understand the leadership of the border. Such leadership was granted
only to those whose force and individuality compelled men to obey them.
I had my first glimpse of it that day. This Colonel Clark to whom Tom
delivered Mr. Robertson's letter was perchance the youngest man in the
company that had rescued us, saving only a slim lad of seventeen whom
I noticed and envied, and whose name was James Ray. Colonel Clark, so
I was told by my friend Cowan, held that title in Kentucky by reason of
his prowess.

Clark had been standing quietly on the bank while I had scalped my first
redskin. Then he called Tom McChesney to him and questioned him closely
about our journey, the signs we had seen, and, finally, the news in the
Watauga settlements. While this was going on the others gathered round
them.

"What now?" asked Cowan, when he had finished.

"Back to Harrodstown," answered the Colonel, shortly.

There was a brief silence, followed by a hoarse murmur from a thick-set
man at the edge of the crowd, who shouldered his way to the centre of
it.

"We set out to hunt a fight, and my pluck is to clean up. We ain't
finished 'em yet."

The man had a deep, coarse voice that was a piece with his roughness.

"I reckon this band ain't a-goin' to harry the station any more,
McGary," cried Cowan.

"By Job, what did we come out for? Who'll take the trail with me?"

There were some who answered him, and straightway they began to quarrel
among themselves, filling the woods with a babel of voices. While I
stood listening to these disputes with a boy's awe of a man's quarrel,
what was my astonishment to feel a hand on my shoulder. It was Colonel
Clark's, and he was not paying the least attention to the dispute.

"Davy," said he, "you look as if you could make a fire."

"Yes, sir," I answered, gasping.

"Well," said he, "make one."

I lighted a piece of punk with the flint, and, wrapping it up in some
dry brush, soon had a blaze started. Looking up, I caught his eye on me
again.

"Mrs. McChesney," said Colonel Clark to Polly Ann, "you look as if you
could make johnny-cake. Have you any meal?"

"That I have," cried Polly Ann, "though it's fair mouldy. Davy, run and
fetch it."

I ran to the pack on the sorrel mare. When I returned Mr. Clark said:--

"That seems a handy boy, Mrs. McChesney."

"Handy!" cried Polly Ann, "I reckon he's more than handy. Didn't he save
my life twice on our way out here?"

"And how was that?" sa