidden fruit," replied David Allison.

On the eastern side of the little prairie, near the forest, a stockade
was built of big logs, sharpened at both ends and set close together
in the ground, enclosing about an acre in the form of a rectangle, on
one side of which, and forming part of the stockade, were several
cabins.

The work of construction was arduous and occupied the greater part of
the summer but when completed it afforded a wall of protection, and a
place where, another year, such cattle as they might be able to drive
over the mountains could be sheltered from Indians.

As yet no sign of the red men had been found. While this country was
part of the neutral ground between the savages of the North and those
of the South, a territory over which all hunted, yet through it
warlike bands frequently passed on their expeditions, for there was a
chronic state of hostility between these savages.

The new settlers planted a little corn, but for other food relied upon
hunting. Late in the fall all but three, of whom David Allison was
one, left for home, planning to return in the spring with their
families. Clark had not remained with the settlers as he had other
ventures. Mr. Allison sent a letter to his wife by the only one of
those returning, who lived in Charlottesville; but he, being taken
sick on the way, did not reach home till the following spring, after
Rodney had started to join his father.

The winter months passed slowly for David Allison. Most of his
companions were uneducated men, accustomed, as he was not, to the
rough life. They respected him a