ring, whose prowess as Indian fighters and killers of big game, were
told by the firesides of Kentucky to generations born when the elk and
the buffalo had vanished from her borders as completely as the red
Indian himself. Each leader gathered round him a little party of men,
who helped him build the fort which was to be the stronghold of the
district. Among the earliest of these town-builders were Hugh McGarry,
James Harrod, and Benjamin Logan. The first named was a coarse, bold,
brutal man, always clashing with his associates (he once nearly shot
Harrod in a dispute over work). He was as revengeful and foolhardy as he
was daring, but a natural leader in spite of all. Soon after he came to
Kentucky his son was slain by Indians while out boiling sugar from the
maples; and he mercilessly persecuted all redskins for ever after.
Harrod and Logan were of far higher character, and superior to him in
every respect. Like so many other backwoodsmen, they were tall, spare,
athletic men, with dark hair and grave faces. They were as fearless as
they were tireless, and were beloved by their followers. Harrod finally
died alone in the wilderness, nor was it ever certainly known whether he
was killed by Indian or white man, or perchance by some hunted beast.
The old settlers always held up his memory as that of a man ever ready
to do a good deed, whether it was to run to the rescue of some one
attacked by Indians, or to hunt up the strayed plough-horse of a brother
settler less skilful as a woodsman; yet he could hardly read or write.
Logan was almost as good a woodsman and individual fighter, and in
addition was far better suited to lead men. He was both just and
generous. His father had died intestate, so that all of his property by
law came to Logan, who was the eldest son; but the latter at once
divided it equally with his brothers and sisters. As soon as he came to
Kentucky he rose to leadership, and remained for many years among the
foremost of the commonwealth founders.

All this time there penetrated through the sombre forests faint echoes
of the strife the men of the seacoast had just begun against the British
king. The rumors woke to passionate loyalty the hearts of the pioneers;
and a roaming party of hunters, when camped on a branch[32] of the
Elkhorn, by the hut of one of their number, named McConnell, called the
spot Lexington, in honor of the memory of the Massachusetts minute-men,
about whose death and victory they had