ly trained woodsmen could have led
the white advance into the vast forest-clad regions, out of which so
many fair States have been hewn. The ordinary regular soldier was almost
as helpless before the Indians in the woods as he would have been if
blindfolded and opposed to an antagonist whose eyes were left uncovered.

Much the greatest loss, both to Indians and whites, was caused by this
unending personal warfare. Every hunter, almost every settler, was
always in imminent danger of Indian attack, and in return was ever
ready, either alone or with one or two companions, to make excursions
against the tribes for scalps and horses. One or two of Simon Kenton's
experiences during this year may be mentioned less for their own sake
than as examples of innumerable similar deeds that were done, and woes
that were suffered, in the course of the ceaseless struggle.

Simon Kenton's Adventures.

Kenton was a tall, fair-haired man of wonderful strength and agility;
famous as a runner and wrestler, an unerring shot, and a perfect
woodsman. Like so many of these early Indian fighters, he was not at all
bloodthirsty. He was a pleasant, friendly, and obliging companion; and
it was hard to rouse him to wrath. When once aroused, however, few were
so hardy as not to quail before the terrible fury of his anger. He was
so honest and unsuspecting that he was very easily cheated by sharpers;
and he died a poor man. He was a staunch friend and follower of Boon's.
[Footnote: See McClung's "Sketches of Western Adventure," pp. 86-117;
the author had received from Kenton, and other pioneers, when very old,
the tales of their adventures as young men. McClung's volume contains
very valuable incidental information about the customs of life among the
borderers,] and about Indian warfare; but he is a very inaccurate and
untrustworthy writer; he could not even copy a printed narrative
correctly (see his account of Slover's and McKnight's adventures), and
his tales about Kenton must be accepted rather as showing the adventures
incident to the life of a peculiarly daring Indian fighter than as being
specifically and chronologically correct in Kenton's individual case.
Once, in a fight outside the stockade at Boonsborough, he saved the life
of his leader by shooting an Indian who was on the point of tomahawking
him. Boon was a man of few words, cold and grave, accustomed to every
kind of risk and hairbreadth escape, and as little apt to praise the
dee