roated cheer again, loud,
clear, and near. A powerful friend was at hand, and Adam Colfax,
Drouillard ever at his side, understood it.

"Forward, men!" he cried in his highest voice. "Clear the red swarm from
the bushes!"

With four score brave riflemen he charged through the forest, sweeping
away what was left, at that point of the horde, and, as the warriors
vanished before them, they met in an open space two other forces, one
coming from the east, and the other from the south.

Adam Colfax, the brave Drouillard still at his side, stopped and stood
almost face to face with a tall, middle-aged man who wore a uniform and
on whose head rested a cocked hat from which the rain had long been
pouring in three streams, one at each corner. The man's face bore signs
of physical exhaustion, but his spirit showed triumphant. Behind him
were about thirty men who leaned panting upon their rifles.

The eyes of Adam Colfax shifted to the second force, the one that had
come from the south, the leader of which stood very near, also almost
face to face when he turned. The second leader was even more remarkable
than the first. Hardly in middle age, and with a figure of uncommon
litheness and power, he had a face of extraordinary sweetness and
repose. Even now, fresh from the dangers and excitement of deadly
conflict, it showed no excitement. The mild eyes gazed placidly at Adam
Colfax, and his hands rested unmoving upon the muzzle of his rifle. He
was clothed wholly in deerskin, with the usual cap of raccoon skin. By
the side of him stood a young man clothed in similar fashion. But his
strong face showed all the signs of passion and battle fire. His
deep-set eyes fairly flashed. Behind these two were about thirty men,
mostly young, every one of them brown as an Indian and in wild garb,
true sons of the wilderness.

Henry Ware quickly stepped forward. He alone knew them all.

"Mr. Colfax," he said, nodding toward the head of the first column,
"this is Major Braithwaite, the commander of Fort Prescott, and this--"

He turned and paused a moment as he faced the leader of the second band,
him with the peaceful eyes. He felt that he was calling the name of a
great man, a fit match for any Hector or Achilles that ever lived.

"This is Daniel Boone," he said to Mr. Colfax, "and this, Mr. Boone, is
Adam Colfax, the commander of the fleet that has come from New Orleans
on its way to Pittsburgh."

"Daniel Boone!" exclaimed Adam Colfax, a