dolent with odors, and bright with mountain
shrubs and flowers,--the pink laurel bush, the shining rhododendron, and
the grape and plum and wild crab. The clear notes of the mountain birds
were in our ears by day, and the music of the water falling over the
ledges, mingled with that of the leaves rustling in the wind, lulled us
to sleep at night. High above us, as we descended, the gap, from naked
crag to timber-covered ridge, was spanned by the eagle's flight. And
virgin valleys, where future generations were to be born, spread out and
narrowed again,--valleys with a deep carpet of cane and grass, where the
deer and elk and bear fed unmolested.

It was perchance the next evening that my eyes fell upon a sight which
is one of the wonders of my boyish memories. The trail slipped to the
edge of a precipice, and at our feet the valley widened. Planted
amidst giant trees, on a shining green lawn that ran down to the racing
Nollichucky was the strangest house it has ever been my lot to see--of
no shape, of huge size, and built of logs, one wing hitched to another
by "dog alleys" (as we called them); and from its wide stone chimneys
the pearly smoke rose upward in the still air through the poplar
branches. Beyond it a setting sun gilded the corn-fields, and horses and
cattle dotted the pastures. We stood for a while staring at this oasis
in the wilderness, and to my boyish fancy it was a fitting introduction
to a delectable land.

"Glory be to heaven!" exclaimed Polly Ann.

"It's Nollichucky Jack's house," said Tom.

"And who may he be?" said she.

"Who may he be!" cried Tom; "Captain John Sevier, king of the border,
and I reckon the best man to sweep out redskins in the Watauga
settlements."

"Do you know him?" said she.

"I was chose as one of his scouts when we fired the Cherokee hill towns
last summer," said Tom, with pride. "Thar was blood and thunder for ye!
We went down the Great War-path which lies below us, and when we was
through there wasn't a corn-shuck or a wigwam or a war post left. We
didn't harm the squaws nor the children, but there warn't no prisoners
took. When Nollichucky Jack strikes I reckon it's more like a
thunderbolt nor anything else."

"Do you think he's at home, Tom?" I asked, fearful that I should not see
this celebrated person.

"We'll soon l'arn," said he, as we descended. "I heerd he was agoin' to
punish them Chickamauga robbers by Nick-a-jack."

Just then we heard a prodigious bar