There was no alternative now; and Algernon rose to his feet, and suffered his weapons to be taken from him, with what feelings we leave the reader to imagine.  Taking him along, the savages set forward, on the alert for other game; and presently three of them darted away in chase of a party of whites; and directly after, two others, leaving our hero alone with Wild-cat.  Hope now revived that he might yet escape; nor was he this time disappointed; for after advancing a short distance, Wild-cat stooped down to tie his moccasin; when Reynolds immediately sprung upon him, knocked him down with his fist, seized his rifle, tomahawk, and knife, fled into the thicket, and reached Bryan’s Station, during the night succeeding, unscathed.[24]

Throughout the short but severe action at the ravines, Boone maintained his ground with great coolness and courage, animating his soldiers by word and deed, until the rout became general, when he found it necessary, to prevent falling into the hands of the enemy, to have recourse to immediate flight.  As he cast his eyes around him for this purpose, he saw himself cut off from the ford by the large body of Indians, through whose lines our hero was even then struggling.  At this moment he heard a groan which attracted his attention; and looking down, he perceived his son Israel lying on the ground, scarcely five paces distant, weltering in his blood.  With all a father’s feelings of affection and alarm, he instantly sprung from his horse, and, raising the youth in his arms, darted into the nearest ravine, and made with all speed for the river.  A few of the Indians were herein concealed, who discharged their rifles at him as he passed, without injury, and then joined in pursuit.  One, a powerful warrior, having outstripped his companions, was rushing upon the old woodsman with his tomahawk, when the latter, with backwoods celerity, instantly raised his rifle and shot him through the body.  Finding himself hard pressed, and that his son was already in the agonies of death, the old hunter strained him for the last time to his heart, with choking emotion, pressed his lips to those already growing cold, and then, with a groan of agony, left him to his fate and the scalping-knife of the savage, while he barely made his own escape by swimming the river below the bend.  To him this was a mournful day—­never to be forgotten—­and one that, even long, long years after, could never be mentioned but with tears.

In this action the brother of Boone was wounded; but in company with Isaac Younker, and some three or four others, he succeeded in making his escape.