With Boone on the frontier

Joe had often heard of the extreme cruelties of the Indians, and now he was brought face to face with what might be expected of such a black-hearted warrior as Long Knife.

It was not enough that this rascal contemplated burning the young pioneer at the stake,—the most cruel death devised by the savages,—but he also calculated to inflict equal if not deeper pain on the youth’s mother by making the woman witness the torture of her offspring.

“Long Knife, you are a—a monster!” cried the boy, when he could find his tongue.

At these words the eyes of the Indian chief gleamed with cruel pleasure.

“The white boy is joyful over the news that Long Knife brings to him,” he remarked dryly.

“If you do this thing you will surely suffer for it.”

“In what way will Long Knife suffer? The cries of his enemies is sweet music to his ears.”

“Daniel Boone and my other friends will hear of this and they will, sooner or later, bring you to justice for it.”

“The whites must conquer the red men first, and they have not yet done so.”

“They came pretty close to doing it yesterday.”

At this Long Knife could no longer suppress his anger over the outcome of that contest. Stepping forward, he hit Joe a savage blow in the mouth.

“The white boy’s tongue runs too much,” he said, and strode away out of the stockade.

Mrs. Winship and Clara had not heard this conversation, so they knew nothing of what was in store for Joe. Several times he tried to tell them, but each time the words stuck in his throat.

It was awful to think of suffering such a death, but Joe had to think of his mother quite as much as of himself.

“The shock will kill her, too,” he told himself. “To see me die by inches will set her crazy.”

At last he managed to call Clara Parsons to one side and tell her of what Long Knife had said.

“Oh, Joe, will he really be as wicked as that?” asked the frightened girl, her face growing deadly pale.

“I think he means to keep his word, Clara.”

“But—but—oh, Joe, it is dreadful!” And she burst into tears.

“I know it, Clara. But if I’ve got to die I’ll do it as bravely as I can. It’s mother I am thinking about. You must comfort her all you can.”

“You must tell her at once, Joe. She’ll want to talk to you before—before——” The girl could not finish.

“I can’t tell her, Clara—the words won’t come.”

“Then I’ll do it for you,” was the slow answer.

As expected, it was a great shock to Mrs. Winship, and when she realized the situation fully she fainted dead away. On recovering she clasped her son to her breast, refusing to let him go.

“They shall not separate us,” she cried firmly.

“Mother, perhaps it is all—all for the best,” said the youth, as bravely as he could. “Everybody has got to die sometime. Long Knife wants to make you suffer. I want you to be brave. He’ll be disappointed if you take it calmly.”

But the mother only shook her head.

“It is too much, Joe,” she wailed. “You are my only boy. I’d rather die in your stead.”

It was less than an hour after this that an Indian guard came in and separated Joe from the other captives. The boy was taken to a wigwam and there bound hands and feet to a post planted firmly in the ground.

Slowly the afternoon wore away and nobody came near the young pioneer. The wigwam was very close and he was hot and thirsty, yet none came to give him even a drink of water. Long Knife was trying to weaken him, so that his torture at the stake might be so much the greater.

In vain the youth tugged at the thongs that bound him to the post. The Indians had done their work well, and although he cut both his wrists he could not release either hand.

Long Knife had gone off on a scout, but returned an hour before sunset. Many of his warriors were angry over the way the battle against the whites had terminated, but when he announced that the young paleface was to be burnt at the stake the young braves set up a howl of pleasure, and the defeat was forgotten.

It was settled that the burning was to take place at sunset, and this awful ceremony was preceded by several incantations by the medicine man of the village, and then by a fire dance of the Indians themselves.

While the dance was in progress Mrs. Winship and Clara were brought out and their hands were bound behind them. Four squaws stood close by, each with a whip in hand, ready to flog either of the captives should they show any signs of disobedience.

In the center of a clearing another post was planted, and presently Joe was led forth from the wigwam and stood up against this. Then a rope, soaked in water, was tied around both the youth and the post, making him a prisoner once more.

The Indians had a pile of brushwood handy, and this was speedily shoved up around the captive. Then Long Knife stepped forward and faced Joe, his black eyes gleaming more maliciously than ever.

