orted. "It over-set their plans, I can
tell you! So they put off their march for three weeks."

Daniel Boone at once sent a messenger eastward to Colonel Arthur
Campbell, lieutenant commanding the militia at the Holston settlements
in southwestern Virginia; said he expected an attack soon; could hold
out three or four weeks--and then "relief would be of infinite service."

Still the Shawnees did not show up. A few spies were seen, near the
fort. Evidently they had found the fort rebuilt and ready and had gone
back with discouraging news. About six weeks had passed since William
Hancock had reported; the cattle collected in the fort were turned out
to graze, and with nineteen men Captain Boone the Big Turtle started
upon a scout northward to learn what had happened to the Shawnees.

Young Simon Kenton (who was known as Simon Butler) was his lieutenant.
Their goal was the Shawnee village of Paint Creek in southern Ohio east
from the town of Little Chillicothe on the Little Miami.

They were not far from Paint Creek, when Simon Kenton, scouting before,
stole upon two Indians riding a pony through the brush and laughing
heartily. He shot them both with a single ball; off they tumbled,
pierced through the breast, one dead, the other wounded; away ran the
pony; on ran Simon, to finish the business with his tomahawk and take
the scalps--and just in the final act he ducked his head aside barely
in time to dodge the bullets of two more Indians.

That was a close call. Now the brush seemed full of Indians. He made
for a tree. The firing and the galloping pony had carried the alarm to
the main party; Daniel Boone and all came in a hurry, and cleared the
neighborhood. The Indians had numbered thirty. The wounded warrior
was borne off, but Simon took the scalp of the dead brave, after all.

He and his true friend, Alexander Montgomery, were sent ahead, to spy
upon Paint Creek town. Paint Creek town was empty.

"Back to Boonesborough!" Captain Boone exclaimed. "The varmints are
rallying. We've no time to lose."

At best speed they traveled for Boonesborough. All signs pointed to
the fact that the march of the Shawnees was under way. They scouted
for the trail of the red army, and found it. It was broad and fresh.
On the sixth day southward they were right at the heels of the
Shawnees, and circuited their camp at the Blue Licks itself, only forty
miles from the fort. Indeed there had been no time to lose.

B