es," I said, "yes." But he had already started forward and seized me
by the arm.

"Lead on," he cried, "show it to us." He went ahead with me, travelling
so fast that I must needs run to keep up, and fairly lifting me over the
logs. But when we came in sight of the place he darted forward alone and
went through it like a hound on the trail. The others followed him,
crying out at the size of the place and poking among the ashes. At
length they all took up the trail for a way down the creek. Presently
Clark called a halt.

"I reckon that they've made for the Ohio," he said. And at this judgment
from him the guard gave a cheer that might almost have been heard in the
fields around the fort. The terror that had hovered over us all that
long summer was lifted at last.

You may be sure that Cowan carried me back to the station. "To think it
was Davy that found it!" he cried again and again, "to think it was Davy
found it!"

"And wasn't it me that said he could smell the divils," said Terence, as
he circled around us in a mimic war dance. And when from the fort they
saw us coming across the fields they opened the gates in astonishment,
and on hearing the news gave themselves over to the wildest rejoicing.
For the backwoodsmen were children of nature. Bill Cowan ran for the
fiddle which he had carried so carefully over the mountain, and that
night we had jigs and reels on the common while the big fellow played
"Billy of the Wild Woods" and "Jump Juba," with all his might, and the
pine knots threw their fitful, red light on the wild scenes of merriment.
I must have cut a queer little figure as I sat between Cowan and Tom
watching the dance, for presently Colonel Clark came up to us, laughing
in his quiet way.

"Davy," said he, "there is another great man here who would like to see
you," and led me away wondering. I went with him toward the gate,
burning all over with pride at this attention, and beside a torch there a
broad-shouldered figure was standing, at sight of whom I had a start of
remembrance.

"Do you know who that is, Davy?" said Colonel Clark.

"It's Mr. Daniel Boone," said I.

"By thunder," said Clark, "I believe the boy IS a wizard," while Mr.
Boone's broad mouth was creased into a smile, and there was a trace of
astonishment, too, in his kindly eye.

"Mr. Boone came to my father's cabin on the Yadkin once," I said; "he
taught me to skin a deer."

"Ay, that I did," exclaimed Mr. Boone, "and I said ye'd