“The white boy is trying to be brave, but he is a coward at heart,” began the Indian chief.

To this Joe made no answer.

“Why does not the white boy beg for mercy?”

“What would be the use?” answered Joe. “Long Knife doesn’t know what mercy means.”

“The white boy is right. Long Knife is merciless—and Long Knife does not forget.”

So speaking the Indian chief took a torch from the hands of one of his braves and set fire to the brushwood.

As the flames began to mount around Joe’s lower limbs Mrs. Winship let out a scream of anguish and then fainted in Clara’s arms.

But scarcely had that scream rent the air than there came a cry of alarm from an Indian guard. Then followed half a dozen rifle-shots, and with his torch still in hand Long Knife pitched over into the burning brushwood, dead!

“The palefaces! The palefaces!” was the cry. “They have surrounded the village!”

The rifle-cracks increased, and then came a yell from the throats of fully twoscore of hunters, and Daniel Boone, Ezra Winship, Peter Parsons, and some others appeared. Mr. Winship made straight for the burning brushwood and kicked it in all directions. Then came several slashes of his hunting knife, and Joe was free.

“Father!” cried the boy. He could scarcely believe the evidence of his eyes.

“Yes, yes,” answered Ezra Winship. “Here, take this pistol and defend yourself.”

The fighting on all sides was now fearful, and hunting knives and tomahawks were freely used. The whites lost no time in seeing Mrs. Winship and Clara to a place of safety, and in caring for the other captives.

For once the red men had been caught napping, and the battle went against them from the very start. With Long Knife dead they speedily became demoralized, and in less than quarter of an hour after the first shot was fired they were fleeing in all directions.

But the blood of the pioneers was now up, and the chase after the Indians was kept up all of that night and also the day following. How many were killed and wounded will never be known, but it is a fact that from that time forth the bands that had formerly been headed by Long Knife and Red Feather became a thing of the past. Those who were not killed left that vicinity entirely and their squaws and children went after them.

Wounded though he was, Joe went with his father after the Indians, so that he did not return to his mother’s side until sometime after his rescue from the flames.

It was a happy reunion and one long remembered, both by the Winships and the Parsons. And all of the other captives who had at last escaped from the clutches of the red men were equally joyful.

At the Indian village were found the most of the things stolen from the whites, and these articles were, later on, returned to their respective owners.

It was a happy band that returned to Boonesborough about a week later. Those left at the fort turned out to meet those who were coming in, and a celebration was held that lasted far into the night. Mrs. Parsons was especially glad to see her daughter alive and well, and Harry was equally pleased.

“I hope we may never be separated again,” said Harry, who was doing as well as could be expected.

“Amen to that,” returned Joe. “And I also hope that we have had our last fight with the Indians.”

Here let me draw to a close this tale of adventures while “With Boone on the Frontier.”

The return to the cabin by our friends was the cause of another celebration. Mrs. Winship was much pleased by the new homestead, and it was decided that rather than build another cabin the old one should be enlarged and the two families should remain together until times became more settled.

The fights with the Indians continued for several months, but there were no engagements of importance, and in the fall some troops came in from the East, and then the uprisings became largely a thing of the past.

It was not long before Harry was able to be around again, and then the work of enlarging the cabin was begun in earnest. In the end the building was made nearly twice as large as before, and here the Parsons and the Winships dwelt for three years. Then Mr. Parsons, aided by the Winships, built another cabin for himself, and also started to cultivate an extra stretch of land.

During those years a warm attachment sprang up between Harry and Harmony, and one spring they became man and wife and went to settle on a farm of their own. A year later Joe was married to Clara Parsons, and they took a tract a little further west. At the same time Cora married Darry Ford, and the pair settled down beside Joe and Clara. It may be mentioned here that all were prosperous, and in later years Joe served in the State Legislature of Kentucky with much honor. Daniel Boone was especially proud of him, and often spoke of the young representative as “one of my boys, and a good one, too!”

The days of peril and privation are now a thing of the past in Kentucky, and prosperity flourishes on every hand. Yet it is well at times to look back and learn something of what the men of those days endured in order that the present generation might receive the blessings bestowed upon them.