the salt-lick. In December,
Boone and a comrade, John Stuart, rambling in the magnificence of
forests yet unscarred by the axe, were surprised by a party of Indians
and captured. Boone met the catastrophe with a mien of stoical
indifference. A week after the capture the party encamped in the
evening in a thick cane-brake, and having built a large fire, lay down
to rest. About midnight, Boone gently awaking his companion, they
effected their escape, traversing the forest by the uncertain light of
the stars, and by observing the mossy side of the trees. Returning to
their camp they found it plundered and deserted; and the fate of its
occupants could not be doubted. A brother of Boone, with another hardy
adventurer, shortly after overtook the two forlorn survivors. It was not
long before Stuart was slain by the savages and scalped, and the
companion of Boone's brother devoured by wolves. The two brothers
remained in a wilderness untrod by the white man, surrounded by perils,
and far from the reach of succor. With unshaken fortitude they continued
to hunt, and erected a rude cabin to shelter them from the storms of
winter. When threatened by the approach of savages, they lay during the
night concealed in swamps. In May, 1770, Boone's brother returned home
for horses and ammunition, leaving him alone, without bread, salt, or
sugar, or even a horse or a dog. Daniel Boone, in one of his solitary
excursions made at this time, wandered during the whole day through a
region whose native charms dispelled every gloomy thought. Just at the
close of day, when the gales were lulled, not a breath of air stirring
the leaves, he gained the summit of a commanding ridge, and, looking
around, with delight beheld the ample regions mapped out beneath. On one
hand he saw the beautiful Ohio delineating the western boundary of
Kentucky; while at a distance the mountains lifted their peaks to the
clouds. All nature was still. He kindled a fire near a fountain of sweet
water, and feasted on the loin of a buck killed a few hours before. As
night folded her mysterious wings he heard the distant yells of savages;
but, worn out with fatigue, he fell asleep, and did not awake until the
morning beams were glancing through the forest glades, and the birds
warbling their matin songs. No populous city, with all its excitements
and attractions, could have pleased him half so much as the charms of
nature in Kentucky. Rejoined by his brother, in the summer of 1