of such things I knew that
the other woodsmen were waiting for him to speak, for they glanced at
him expectantly.

"You had a near call, McChesney," said he, at length; "fortunate for you
we were after this band,--shot some of it to pieces yesterday morning."
He paused, looking at Tom with that quality of tribute which comes
naturally to a leader of men. "By God," he said, "I didn't think you'd
try it."

"My word is good, Colonel Clark," answered Tom, simply.

Young Colonel Clark glanced at the lithe figure of Polly Ann. He
seemed a man of few words, for he did not add to his praise of Tom's
achievement by complimenting her as Captain Sevier had done. In fact,
he said nothing more, but leaped down the bank and strode into the water
where the body of Weldon lay, and dragged it out himself. We gathered
around it silently, and two great tears rolled down Polly Ann's cheeks
as she parted the hair with tenderness and loosened the clenched hands.
Nor did any of the tall woodsmen speak. Poor Weldon! The tragedy of his
life and death was the tragedy of Kentucky herself. They buried him by
the waterside, where he had fallen.

But there was little time for mourning on the border. The burial
finished, the Kentuckians splashed across the creek, and one of them,
stooping with a shout at the mouth of the run, lifted out of the
brambles a painted body with drooping head and feathers trailing.

"Ay, Mac," he cried, "here's a sculp for ye."

"It's Davy's," exclaimed Polly Ann from the top of the bank; "Davy shot
that one."

"Hooray for Davy," cried a huge, strapping backwoodsman who stood beside
her, and the others laughingly took up the shout. "Hooray for Davy.
Bring him over, Cowan." The giant threw me on his shoulder as though
I had been a fox, leaped down, and took the stream in two strides. I
little thought how often he was to carry me in days to come, but I felt
a great awe at the strength of him, as I stared into his rough features
and his veined and weathered skin. He stood me down beside the Indian's
body, smiled as he whipped my hunting knife from my belt, and said,
"Now, Davy, take the sculp."

Nothing loath, I seized the Indian by the long scalp-lock, while my big
friend guided my hand, and amid laughter and cheers I cut off my first
trophy of war. Nor did I have any other feeling than fierce hatred of
the race which had killed my father.

Those who have known armies in their discipline will find it difficult
to