as to one of the causes for his
desire to pass some laws by which all should be regulated.

"Colonel Henderson will preside," said Boone. "He, as you know, was the
original purchaser of this tract of land from the Cherokees, and he
kindly consented to permit us to make a settlement here."

"I shall try to be there," promised Peleg, as the scout passed on to
make further arrangements for the meeting, and the two boys resumed
their task.

It was a serious assemblage of men that met the following noon. After
accepting the chair, Colonel Henderson said: "I shall ask the Reverend
John Lythe, our pioneer preacher, to address the Throne of Grace."

At the conclusion of the old minister's prayer, Colonel Henderson
solemnly said: "This legislature is now opened in the name of his
Majesty the King of Great Britain." In his address he reminded his
hearers of the importance of laying a broad and strong foundation for
the future. He declared that the secret of future success depended
largely upon the carefulness of their present preparation. He also
explained how good and wholesome laws, such as would command the respect
and support of the people, would benefit not merely the settlement as a
whole, but also every individual member.

Various laws then were proposed, discussed, and adopted by vote of the
assembly.

In the midst of the meeting, which both Peleg and Israel were enjoying
keenly, Daniel Boone arose and asked for recognition from the chairman.

"My father is going to make a speech!" whispered Israel in amazement, as
he leaned toward Peleg. Never had either heard the scout speak under
such circumstances. He was so self-contained in his manner and spoke so
seldom that no one had thought of him as a man to make a public address.
It was therefore with intense interest that every one present turned to
listen to what Daniel Boone might say.

CHAPTER XVIII

A BAND OF SCOUTS

"He would rather face three live painters," whispered Israel gleefully.
"I never saw my father scared before."

In a moment, however, the boys were listening intently to what the great
scout was saying.

"I am no speechmaker," began Daniel Boone, his voice trembling slightly
as he spoke. "I know a little of the language of the deer and of the
songs of the birds. The cry of the nighthawk has its meaning for me, to
which it almost would be possible for me to reply. Even the scream of
the painter is in a language which I understand, but w