Each party of Indians or whites was ever on the watch to guard against danger or to get the chance of taking vengeance for former wrongs.  The dark woods saw a myriad lonely fights where red warrior or white hunter fell and no friend of the fallen ever knew his fate, where his sole memorial was the scalp that hung in the smoky cabin or squalid wigwam of the victor.

The rude and fragmentary annals of the frontier are filled with the deeds of men, of whom Mansker can be taken as a type.  He was a wonderful marksman and woodsman, and was afterwards made a colonel of the frontier militia, though, being of German descent, he spoke only broken English.[25] Like most of the hunters he became specially proud of his rifle, calling it “Nancy”; for they were very apt to know each his favorite weapon by some homely or endearing nickname.  Every forest sight or sound was familiar to him.  He knew the cries of the birds and beasts so well that no imitation could deceive him.  Once he was nearly taken in by an unusually perfect imitation of a wild gobbler; but he finally became suspicious, and “placed” his adversary behind a large tree.  Having perfect confidence in his rifle, and knowing that the Indians rarely fired except at close range—­partly because they were poor shots, partly because they loaded their guns too lightly—­he made no attempt to hide.  Feigning to pass to the Indian’s right, the latter, as he expected, tried to follow him; reaching an opening in a glade, Mansker suddenly wheeled and killed his foe.  When hunting he made his home sometimes in a hollow tree, sometimes in a hut of buffalo hides; for the buffalo were so plenty that once when a lick was discovered by himself and a companion,[26] the latter, though on horseback, was nearly trampled to death by the mad rush of a herd they surprised and stampeded.

He was a famous Indian fighter; one of the earliest of his recorded deeds has to do with an Indian adventure.  He and three other men were trapping on Sulphur Fork and Red River, in the great bend of the Cumberland.  Moving their camp, they came on recent traces of Indians:  deer-carcases and wicker frames for stretching hides.  They feared to tarry longer unless they knew something of their foes, and Mansker set forth to explore, and turned towards Red River, where, from the sign, he thought to find the camp.  Travelling some twenty miles, he perceived by the sycamore trees in view that he was near the river.  Advancing a few steps farther he suddenly found himself within eighty or ninety yards of the camp.  He instantly slipped behind a tree to watch.  There were only two Indians in camp; the rest he supposed were hunting at a distance.  Just as he was about to retire, one of the Indians took up a tomahawk and strolled off in the opposite direction; while the other picked up his gun, put it on his shoulder, and walked directly towards Mansker’s hiding-place.  Mansker lay close, hoping that he would not be noticed; but the Indian advanced directly